The Willow Tree & Other Fantastic Stories

By Paul James Gabol

The uncertain: that is a rather accurate description of the Willow Tree and the stories in the neighboring pages of this book. Life stories proceeding as normal as anybody’s, with a sudden change, sometimes simply not anticipated, in other instances obvious to a bystander but unforeseen by the affected individual. The cause-effect relation of said incidents is, often, purely accidental, but there are also human machinations involved. As for the outcome, a small dent on the porcelain figurine or an irreparable crack may be the highly improbable but absolutely possible one.

We take life for granted. Yes, I know that not all of us do. There are people that have carefully tailored their lives but, even there, have they entirely sealed against fate?
“Belief in fate is for the weak and unprepared,” some might argue. The fact is that we do not live alone, that we are immersed in a society and in a natural environment that we cannot control, that we cannot fully harness. Chance has something to say, at times it pronounces our final words.
“I leave nothing to chance,” someone will wrongly state. In fact, our plans for a perfect life could be in the collision course with another perfect life with and equivalent perfect plan, what then?
Circumstances, nature and other people are there to swivel our lives. For every happening there is a concourse of events taking place leading to that startling turn. This book is a proof, in every tale, of the multiple causes leading to a result that is impossible to dodge.

Each and every mind-gripping story leads you to the unexpected. Refrain to read it on the subway, for you will miss your station.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul James Gabol
• Release date: Jun 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005297473

Paul James Gabol

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The willow tree

& other fantastic

stories

Paul James Gabol

°°°

Copyright © 2022 Paul James Gabol

All rights reserved.

Smashwords edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return toSmashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

°°°

The willow tree & other fantastic stories

°°°

To you Kd

There are highly improbable situations in life, however quite possible …unnoticeably, we do -or not- little things that alter it forever, for good mostly, but sometimes…

°°°

Contents

At a crossroads

The will

Just another day

The 21:00 Hour’s society

Painkillers

Seasoned traveler

Birthday

The lay-out

Sketch artist

Autopilot

The willow tree

House call

I must be losing it

The sunset waves

The fox

The shadow

The locksmith knows

°°°

At a crossroads

I found him, I found him! Cindy said to her roommate, right after closing the door at the dorm.

Good evening to you too, the brunette retorted.

Aren’t you excited? she demanded, more likely than questioned.

About prince charming? she asked, sight affixed to her laptop, paying very little attention to her friend.

Wait a minute, you don’t believe me. You don’t even care, do you? Her friend tilted her head backwards and looked at the ceiling before answering.

You’re obsessed, you annoy me with that.

This time is for real, Cindy insisted.

Yeah, sure. She at last turned to look at her. That’s the same thing you said the time before and the time before that and…capisci? Since she had no answer, she shook her head in disagreement. Good heavens, college doesn’t last forever. You’ll get over this one too. I assume you only saw him, not a word, not a touch. While she wide-opened her eyes, feigning amazement.

You’re making fun of me.

But of course I am. You are in love with a face you saw, what…two seconds? One second?

You don’t get it.

No I don’t. I have term papers to prepare. Good night. The conversation was closed, at least for the day.

Cindy had taken the habitude to have lunch by herself, once every ten to fifteen days, outside campus, in the very busy financial district, among the skirts-slightly-above-the-knee and the suit-and-tie people, the black shoes, the earpieces and the out loud tele-conversations as-you-walk, the money glamour. She loved the determination and elegance of those people. She enjoyed the impersonal contact at the restaurants, cafeterias, stores and parks. Submerged in a river of people, she was actually alone. She could seat anywhere to watch them. She was as a pebble in that flow: on sight but unremarked. She could have very introspective days, could indeed discuss audibly with herself, without someone staring strangely at her.

She usually dove in that downtown world on those days when classes had been not as demanding and when next day papers need not be delivered, she required it to be on an afternoon off.

Then, one Wednesday it happened. Precisely at the corner of 5th and A, right there, where the pedestrians have the green light to themselves to crisscross the corner, she bumped into him. She recorded the exact time.

It took more than one Wednesday to synchronize the moment -he was not so regular-, but, given a fifteen to forty minutes interval, he showed at the intersection.

What was so special about him? Well, Cindy was a romantic with a huge life-predestination sense. His halo, his presence…only she could perceive what it was.

She did not know that he made that walk twice a day, every day, but she made sure that on Wednesdays they would exchange looks and smiles as a coincidental encounter.

Finally, today, he had reversed his walking, ending after the green light span, on the same corner he had left from.

Neil, he said, smiling, while pulling her softly to the building nearby, where the stagnant flow permitted them to stand without being swept away.

Cindy, she answered truly happy. It is like I’ve know you forever, a whole life!

An old acquaintance for sure, he remarked. How often have we ran into each other? Eight, ten times? She knew the exact number but… We maybe cross with the same people here all the time, yet we don’t notice, but you I have. I like your eyes.

Like your smile, she answered.

Listen, Cindy, I’m on a tight schedule right now, but can we meet later for a beer or…

I don’t drink, she prompted.

…or a cup of coffee? he finished his sentence, give me your number. He typed quickly as she spoke, then dialed and said: there! You have my number now. Call you later. After that, he walked away towards the corner, blending out in the crowd.

Two weeks later, they were walking side by side in silence, exchanging glances. The sidewalk was not exactly a calm place. He was leading, keeping a steady pace. He turned at a corner and, two stores up the street, he signaled for her to step inside the Skyline Pub.

A piano being heard, a low murmur and dimmed lights were the first impressions anyone received for a welcome. The place was half full at that time. There was the particular smell of beer mixed with old wood and moisture. Their steps on the wooden floor were inaudible. Instead of seating at the bar, they chose a small corner table. From that position, the whole place was displayed to them. Their eyes, without a turn of the head, could read anything or anyone, unperturbed, just being normal.

They both kept in silence as she studied the room. All the walls hung superb pictures featuring the skyline of major cities: New York, Chicago, Shanghai, Hong Kong, Toronto, Tokyo, Singapore…mixed with natural skylines of the Himalayas, the Alps, the Andes range and also the Sahara desert. At some places, suspended flat screens had the same subject in drone views from that bird’s-eye angle. It was not a place you would go with your buddies for your favorite’s team match.

When the waiter showed, she asked Neil to choose for her the same beer he was to have. The waiter left.

You got me puzzled, he said, I thought you didn’t drink or went to bars.

I don’t but you do. What a best way to go to a nice bar and taste a good beer than by going with someone who knows and you can trust, she enlightened him, nothing strange about it. Strange it would be to order orange juice.

You trust me? Neil asked, knowing the answer, but wanting to be reassured.

Your eyes say I should, shouldn’t I? she asked quizzically.

You shouldn’t trust people that easily.

I don’t, your case is your case.

What about my case?

That’s why we’re here, to find out about you.

So, that was the idea: he would be screened and dissected on his own turf, in a game he had played before, but that had now a new and unknown set of rules. He looked at those eyes that had capture his attention from Wednesday one -although he had not figured out it had been on Wednesdays- and thought that this girl had really something special. She was different, no doubt.

So, what you want to know? asked Neil now.

Have you ever been to the Matterhorn? I mean, close to it? she launched for a question.

Where?

The Matterhorn, that mountain in that picture, she pointed.

You know that place?

No, but this pretty eyes can read the footprint.

Yes, they are pretty. He studied them, flashing, alive. You’re very self-confident, you know?

I trust you, that’s all. It is like that. Teasing him with the eyes and the smile again. You, for instance, with that very short shaved beard look very handsome, and you know it. You’re going to look very good in your elder years, you know? She was absolutely like something he had never met before.

The rules of the game were speedily unwrapped after they received the couple of bottles of an unknown brand of craft beer, featuring a jungle on the label. She set a list of forbidden subjects: where you studied or work; what you majored in; where you were born or lived; what your last name was. Furthermore, Cindy explained that the essence of people laid on what you did in your leisure time, what you ate, what you read, what music you liked, what were your best and worst experiences as a child, what your fears…and one could talk about one’s dream as far as that did not reveal their actual occupations. Unusual she was.

You’re no vegan, are you?

Just a normal person, she corrected.

That, you are not, but I like you. He made a long pause, shook his head slowly and said: what’s amazing is that I know nothing about you, but I am learning a lot about you.

That’s the idea Neil. Good heavens, he was beginning to understand. You seem quite fit, do you exercise? Go to a gym?

I hate gyms. Don’t like the smell, don’t like the fraternity, nor the locker rooms, he answered straight forwardly. I jog, some mornings.

At Jefferson’s?

Is that question even allowed? he objected.

Not really, what I meant to ask is if you run like surrounded by trees or on quiet empty streets before dawn, for instance.

Surrounded by trees, he answered, I love the fresh smell.

The following dates where as smooth and as fulfilling as the first one. Sometimes a cafeteria hosted them, some others a park, a street or a corner fountain. A deep relationship was developing based on the hidden person that was tore open by the rules that had dismantled the barriers of occupation, education and family trees.

Gray, the boss wants you, a workmate said to Neil. He quickly finished arranging the papers on his desk and walked the two stories to the director’s office.

Hello Mr. Gray. He’s expecting you, walk in. The assistant signaled with his hand to the opened door. He nodded as a reply and walked right in.

Have a seat Neil. His boss motioned. He sat as his boss stayed standing by the window, looking at the noisy street that could not be heard. Neil waited for him to turn around. He did not, for a moment.

Neil, the Redwood office is a go. Then he swung to look at him. You will be heading it. Don’t look surprised, don’t look grateful. You’ve earned it. There is no one as appropriate for the job as you are, he said, now coming to seat on the chair next to him.

Thank you Sir, Neil answered. This was unexpected.

Now, the man said, I don’t want you to ‘think about it’. You may have your doubts, your little inconveniences, the little bumps in the road, he stated, raising his hands, forget about it. You are ready and this is a big chance. A chance people around this place have been waiting to get. People with more experience and seniority than you, but not more capable, not more trustworthy. Will you face opposition, jealousy? You will, he adverted, but it is my decision and I know I am not wrong. He paused to read Neil’s reaction. You will be reporting to me directly, sort of as you do now. So, pick a right hand from around the office, don’t worry about gender or age. I will support your decision, the rest of the people you will hire in place, starting tomorrow. The place has been leased already. The comptroller, Mr. West, will brief you about it. Clear your desk. Don’t let yourself down.

He had too many things to do. All of sudden his life had capsized. He had a date with Cindy the next day that he had -for the first time- to adjourn. He would call her later, to explain. Redwood was not exactly in the proximity.

Cindy was riding the subway, with its screeches and metal sliding on metal, reverberating from the wheels. Standing between cars, in the continuous worm type train with the articulated ‘accordion’ connections, she was typing on her mobile. The cars shook, she was projected to the opposite side of the narrow joint and her phone fell to the floor and into a crevice on the plastic flat plates of the sliding floor. She could see the phone, but was afraid to extend her hand, for her fingers might get caught by the moving sheets. She would have to wait for the next station.

At the station, she found -much to her dismay- that the plates completely sealed the access to the phone. She needed the train to be in a curve -a long and tight turn to the left- to have the time, hopefully the skill and courage, to put her hand in there to fish it out. She did not.

A few days later, the phone, already out of battery, shifted and fell to the tracks between stations…shattered, useless…forgotten.

Neil Gray, a month into his new appointment, was sitting alone in his office, looking at sundown in the blinding afternoon. He was thinking about Cindy. He needed to take a day off to go looking for her, but had no clue as to where to start. He was feeling terrible, upset and guilty, bewildered for her reaction. Yes, he had not kept the date, but he had sent a message and later had tried to call her. She refused to answer his calls and, now, she had even cancelled her number.

°°°

The will

It was only a matter of time. There are people that may get run over by a bus, die in a car accident, be crushed by a human stampede at an old stadium tunnel or take the wrong pill -the one that triggers the anaphylactic shock-, but for Carter Ralleigh it was just a matter of time. Had he an incurable disease? Heavens no! he would have said. Hell no! his relatives would have corrected. He had a stable health with its little itches, aches and pains to allow for a less monotonous life. Only time would tell.

Uncle Carter, born in the early 30’s, had reached the age of eighty seven after a life of nothingness. Being a clerk for a ‘staggering’ twelve years at a major mining company, he had met an early retirement. His job had been simple enough: working from nine to five; filing papers and writing summaries and sales statements; sending Cordially yours signed letters; dressed in grey suits and sprinkled in lavender, far away from the mine fumes, dust and hard work. In fact, the only knowledge he gathered about the mines were the black and white gigantic pictures fastened at the headquarters walls where he shuffled papers day after day.

He had witnessed the change from the mechanical typewriter to the electric, as well as the inception of the mechanical calculator, but by the time the electronic machines moved in, he was already out. He had never used any modern devices except for a flat 40" TV that he kept in his room and that he only watched at night, because, during the day, his real hobby was radio listening.

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