Here’s 2 O’clock, sumi ink on 9×12 watercolor paper.
Today we made pillows. Mostly of my face.
We used these fabric printer sheets.
Kenneth looked around, confused. He didn’t remember leaving his apartment and coming to the train station, and yet, somehow, here he was. Am I waiting on a train? he asked himself. He didn’t answer. Nor did the beetle trundling busily across the bench next to him. With no answer forthcoming, Kenneth began to check his pockets for a ticket stub or some sort of itinerary.
Nothing besides the regular stuff in his wallet, the few paper bills, the too-many over-limit credit cards, and the small annual school photograph of his niece. No tokens in his pocket, and not even spare change. He wondered if he’d given his change to a bum begging on the street. Kenneth hoped so: that was exactly the sort of thing he would have done had he been in his right mind.
It was as if a wizard had waved a magic wand and transported him bodily to this bench at the station. Kenneth looked down at his feet and noticed that his left shoe was untied. He leaned forward and picked up the ends of the lace and tied them securely.
The idea came to him that his family had never told him what happened to his uncle Leroy; it was possible that Leroy had some medical reason for disappearing and never coming back. But it was all so vague, memories of a four-year-old locked away from Kenneth’s now-thirty-year-old brain. Maybe there was some family history of fugue state that Kenneth was unaware of.
He shrugged that off and checked his watch. His watch told him that he must have left his work at the law firm early, or that he’d lost more than a few hours. He couldn’t come up with a single reasonable reason for him to be sitting on a bench at the train station at 2:47PM on a Thursday afternoon.
No; there was a reason. The senior partners had all gone to the city for a conference. Kenneth snickered a bit at that: the senior partners never actually attended conferences. They were only excuses to whore and gamble, not even head across town to catch a Broadway show, as Kenneth would love to do, given the opportunity.
The point being, Kenneth could have skipped out on work today, no problem. He wouldn’t even have needed to make an excuse to anyone. His heavy heart began to lift. It didn’t really matter how he got here, did it? And he’d always wanted to travel the world. What was that old quote, something about every journey starting with the smallest step?
He could take a train to the airport and fly to Egypt, see the pyramids as he’d always longer to do. Fly to Peru and climb Machu Picchu. Fly to Australia and hike the Bibbulmun Track.
The day was growing brighter every minute. Kenneth stood up and stretched his arms above his head, arching his back before he headed to the ticket kiosk.
Not 900 words. Perhaps I should have gone with fifty words per cube. Well, it depends on the cube, obviously. Cubes here.