Perfectly balanced

It must have been a typo. An error. Or possibly the folly of all mankind. Yet there it was, plain as day, and it would not go away.

Charles checked again. And again. And a third time.

How could this happen? He thought to himself. Nothing like this has ever happened before.

Had it?

No, of course he surely would have heard of it, known of it. In fact, it likely would have been him that discovered it. He knew the numbers better than anyone. He was, for all intents and purposes, the keeper of this ledger, the balancer of bounties, equalizer of wages and so forth.

Certainly a few others were involved in the keeping of the ledger, the balancing of balances, so to speak, is not the job for a solitary man, no. There must be checks and of course balances, we must audit and interview, undoubtedly ogle the numbers as they fill the ledger. Left to right, right to left, in a perfect pendulum of in’s and out’s.

We could not all have missed it! He exclaims, most quietly to himself. Lurched over his desk as he would be found each business day, from the open of business to the moment when that old bell chimes to announce the close of the dealings of the day. Oh how he knew that desk well. They were old friends you see, comrades in the counting, a brethren of balancing, a pair - some say a trio if you count the chair. But the truth is that there have been many chairs, but just one desk. A desk, which Charles insisted was always on the level with him.

Charles, tapped the desk. Then tapped again. No response from the desk. That old four legged companion was as perplexed as Charles, perhaps even more so, for above its levelled surface, things simply did not balance.

The room around him, the same room he had inhabited every business day, plus and minus a few not so business-like days, for the past 22 years, 4 months, 19 days, 3 hours and 12 minutes, offered no help. Charles rarely included the room, even though it had been his room for the past 22 years, 4 months, 19 days, 3 hours and 13 minutes. He just came in and lurched over the desk, each day the duo complimenting each other in all the ways that mattered. One providing the rigour, and the other the fortitude, though neither could really tell which quality belonged to one or the other. The room was not a part of the team, rather the stadium in which they played, surely the gladiators of the past did not notice the jostling crowds from the thick of battle, for if they did, they would certainly have come up short.

Yet today, after 22 years, 4 months, 19 days, 3 hours and 21 minutes, for the first time ever, Charles and his desk were at a loss. So much so, that Charles, and perhaps the desk as well, felt the need for a little space from each other. Slowly, Charles lurch went from forward to back as he reclined in his chair, careful not to fall back afront. Charles lifts his eyes, then his head, and adjusts his shoulders until the chair makes a formidable SQUEAK, the cracking of old metal joints bending in ways that had yet been attempted. Finally, after a great deal of wiggling and responding wriggling the task was done and our Charles found himself in the most upright of positions, seeing so much of his grand amphitheatre as he had never seen it before.

But as the great arenas curtains gave way to improved posture, the view was little improved. As the tsunami of smiling spectators gave way to waves of stucco, and the stadiums balcony transformed to shabby shelving, with the great skydome reverting to its tiny windowesque form, looking up from this subterranean vault where Charles has sat for the past 22 years, 4 months, 19 days, 3 hours and 33 minutes. All things being equal, it suddenly occurred to Charles that things didn’t add up. Why had he been living in the red, even while overseeing so many seasons in the black?

What a strange shift in perspective one can have once we go from a lurch to becoming upright. Oh, how we see the world differently when we shift our gaze to lean back from our daily lurch to see that despite all our constant climbing, we can often still find ourselves holding too tightly to the short end of the stick. We concentrate so hard to keep hold, we forget that the stick is part of a branch, the branch is part of the tree, the tree resides in the forest, and there dangling from all the trees, and all the branches, at the end of every skinny stick are all the Charles’ and Chantal’s of the world, hanging on with all their might just trying to keep themselves balanced on that most unbalanced balancing act of them all, which is our daily life.

Sure Charles had made some mistakes along the way, of course he could have been a better person, kinder, more generous, loving and appreciative of all the beauty around him; he could have cared more. Did that mean it was too late? Was his lease on life set to expire with no hope of renewal? Must he continue to lurch? Or could he lean? Could he jump? Dare I say, could he dance?

Charles' mind was dizzy with opportunity, nothing balanced, nothing mattered. He would start a new ledger, his own ledger and count the days of happiness as assets, while the sadder days would fall to the liabilities. He would strive for a new kind of balance, a type of balanced imbalance, oh and how he would dance, and dance and dance.

Charles was so excited that he laughed out loud, so loud that he gave the desk an awful fright, the desk having never heard such a sound before, and never wanting to hear it again. For the desk knew that those sounds did not belong here, they were the sounds of trouble, and he feared that his dear old friend Charles was not well, indeed the desk felt that his old friend was a bit off, and that was not on the level.

Soon after, the decision was made, there would be no more delay, after 22 years, 4 months, 19 days, 3 hours and 48 minutes, Charles would, as he had done many times before, balance the ledger. Making no mention of imbalance or impropriety, Charles corrected this ledger, only to create a new imbalance on a ledger of his own.

With the old ledger balanced, Charles began the sorting and counting of so many paper dollars, of so many denominations. He packed, and piled and sorted and labeled, carefully ensuring that each little stack packed together a tidy sum destined for an envelope home, soon to be in transition, some coming, and of course, some going.

Every envelope prepared and labeled with care, each one filled as per the instructions in the ledger, each coming and going accounted for, to arrive at the bottom line with a perfect zero. Perfectly balanced. With all the stacks stacked, and all the envelopes stuffed, with every label labeled, all the currencies are in their rightful place. All, except for one last stack, which today did not balance. A stack that was neither coming, nor going was now at the centre of that old faithful desk which remained, unmoving, saying nothing, but judging harshly, because the desk was always perfectly on the level.

Then groupings of envelopes filled with stacks, were separated in sacks, all except, the very last stack. Lurched once more, Charles counted it again, and again, and a third time.

$20,000!!! He cheered silently to himself. It was his and no one would ever know, no one would ever think to know. Because everything is balanced.

After 22 years, 4 months, 19 days, 7 hours and 59 minutes, Charles taps his desk and says goodbye for the weekend. He stands, places his briefcase on the desk, opens the lid and inserts the final stack, right next to his faithful ledger. All the while, the desk saying nothing in disapproval. As he leaves, Charles grabs the remaining sacks with all the stacks and places them in the lock box to soon be collected, counted and to become a part of all those many comings and goings.

The day and deed were done. Charles went home, not a worry in his mind. After a well balanced dinner and just enough wine, he goes to bed and Charles falls into the most pleasant sleep he has ever had.

Charles awoke, according to the clock by the bed, which rarely lied, at 2:13am. Something had stirred Charles from his sleep, but not seeing and not hearing anything else, he got out of bed to go to the bathroom. Yet when he reached the bathroom door, the next thing that happened was not that Charles walked in to undertake in some much needed urination, instead all he heard was a creak, and a click.

You see, our Charles worked for some, let’s just say, person’s who earned their revenue through means which could be said, were less than legitimate. For the past 22 years, 4 months, 19 days, 16 hours and 13 minutes, all his counting and checking was being conducted for some truly unbalanced people, who very much insisted that all things were balanced.

It was so simple! How could Charles have missed it? He had forgotten to place a line item for the auxiliary petty cash in the balance sheet. At last, at that very moment when the bullet crossed his head, in his mind Charles felt a sense of satisfaction that, in the end, everything was balanced.

As Charles hits the floor, the unknown gunman opens Charles' briefcase to find the final missing stack and a little black book filled with numbers, each one, perfectly balanced.