Le Attaché

It’s 6am at a poignant little coffee shop that makes legit coffee shipped from Ethiopia. The clanking and the steam from the fancy vintage La Marzocco espresso machine conceals details of small talks and chatters. The room filled with masked people walking in and out picking up their orders. I know I’m practically invisible, grazing my peek and taking small sips of my cappuccino, while the person sits down one table from me. My eyes were locked on the right hand that grips tightly around the bindings of a classic black notebook, about 5x8inches, fixating on the thumb that circles back and forth anxiously and flipping the corner of the notebook like a deck of cards. Pausing and jotting something feverishly, then shutting the notebook again. Is it important information written in those pages, thoughts, words, or chain of events that could never be said aloud? My eyes darted trying not to get caught staring. It would be rude.

There’s something awfully different. I wonder why a heavy cloud hung over this person today. Normally, their presence seems to fill a room with vivacious energy. The kind of magnetism, you can’t withdraw from. It was just yesterday, I pondered on reasons why this person stood out. The unkempt hair? That intricately hand woven thick wool beanie that was half hazardously thrown on leaving you a feeling that you just want to fix it straight? The disheveled appearance is questionable, maybe trying to blend in somehow with this messy world. Despite an outer appearance, this person always seemed to have eyes of determination with some kind of very organized plan. Again, the notebook was opened quickly with a red silk string that marked the page right where the last thought was jotted down. Something else was written down. This time, the person let out a deep sigh after covering three pages worth of mysterious entries.

I was tasked to procure this notebook from the person at 8:58pm sharp. Right on the dot. Not a minute later or else the carefully curated timeline for a master plan of something bigger than me would be in ruins. The person is relentless, flicking the elastic band away from the bounded pages and dove the pen straight into submitting another entry.

Oh God, this is stressful and already spinning my thoughts in hopes that my role in all this will not screw everything up. We are writing a paper on the theory of Scroedinger’s cat for the last two decades and the professor I am working with is so close to figuring out how to prove it. Each time, it is more promising than the next. Actually, I really do have a good feeling that the plan will work this time. It’s brilliant progress actually, the paradox of quantum superposition will finally be solved! In other words, the combination of specific series of events will open a gateway to allow a phenomenon of beings to be alive and dead at the same time. My wrist laid unnaturally on the slightly sticky table. Even when I flung the granules to one side of the sugar packet, before tearing the edge, the weight of the watch felt different on my wrist. It’s a rare occasion, but crucial to wear a watch today. This one is calibrated to be precise so I will be on time.

“Excuse me, what time is it?” I heard a voice. Frazzled. The person is talking to me. To me? Oh no, I was supposed to stay incognito!

“It’s approximately 7:45 AM.”, my voice crackled and read off the time as if the watch is in some type of malfunctioning state. Even when I know damn well the time is as accurate and precise as the existence of gravity while living here on earth.

Is this a test? The person clearly has access to the rickety clock over my shoulder. I turned my head to make the comparison. 9:50 the ticking hand says. It did feel like much time had passed which made me question the trusty watch for a second there. I know that there’s a hospital that has clocks with different times in every room. Some patients at this hospital actually had their nurses cover the clock with pillow cases to muzzle out the insanity.

“Hm. Ok.”, the person chuckled. Probably just relieved that the gauge of time was also thrown off by looking at that old clock. Back to the notebook, the pages were flipped back and forth a few times, comparing something. The person squints in contempt looking into the notebook and then blankly looking at me. I can sense suspicion or am I just projecting? None-the-less, I quickly covered my face with my mask, cleared the table by bussing my own cup to the bin, and briskly walked out avoiding eye contact at all cost.

Okay, focus and keep calm. Somehow my nerves seem to ease up when the person finally decides to take a break from scribbling away and switching gears to take a few sips from a thick porcelain coffee mug that looked like it desperately wanted to be saved from sitting too close to a sad limp plant. Whatever that was written in the notebook clearly took some weight off. The wrinkle between the person’s brows dissipated and the shoulders, which was up to the ears dropped to a relaxed state.

Impatiently, I looked at the face of my watch. I gasped. 14 hours to go! Since I haven’t worn a watch for so long, the constriction around my wrist feels like a handcuff tying me down .

Plenty of time. It’s nothing, I reassure myself. I think I can still get the notebook at the designated time. The next location that was given to track the person is at 1pm at a remote park. I overcompensated and arrived too early. The squirrels didn’t seem to mind and were curious about my affairs. They hung out with me for a while. The park is really their turf anyway. I’m just a moving blobulous taking up their space. I studied their staccato movements which were so fast that my laggy eyes could only capture every other frame. I stretched my arms upwards and trialed my cliche Jack Lalanne yoga moves while trying to ignore grumbles of my stomach. My senses are a little too heightened to pause for a real lunch. Then, I awkwardly stood there waiting for something to happen. Although the smell of caramel popcorn from a distance is starting to taunt me.

Ignoring some warnings pittering from the sky, it started raining hard and I ran to the closest awning for shelter. Unfortunately, the temporary safe haven is at the perimeter of the park, right by the public bathroom. There were some gross spitball wads of toilet paper by the doorway which looked like eyes judging me for blocking their view. The witty squirrels bailed and ran straight for trees. A little disappointed, I was thinking that I had endured long enough to imagine that the squirrels were going to be my ride or die allies until I could find the reason why I am here.

While scanning the area, I detected that there’s an odd sculpture in the park which was strategically placed in the middle of the sundial had been knocked over. The squirrels would have known what happened. The rain isn’t letting up. Can’t tell time from shadows on a glum day like this. The sun’s recluse demeanor is obvious. The watch displayed a little past 1pm and I finally spotted the person in active wear skillfully dodge around muddy puddles along the trail. My eyes widened with concern while noticing that the notebook was not in the person’s possession. Who would run with paper products in the rain anyway? That wouldn’t be wise. I’m dreading the useless effort of using the side of my hand to squeegee the rest of myself dry, but curiosity summoned me right back into the rain. I walked towards the sculpture, examined the location and triumphantly identified an Aubergine colored attaché tucked in the hollows of the sculpture. Had the sculpture stayed upright, I would have never looked.

The sighting of the person minimized out of focus and I am in no shape to chase after with my bummed knee. My meniscus was torn during one of my seizure episodes last month. Frankly, my mind feels a lot like swiss cheese. A lot of people reminded me of what I had missed while I was out for a few days. Besides my knee injury, someone who had found me had even told the doctor that I had been choking on my own vomit. Shoving thoughts of my medical history aside, I bravely reached down and opened the squeeze lock mechanism to release the attache’. Ohhh, this is a familiar ‘click’; A deja vu moment. Some memories came flooding back. Pausing to recollect, I suddenly see a flashback of myself being in the same scene. Only last time in the midst of my fragmented memories, the suitcase held $20,000.

My heart races while gently lifting the lid of the suitcase. Suddenly, I felt a wave of nausea and dizziness…

9:00pm

I woke up from harsh jolts and recognizing the person from the coffee shop is hovering over me performing CPR. The sky was dark and I remember seeing stars .

“Thank god you're alive! You were out cold. I thought you were dead. The ambulance is on it’s way, Try to stay awake!”

Shivering with unbearable pain to my chest and ribs, I was in and out of consciousness. The paramedics came soon after. I am having such a hard time piecing everything together. The medical team told me that a few days ago, my extremely low blood sugar triggered another seizure. The last thing I remember were the ratty squirrels. Oh, my head is pounding and my eyes are blurry. I noticed a get well soon card with a deflated helium balloon. I felt like somebody had been watching me or was it the bobbing balloon at the corner of my eye? I also noticed a black notebook. A note along with the notebook says, “For you. Glad you are okay. ” I opened the notebook and it was filled with breathtaking sketches of various strangers. On the last page was a portrait of me with a small illegible handwriting on the lower corner like an artist signature. Robert Gram? ReproGram? I can’t be for sure. The person was drawing me that morning? I looked at the broken watch with a shattered face. The time stopped. So confused, but one thing for sure, I had failed my mission. The professor explained that another timeline played out. We were not able to find the solution to our research this time, but there is always next time. I was grateful to be alive while having a feeling that everything is somehow connected and not having all the answers right now is okay. Well, a new lease in life sounds perfectly fine by me.

Despite the patchy memories, I am feeling alot better. I know it’s only been a few days which felt like a whole lifetime, but I was so relieved when Dr. Ecureuil told me that I could go home today and sent me home with a bottle of seizure and diabetes medication. As I walked out of the hospital, an urgent voice called out my name, “Hey, you forgot your purple suitcase! We tried opening it to find your identification, but you had your wallet in your pocket so we never did open it.” I examined the odd looking suitcase and it doesn’t look familiar at all.

“Umm sorry”, I shrugged. “This does not belong to me.”

The End