Miscellaneous

Fated

It was early in the afternoon and in New York City and the city was alive. It bustled and rumbled as busy people walked on the packed sidewalks, taxis’ honked their horns and street venders shouted out their businesses. Cold, dry air was mixed with smells of people’s expensive perfumes and colognes, the smoke clouds from people on the sidewalks smoking their Cuban cigars and cigarettes, the smell of food cooking from street vender stands and exhaust fumes spewing out of millions of small taxis’ packed into the roads like canned sardines.

Reg pushed through the swarm of people as he grumbled, “I hate this city.” He kept his voice low though, not wanting a painful jab by a stranger passing by who had happened to have over heard his comment. He continued to walk through the sea of people trying to get to his destination. He’d unfortunately been summoned by a few cooperate leaders from his Uncle’s former work. He could only guess that they wanted to apologize for the unfortunate event of his Uncle’s passing and offer him a meal or something but then he’d be on his own again. He knew also that this cooperate people weren’t the good friends his Uncle had known and that they were just specks of sand in the big ocean of cooperations and they just wanted to do the official business of telling him not to even bother looking for sympathetic money or a job there. He didn’t even want to work for old farts like them. Yes they made great money but he didn’t want to be stuck living day to day in stuffy old boardrooms and having to look professional all the time. He wanted to have a life and along with his life, to live it too.

He finally made it to the big steel building protruding up from the concert ground and he stood there for a moment, his neck craned back as he stared upwards. He couldn’t even imagine working in a place like this. He instantly hated it and he instantly feared it too. He felt if he walked into the building and got all the way up to where he was supposed to be, something outrages would happen were the building would unfortunately collapse like the tragic event of 9/11. A shiver went up his spine as he tried to calm his hidden fear of tall objects. He was actually afraid of anything that looks like it would come down, and he of course would have the fear of heights to go along with his unnamed fear.

He swallowed down his terror in attempt to keep his hidden fear still hidden. He took a step forward and stepped through the giant glass revolving doors into the steel, concrete building.

He signed once more in anger. He’d been sitting in the empty conference room for over an hour now and no one had come to see him. His stomach roared furiously as it gnawed at the insides of his belly. He frowned as he crossed his arms over his waist, his stomach in pain for not being feed yet. He skipped breakfast so that he could make it on time to the stupid meeting with people that had summoned him. He also skipped breakfast because he hadn’t gotten paid yet. He only had enough money now for his rent at the end of the month. The only food he had was the food he’d bought already and that was just the basics. He couldn’t wait until he got paid. The first thing he was going to do is grab a burger by his favorite burger joint.

 But for now he was still waiting in the conference room. They weren’t even giving him any attention. He glowered at the glossed down, cherry wood, conference table. He was so close to leaving. He had a job to go to and work at. He couldn’t miss another payment that month and being here was already taking away hours of precious daylight.

Suddenly the only door in the room opened and three old men in suits entered.  He watched them enter, none of them glancing at him. They all walked past him, the last of the men closing the conference room door. The men took their seats across from him and they all had folders and fancy business binders that they set onto the table. All of them opened their folders and shuffled papers separating single papers from others. He frowned and cleared his throat trying to get some eye contact from these old geezers sitting across from him. None of them looked up, but one did adjust his circular glasses. Finally the men settled down and one by one turned to look up at Reg.

 “You are Mr. Richard Steward?”

Reg frowned a little more at his full name being spoken. He didn’t like his full first name and had adapted the nickname Reg. Everybody called him that and being called by his first name was a surprise and a downer.

“Sir?” The old man waited for a reply, his face showing his impatientance.

“Yes that’s me. Why am I here?” He asked impatient. He didn’t want to be here he wanted to leave. When he didn’t get an answer fast enough he stood up not bothering to push his chair back in. “You people made me wait for long enough. If you can’t even tell me now why I’m here then there’s no point for me to be here.” He immediately headed for the door.

“Mr. Steward…your elder…has recently deceased.”

Reg turned around seeing one of the men standing up, his face stern and rigid. He looked squarely at Reg. He didn’t care though he wanted to leave. He was confused though why his dead uncle was being brought up in this. Before Reg could say anything, the stern looking old man continued,

“He was a rich man and left behind a decent amount to be given to people he loved. He named these people in his will. Your name is mentioned in his will…” Reg’s eyes widen at that. All he could think about was the thought about being filthy rich because someone decided it would be a good idea to give him money. He wouldn’t have to work anymore!

“When do I get the money?” He asked trying to hide his excitement. It was hard though. His Uncle had been a millionaire. He wanted that money. Who wouldn’t want that money?

The old man smiled like he had a wonderful secret he was about to share.

“Mr. Steward had left us specific guidelines and directions on how and when you can get the money, sir” Reg’s face fell as he heard this. Why couldn’t he just get the money? He has worked enough in his life already. He wanted to be a rich, free man able to do anything he pleased. The old man continued,

“These guidelines are found here…” He passed a paper across the glossy table toward Reg. Reg snatched it up,  looking at the list and his mouth fell open at the amount of things he had to follow. When he read the first thing he exclaimed angrily, “I have to marry in the next year?! What is this? He can’t make me do this. His dead! You guys can’t expect me to follow these stupid rules?” He waited for a response and he finally got one. It came from the man sitting next to the one who had given him the guidelines.

“You’re Uncle wanted to make sure that you wouldn’t waste the money if you ever laid your hands on it. He wanted to be certain you’d have a steady head on your shoulders, and a good heart. He also didn’t want you to be alone…let you die alone like he had.”

Reg frowned, his rage still in him but bottled now. His Uncle had been nice to him when he was little…when his parents failed to notice that he existed. He’d never forget his kindness toward him along with the company he’d gained when he was young.

He began to think about this. If he just did what all the things on this piece of paper said, lose one year of his life…he’d gain a lifetime of wealth. He didn’t think the payment was so bad but he really wasn’t interested in doing anything that was on the list. Eventually he signed and sat down in the chair he had sat in before. He looked at each old man before speaking, “Did he set a time limit for all the other things too?” He knew he had to get married in a year but what about the other things in the list?

The men nodded as one answered him, “You have a year as well to do all the things on this list. But whenever you do something on the list you must prove to us. For example you’re volunteering at a shelter, you must tell us so we can come and see you working and helping. We don’t accept notes that say you did something and we don’t accept brides. This is a legal deal of your Uncle’s will Mr. Steward. Don’t screw it up.”

Reg was quiet surprised at the language the old man ended in. Did he seem like such a failure? Psh, he was getting his money then he’ll show the old guy. And who the hell would give him any money? He nodded just wanting to leave again as he stood up. “I understand gentlemen. Thank you.” And with that he really did leave. His mind racing coming up with schemes on how to fool these guys into thinking he’d married as well as having done all those other things on the list. He could do it the right way but he’s Reg Steward, he doesn’t acknowledge the right way. Besides he wanted his Uncle’s money!