‘Design for Life’
999 words
He had a sense that something needed doing but couldn’t think what that something might be. He had the day off from work and woke up full of purpose, armed with a fully formed and actionable plan, but by the time he'd had his breakfast of porridge and toast, showered, shaved and dressed, the plan had evaporated, leaving behind only a vague sense of something missing.
He stood with an empty cup in his hand staring at the coffee machine, hoping whatever it was that had inspired him the night before to close his laptop, switch off the TV, and go to bed a full hour and a half earlier than usual, would reveal itself to him. But there was nothing.
He shut his eyes and tried to clear his mind of the thoughts that were perhaps crowding out his plan. He concentrated on his breathing, allowing the sound of the traffic outside to wash over him and cleanse him of thought, but as his mind slowed down and the thoughts cleared, all that was left behind was a nebulous shadow, floating in the periphery of his consciousness, shifting and imperceptible.
He placed the cup in the machine and watched the coffee pour out; perhaps caffeine was what he needed to flush the plan from its hiding place. But as he finished his second cup, it became clear he would need more than just coffee; he would need to make a list.
He opened the note-making app on his phone and checked that he hadn't written the plan down the night before, when it had first revealed itself to him. There was a list, but everything was checked off: find new gym, do tax, update passwords, print photos. He congratulated himself on his efficiency, and with a few deft clicks deleted the list and created a new one, hoping this act alone would rattle the plan loose from his mind, send it flowing through his arms, into his thumbs and onto the screen of his phone. But his thumbs simply hovered in the air above the tiny animated keyboard, shaking almost imperceptibly.
He was wasting time. Soon the day would get ahead of him and precious minutes and hours would be lost. He had to make a move, set things in motion. But how?
What he needed was a plan; a new one. Then he looked at the phone in his hands. It was an old phone, at least a year old; hadn't a newer model just come out? Maybe it was time to trade in this old phone for a new one. Maybe he would drive to the shopping mall, walk into his network provider store, and demand a new phone! Yes, he thought, that could be the plan.
At the store he gave the young man with the notebook his mobile number and was told they would call him as soon as a representative was available. He could expect a wait of around twenty minutes. As he walked out he felt a deep sense of dissatisfaction, not because he had to wait, but because he knew he had a much better plan in mind only the night before; a plan of real consequence, if only he could remember it what it was.
He turned left, then froze. He stepped backwards, turned right, then froze again. Where should he go to kill the next twenty minutes? He didn't want another coffee; two a day was his limit, and anymore than that and he'd risk sending his heart into an anxiety inducing arrhythmia. He tried to think if there was anything he needed. His groceries had been delivered the day before and he no longer saw the point in browsing DVD's or books (he preferred to do that online). There was the camera store on the next level, or the giant electronics warehouse with the sea of laptops and the world's largest LCD. Or maybe the boutique sound system store with the deluxe headsets displayed on specially lit glass plinths; he couldn't decide. He was paralysed by choice.
Moments later, as he gripped the rail of a glass barrier and stared at the people gliding up and down on the escalators below, he was seized by the sudden realisation that his forgotten plan had been more than just a simple errand; it had been a manifesto, a blueprint, a design for life. It was an idea of such beauty and significance that it would have changed everything. It would have wiped clean the past and made him whole again. And now it was gone, submerged far below the surface, irretrievably lost in the midnight-zone of his sub-conscious. He began to shake and felt the blood rush to his cheeks as his vision clouded over with tears.
He walked quickly to the men’s room, a hand clasped over his mouth to muffle the rising sobs. Once there, he locked himself in a stall, sat on the toilet lid, and howled into his hands. After a few moments the grief subsided; he was overcome with exhaustion. He got down on the floor, curled his body around the cold, white base of the toilet, and fell asleep.
A security guard woke him up and told him to leave. It was ten o'clock at night and the shopping centre was closing. It took him another half an hour to find his car, having forgotten where he parked it. He usually avoided this by taking a photo of the location numbers on the wall, but not this time.
After paying the fifty-dollar parking fee at the gate, he drove home, and only after sitting down at the table by the window did he realise he'd forgotten to collect his new phone. Ah well, he thought, the old one would do for now.
Tomorrow is another day, he thought, as he switched off the bedside lamp. Then he closed his eyes and soon he fell asleep.