Happiness

The long subway ride with the cumbersome suitcase was bad, but Jason felt that carrying it from the station to his apartment was even worse.  Its size was excessive given its contents, but it certainly made for a dramatic impression when he swung it open to reveal so much foam padding, interrupted only by the small device held snuggly in place.  In his mind, Jason always pictured the product casting a sunset-hued glow on the face of observers, as if he had boxed up enlightenment then gifted it to an unexpected stranger.  In a lot of ways, that was exactly what he had done, or at least, was trying to do.

After heaving the suitcase up four flights of stairs, Jason paused at the door to his apartment.  He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly.  His hands wiped the sweat out of his hair and flattened his cowlick.  He breathed into his hand to make sure that his breath was fresh.

When Jason unlocked and opened the door, it only took about three seconds for Tilda to poke her head around the corner from the kitchen and smile at him as if he was the grand prize on a game show.  Jason beamed right back at her.  This was his favorite part of everyday.

Out of his line of sight, she was wiping her hands on a towel.  Once she finished, Tilda slowly crossed the short distance that made up a sizable percentage of their small apartment and wrapped her arms around Jason, pinning his right arm to his side before he could set down the suitcase.  With his other arm, he hugged her back, bringing his chin to rest on her shoulder and inhaling through his nose next to her hair.

Tilda released just enough to allow him to set down the suitcase and then pulled herself back against him, planting a delicate kiss on his lips, the same way that she greeted him everyday.  She stepped back and studied his expression in silence for a few seconds and Jason knew that she could sense that something was wrong, though his face betrayed nothing short of pure happiness to be reunited with her after another hard day of work.

“How did it go?”

Jason left the suitcase where he had released it, cluttering the small corner where they had set up a table and chairs and referred to as the dining room.  He sat down on the couch, leaned his head back and closed his eyes.  “You first.”

Tilda laughed as she came up behind him and started rubbing his shoulders, “No, I think today you should go first.”

Jason sighed as Tilda found a muscle knotted from hauling the the suitcase around all day.  “Well, in short, it didn’t go well.”

She leaned to kiss him lightly on the cheek and then returned to the lump in his shoulder, “What happened?”

“I was sitting in an oversized conference room with Brycewater and Dickerson, the two guys whose names are on the sign, the big shots, the decision makers.  Before we even finished shaking hands, Brycewater asks, ‘What’s in the box?’”

“Wow.  Short and to the point.”

“Right, so I go into my typical tease.  ‘Happiness,’ I tell him with a smile, but that seemed to annoy him so I place the suitcase on the table in front of them and open it.  They peer inside and Dickerson laughs, ‘Looks like you raided the bargain bin at Radio Shack.’”

“What a jerk.”

“Yeah, but I pretended to take it as a joke so I force a chuckle.  Brycewater sighs, so I jump right in:  ‘You hold these two cylinders in each hand and within a few seconds, the screen in the middle shows you happiness.’”

“You really said it just like that?”

“Yeah, these guys barely have the attention span to get through a handshake, so I figure to hell with the sales pitch.  ‘What the hell does that mean?’ Dickerson asks.  Brycewater is fuming:  ’Is this some kind of joke?’”

“Man, I hate these guys!” Tilda sympathized.

“It gets worse,” Jason cautioned.  “‘No joke, gentlemen.  Try for yourself,’ I say as I offer the two cylinders to Dickerson.  He shares a curious glance with Brycewater but tries to hide it, like he’s too cool to be interested, but then he shrugs and he takes the cylinders.  ‘Just wrap your hands around the sensors on either side,’ I explain.  Dickerson stares at the screen and his jaw loosens and his eyes get glassy with tears.  Brycewater tries to look over his shoulder, and Dickerson gets really self-conscious and tosses the device across the table. ‘How long is it supposed to take?  It’s not working!’”

“Oh no!” Tilda gasped.

“I’m just glad he didn’t break it!  So then Brycewater snatches it up the cylinders and positions his hands on the sensors.  He stares at the screen and this crimson just trickles down from the top of his ears until his whole face is beet purple and his mouth puckers like he just bit into a lime.  Dickerson is getting worried and asks, ‘Brycewater, are you okay?’  Brycewater sets down the device and slides it across the table to me.  He’s so quiet and restrained that I barely make out his words when he says, ‘Take that thing and get out of here.’”

“Geez.  What do you think he saw?” Tilda mused.  That was always her favorite thing to discuss when Jason talked about the device.  She always liked to speculate on what people saw, what would make that particular individual happy.

Jason had thought about it through his whole, impossibly long subway ride home and was ready with a theory.  “My guess is that Dickerson saw that he already had everything that he needed to be happy and he was embarrassed how much he took his life for granted.”

“Hmm…that’s a good one,” Tilda nodded before adding a theory of her own, “And Brycewater probably saw something that made him feel dishonest, either with himself or with someone that he cared about.  He probably got mad and defensive because he realized that his dishonesty was preventing him from being happy.”

Tilda stopped rubbing his shoulders, her hands draped over him now and he knew that her imagination was running wild with guesses and theories.

On the park bench up the street from his apartment, Jason smiled down at the screen and let go of the sensors.  He gently placed the cylinder handles back into the foam padding of the suitcase and stood up.

After heaving the suitcase up four flights of stairs, Jason paused at the door to his apartment.  He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly.  His hands wiped the sweat out of his hair and flattened his cowlick.  He breathed into his hand to make sure that his breath was fresh.

Three seconds after he unlocked and opened the door, Tilda poked her head around the corner from the kitchen and smiled at him as if he was the grand prize on a game show.  Jason beamed right back at her.  He knew exactly what happiness was.