The View

For the first time in nearly six years, it had snowed on the docks. The concrete walkways at this point had been soaked, causing Charlie to skid slightly as he entered the dormitories. While he had of course seen snow before, he was always pleasantly surprised when it snowed. In his own way, he saw snow as a sort of omen. Today was no different.

Despite the new seasonal discounts TradeCo had been offering recently, the week had been relatively slow at the port. The flood of orders came in as usual, but there wasn’t a particular rush, nothing Charlie felt overwhelmed by. It was also one of the first weeks in a long time where he didn’t need to use a lunch break voucher, which he desperately needed to conserve considering he only had four left for the month. He climbed the stairs and made it to his room, letting out a sigh of relief. A sigh that would be cut short when Charlie opened the door, and saw the green manila envelope at his feet.

Charlie had not seen nor spoken to his father in just over a decade. Whether it was conflicting shift schedules or plain forgetfulness, neither had seemed to find the time to meet in the past twelve years. It was something that gnawed at Charlie’s guilt, as he knew that eventually, he would receive this envelope.

If it wasn’t obvious from the sage green coloring of the envelope, the massive Supplimenta stamp on the front made it abundantly clear what had happened. Supplimenta was a “food” manufacturer, the main producers of Nutripacks, sealed plastic bag-like containers full of a person’s daily requirement of nutrients. This cheap and efficient source of nourishment became the go-to product companies would use to feed their workers, saving them millions every year. Supplimenta was also the company his father had been working for the past thirty years.

Charlie closed his eyes, took a slow breath, and began to run his finger along the side of the envelope to find any slight opening. His finger glided along the edge until, there, a small crease allowed for a point of entry. He gingerly began to open it, ensuring the fold wouldn’t rip. Once he had pried it open he turned it over and poured its contents onto his bed. Inside was a slip of paper and a black leather notebook. He took the piece of paper first and began to examine it. It said the following:

Dear Mr. Alder,

We here at Supplimenta regretfully wish to inform you that your father has passed away from a heart attack on 4:15 PM, October 24th, 2056. We are deeply saddened for your loss, and wish our deepest condolences to you (and your family).

As legally obligated by the state’s Code Of Work Compensation, we will be bestowing on to you your allotted portion of his pension and the personal items he had designated to be turned over to you at the time of his death. The total sum of his pension for this thirty two years, four months, one day, six hours, thirteen minutes, and thirty-four seconds comes out to $20,000 after taxes. Expect this value to be deposited into your TradeCo Finance account within five to six business days. You can speed up this process by two business days for a fee of $5,000, contact Suplimenta Pay Services for information on this.

We are again sorry for your loss.

Best Regards,

Suplimenta Human Management

Twenty thousand dollars, life on the assembly line, for twenty thousand dollars. When converted, his father’s pension came out to approximately one hundred and forty-two Global Trade Tokens. Enough for a month’s worth of Nutripacks, two packs of Synth Cigarettes, or three hours worth of Lunch Break vouchers.

Charlie laid the paper down on the bed just as slowly as he opened the envelope. He raised his head and turned towards the window. From Charlie’s room, one could see the docks in their entirety. The shipyard was often crowded, as the various barges lined up to be unloaded. The rust riddled blue cranes in constant motion, loading and unloading the multicolored containers from one place to another. Sometimes, to pass the time, Charlie would make bets with himself to see which container would go where or which color would appear the most. It was fun when he needed it, but it wasn’t the cranes that made the view. Past the cranes. Past the various cables, ships, and lights of the dock, one thing kept Charlie sane. The water. On a slow day, like today, Charlie could cup his hands around eyes, and get a direct view of the harbor. Sometimes all he needed was to watch the waves, carry debris out to sea.

Charlie let out a sigh of relief when he found out he had been placed into Dorm 4C. Out of all of the TradeCo workers' dorms, this one was the only one that had windows facing the bay, a privilege Charlie felt lucky to have. He often joked with Marcus about how if he had to work in the docks, he would always want to work at TradeCo, because it was the closest to the water.

Unlike Charlie, his younger brother Marcus had fared slightly better in life. Charlie was never one for the standardized curriculum of the public school. He wasn’t suited for the endless memorization and regurgitation required to excel. In his sophomore year his counselors told him he wouldn’t be able to qualify for many of the office jobs that provided benefits, so, in that same year, he signed a labor contract with TradeCo, and began working at the docks.

Marcus was different, more than capable of passing the state exams. He had the type of mind that allowed for greatness in academia, and eventually he was able to earn a bid for the state’s college raffle. The prize was a full free ride to any of the state’s colleges, with the catch being you would have to work for the government for ten years. Sure enough, he won. He actually won.

To say Charlie was jealous would be an understatement. He was jealous, but more so he was infuriated. He had become displeased with his own inability to succeed. He couldn’t be the son his father asked him to be. That being said, eventually, after a few years that jealousy grew into pride, as Charlie was happy that at least his brother had a chance.

Marcus decided to become a lawyer, focusing on corporate law. He was inspired by their father’s stories of the past. According to him, things were much different back then. People got two days off a week. A week! It seemed outrageous when Charlie first heard it. He would often ignore his father’s ramblings as rose tinted fantasies, but Marcus, Marcus listened intently. It was something that made the two close, the stories. It put a battery in Marcus’s back, motivated him to reclaim the rights of the past. He was gonna be different, he was gonna change things. Often screaming about socialism this, wealth that. That was ten years ago. Nothing has changed. Maybe it will, but Charlie couldn’t dwell on it. He had his own ends to meet.

Charlie reluctantly turned back to the bed, focusing on the book. The leather had faded, covered in splendid scuff marks and a creased spine. It had been his fathers, always on the kitchen table right before Charlie and Marcus went to bed. Charlie moved the elastic binding over and opened the book. As he began to thumb through the pages his left eyebrow perked up. It was a ledger.

All of his fathers expenses laid out on paper, spanning all the way back to 2011. Charlie flipped to a random page and began examining further. Week of March 24th, 2031, the year of the water shortage. That particular week Charlie would turn thirteen. He remembered that year his parents surprised him and Marcus with a weekend trip to Disney. It may have been the single greatest childhood memory he ever had. He specifically remembered his mother being furious with him for throwing up in the hotel room because he ate so much candy, but his father defended him, saying he should enjoy the candy while they were there. The ledger explained that his father had worked double shifts that week, and the week before that, and the week before that. Worked just enough to be able to take the trip.

Charlie once again turned to the sea. A soft smile finally broke through the weathered frown lines of his face. At least he had a view, and for now, that’s all he needed.