Life, Libby, and the Pursuit of Happiness

by Hope Lyda

“Yes?” I looked over my shoulder at the man still bent over the radiator. I noticed he had a fork in his hand instead of any logical tool.

  “You got a couple packages. Over there on the counter. I signed for them. I didn’t peek at what’s inside them, I swear.” He made his scary statement without looking up or turning around.

  “Well, that’s appreciated, Newton.” I walked over to the small stack of packages and FedEx envelopes by an old, mahogany desk he used as a lobby counter. I sifted through various-sized items trying to recall what I’d ordered from Amazon last. My eyes fell on foreign stamps that lined the upper-right corner of a small flat box wrapped in brown paper. It was from Aunt Maddie. I clutched the package to my chest, excited about what it might contain. With her, I never knew, and that was the fun of having her in my life. One time a plastic wind-up bird arrived wrapped in a tin box. She had seen the toy in the local market and thought the expression on its face looked like me. I took it as a compliment…until I started to think of Philip as a bird.

  I kept sifting through the pile but didn’t see any other pieces addressed to me. “Did you say packages? I only see the one.”

  Newton turned around to see what I was holding up. He seemed baffled by my question for a minute. Then his droopy lids rose slightly with recall. “Over there.” He motioned toward the other side of the cramped lobby. On the floor, next to a chaise lounge chair with faded blue fabric was a computer box. I walked over to it expecting to see Aunt Maddie’s return address somewhere. There was only a regular shipping order folded in the plastic pouch glued to the top. Sure enough, the label was addressed to me.

  “Can I keep it in the office overnight? I’ll probably have to cab it in to work tomorrow and have our shipping department send it back to Apple.”

  “Surprised you’d get a Mac in Microsoft city.”

  “It isn’t mine. I didn’t order it.”

  “Well, either way, it cannot stay here or in the office. If somethin’ happened to it, I’d never hear the end of it. If it has your name on it, it goes up to your place.”

  “One night in the office. Nothing will happen. Please?”

  Newton ignored me by continuing a different conversation. “Sure, it’s a bit awkward. But if you slide it, it ain’t so bad.” He was obviously not planning to assist me.

  I leaned over and pushed the side of the box toward the elevator door, which shut as soon as I came near. While I waited for the archaic mechanism to return from the fourth floor, I watched Newton jab the fork between the radiator and the wall.

  “Wouldn’t a screwdriver work better?”

  He looked at me as though I were an idiot. “How’s a screwdriver going to help me get my chocolate Donut Gem out from behind this thing?”

  The elevator returned with a reluctant beep and the doors opened, stalling every couple of inches. I raised my hands to concede to Newton’s reasoning and shoved my mystery box into the elevator.

  As curious as I was about the computer box, I first wanted to see whatever it was Aunt Maddie had sent. I sat in my window seat and leaned against two African print pillows I had discovered at an estate sale in the University district. In those days, Oliver used to drag Ariel and me out every Saturday to help him in his quest for vintage silverware. The pillows had been my consolation prize after a particularly long Saturday involving Oliver’s type A shopping strategy and very few snacks or bathroom breaks.

  I opened the gift, taking time to appreciate that my aunt had touched this very paper. A homemade box was filled with a folded-up handkerchief, Maddie’s version of practical tissue paper and not the actual present—although with her initials monogrammed in pale lavender thread it was a treasure to me. In the center of the white linen lay a beautiful silver necklace cross with an intricate pattern of vines woven around it on both sides. I draped the long chain around two fingers and lifted it up to the light. The etched silver sparkled in the late day sun.

  The handkerchief smelled of fresh air and saltwater. I pressed my nose to it several times to take in the scent of life by the sea. A folded piece of stationery remained in the thin cradle of cardboard. I quickly opened and read the note.

  Dearest Libby,

  Think of me thinking of you as you open this small gift filled with big love for your birthday. I cherish our relationship and think of you fondly and often during my days at the orphanage. I’m watching the sunset now and wondering what life is like for you these days. Your mom told me of Cass and Nate’s trial, and my prayers are with them (especially while Cass is hosting your folks, ha!). I know you will be an encouragement to your sister. You doubt yourself, but truly you are the strong one in your family. Don’t forget that I know this about you.

  A young woman who volunteers with me at the community center sells these beautiful necklaces during Easter season. I saved this special one for the right time, and your birthday seems to be it. I love God’s perfect timing.

  I hope you’re enjoying Brother Lawrence and his wisdom. I know you hesitate, waiting to be at the right place in life, career, and mind-set to embrace faith, but I also sense that time is now. You don’t have to have all the answers to believe completely in God’s direction for you. If that were the case, I’d still be in the same old place I was years ago, and not nearly as fulfilled. Read it several times and reflect on it and allow the subsequent lessons to lead you.

  Like the vines that embrace this silver cross, God’s love intertwines with your life in beautiful ways. Watch for it, Libby. It is a gift. And so are you.

  Love,

  Maddie

  P.S. I’m delighted to have communication with your bookstore friend. Is he as charming as he sounds in his emails? He has a very big heart and quite an appreciation for you, my dear.

  The phone rang and startled me. My nerves were so on edge since Cecilia involved me in her huge news. As I said, hello, I realized this could be Cecilia. My stomach knotted up, and I wished I’d let the machine do my screening.

  “I’m used to being stood up by the male population of Seattle, but not by my girlfriends. Did you forget about our movie date?”

  “Pan! No. I mean, yes. I forgot only because I got this great package from my aunt and I lost track of time.” I looked at the clock. We had planned to start a monthly movie night with Ariel. I had even picked the movie for our first outing. “Is Ariel there?”

  “She called and said she had to work.”

  “That’s good she called, right? You two have been kind of estranged lately.”

  “She left me a message during the day so she wouldn’t have to talk to me.”

  “I’ll be there in no time. Get my ticket and the grub. I’ll pay you back.”

  “Darn right you will. And you’ll pay for my ticket if this movie is anything like I think it will be.”

  “Deal.”

  I hung up and rushed to my closet. I put on a baseball cap, baggy jeans, and a black turtleneck. I egotistically thought that maybe by total dressing down, I actually would make people curious about the girl who obviously did not want to be recognized. Good thing I kept such thoughts to myself. I’d be committed by my friends otherwise.

  Pan greeted me with popcorn, a box of Goobers, and a preshow commentary. “You know, this actress has more romances in one movie than I’ve had in five years. And I’m supposed to pay nine dollars to support this blatant inequity?”

  She was a bit down on romance lately. Her last significant boyfriend worked at a drive-in and ended up dating the woman who wore a red-sequined leotard while roller-skating figure eights around customers’ cars at the top of every hour.

  “Yes,” I said strongly. “And do you know why?”

  “Please explain.”

  “We will support this film because that actress happens to be over thirty. And from now on, I’m going to support women over thirty any and every way I can. I think you should join me in this important cause.” The word “cause” happens to be one of Pan’s trigger words, and I knew she liked the idea of
a woman over thirty getting work in film these days. She understood the politics that played on both sides of the camera.

  “Is she still single in real life?”

  “Very. In the break room at work there was a magazine cover story all about her tragic parting with that guy from the cops show on Thursdays.” To build the empathy I added, “And she was devastated.”

  Pan rolled her eyes, but I could tell her heart wasn’t mocking me.

  “These seats okay?” I pointed to the center section about three-quarters of the way up the stadium seating theater.

  “Yes, this is good.”

  “I read a review that says they filmed some scenes without her wearing any makeup. When she is going through her rehab in the movie, she insisted they make it authentic. I understand she even shows some cellulite in a shower scene.”

  “This is a romantic comedy? Rehab and cellulite? If I stick with filming documentaries, I might have material for Hollywood after all.”

  We both liked to be on the end seat, so once the movie started, Pan slipped down to the row in front of me. It worked great. We passed the popcorn and treats back and forth with ease. It turned out to be an entertaining movie. I actually was rooting for the inevitable coupling. Sometimes, that is not the case. Bitter and yet so young…that’s me. Though the “so” might have to go within the next few years.

  I missed the cellulite scene because I was preoccupied about my birthday party. Pan hadn’t mentioned attending yet, and I was starting to question whether she had made Ariel’s updated guest list. Would I ever get a straight answer out of Ariel or Pan?

  “Wait until I tell you about a project I’m trying for. It’s finally something I want to do, and it could be my ticket to producing my own work,” Pan whispered during a scene where our makeupless and still flawless heroine steals a car to chase after the love of her life.

  When the final credits rolled to the sound of a new sure-to-be-a-hit song, I turned to Pan and inquired about the project. She faced me with a broad smile.

  “Well, it’s for the Experience Music Project at Seattle Center. They’re sponsoring the production of a music documentary by a local director. You have to be invited to compete, and I received approval to submit.”

  “Pan, that is great. I haven’t seen you this excited in so long.”

  “Exactly. This is the first project that has really struck a chord with me. No pun intended.” She gripped my arm and gave a slight scream of joy.

  “What kind of project will you do?”

  Her expression became more subdued, and she reached for the box of Goobers in my lap. She held it up and let the last few fall into her mouth. The crowd dissipated while she slowly chewed her chocolate-covered raisins. I waited patiently, fingering the new cross at my neck.

  “It’s a lot of work. I have to submit a documentary proposal involving some aspect of the local music scene while also tying it to a more universal theme. It’s tricky. They’ll get a lot of ‘Seattle then and now’ submissions.”

  “Oh, and ‘Seattle today and tomorrow,’” I said, laughing. Even though our industries were different, Pan and I still ran across a lot of the same celebrated clichés that made us scratch our heads and wonder why we ever tried to be in a creative field.

  “Exactly. I really want to wow them with a strong theme and a strong list of interviews and shot possibilities that would floor them. I don’t quite have the concept yet.” She licked her fingers to rid them of popcorn salt while she thought about her possibilities. With a laugh she said, “The other day when I walked over to get an application for this competition, I passed by the International Fountain. And you know how they play music while the water sprays from that center globe?”

  “It’s cheesy, but I like it.”

  “Me too. Well, they were playing one of Torrid’s last songs. No wait, one of their last good songs, before they did that messed up CD.”

  “Point?” I encouraged the ending to her tale.

  “All I could think about was how great it would be to find out what really happened to Jude Shea. I could do an entire documentary related to the mysteries of music or the stories behind the stories. Something like that.”

  “Jude Shea?”

  “You do know he’s been missing for more than a year, right? Poof. Gone. And they were at the top of the charts for three years.”

  I acted as casual as I could, given my predicament. “Sure. But don’t you think the whole Jude disappearance thing would fall in the cliché category?”

  Pan looked hurt by my comment. I’d only meant to deter her. She pursed her lips for a moment. “Maybe. But the thing is, Jude isn’t a cliché unless he’s treated as such. The guy truly contributed a lot to the local, national, and, I would say, the international music scene. His disappearance might have been selfish or about publicity, but his contribution cannot be ignored.”

  “When is it due?” I had to keep her away from the Jude line of thought.

  “Shall we?” Pan motioned for us to head for the exit. “In a couple of weeks I have to submit a proposal and a film short. Then the committee will announce the winner at a big EMP event coming up. Life is crazier than ever, but I have let competitions and grant applications come and go before. I don’t want to let that happen with this one. It would mean so much to my career. Did I mention that the winner gets an unheard of budget to complete their project and their documentary will be aired on national television and be made a regular feature at the EMP? Constant exposure.”

  “National? No, you left that part out.” As we walked behind a slow-moving couple with arms linked, I wondered if I should tell her what I knew about Jude. It was incredible information, and it could be her ticket to this competition and beyond. On the other hand, there wasn’t much Pan could do even if she did know about him. We couldn’t allow him to be interviewed yet. And Jude was Cecilia’s ticket out of trouble…so I’d be sacrificing her master plan, whatever that might turn out to be.

  Pan finished her thoughts about the application process as we stepped out into the night air. “That would show them I could back this thing with integrity.”

  Integrity. There was a word I was longing to live out. And yet here I was remaining silent about a topic of importance to my dear friend so that I could help an executive on the run while working behind the back of a boss who seemed to exhibit true integrity.

  Before we parted company, I decided to feel out the situation for the weekend’s party. “Pan, what are you doing this weekend? Do you want to go get coffee?”

  “Oh, I would, but I have to walk the dogs. I have six now. Can you believe it? But that guy…remember the one who fell in love with Hershey? He has decided to ignore his wife and get him. I’m so glad. And I think it’s a perfect match. She’ll warm up to him. I mean, who couldn’t, with those warm, brown, sweet eyes.” She looked so wistful and romantic that I thought maybe the dogs were becoming her relationship killer.

  “Is that it? Walk the dogs?”

  “Pretty much. I do need to work on my film log for last week. Did I tell you I’m doing a documentary on teaching English as a second language in public schools?”

  Okay. I had to face it. Pan had not been invited.

  We reached the top of Pine and headed for the bus station. Pan’s bus came first but parked way down the line. She took off for it and then stopped midway, “Hey, see you Saturday night!”

  Would I ever learn how not to worry?

  I headed home feeling much better about my friend-given birthday party. Who doesn’t love the idea of a night all about them? If only thoughts of Jude Shea weren’t crowding out my visions of an ideal birthday soiree. Why did Cecilia confide in me instead of Rachel? And why was I so willing to be faithful to someone who cared so little about my career and so much about her own? I didn’t even know what my former boss had up her sleeve, but my gut told me it wasn’t going to be simple.

  I touched the cross at my neck once again as I rode the bus home. Aunt Maddie was r
ight. I’d been waiting to become something or someone different before I stepped toward faith. Carrying a heart burdened with confusion and concern, I realized how desperately I needed faith here and now.

  Twenty-One

  When I stepped out of the wind and into my apartment lobby, Newton barely glanced up from his gossip magazine. He had either retrieved his old Donut Gem or purchased a new package because he had chocolate embedded in the corners of his mouth. When he smiled at something he read on the magazine cover, he looked like a deranged clown.

  Inspired by Levi, I decided to take the stairs. My life had been filled with plenty of other humiliations; I didn’t want an old man to be more limber and fleet footed than I.

  I turned on the television as soon as I walked into my apartment. This was a habit I had broken about a year ago when I realized I had the television on from the time I got home until I went to bed. Today I gave myself grace and scanned the channels eagerly. The laugh track to the latest not-funny sitcom offered a slight distraction from the thoughts rattling around in my head.

  After changing into my pajamas, I made some hot cocoa and topped it off in a mug with lots of whipped cream from a can. Pity party, table for one. Maybe I was a bit more like Pan than I cared to admit—the romantic comedy seemed to turn my view of my single life toward the dramatic. The apartment seemed lonely. My pajamas were old and frayed, and it didn’t matter because nobody would ever see them unless the cubicle clique reading group did slumber parties too. From my same old spot on the couch I could see at least a dozen things that needed the attention of a willing man with a hammer, a flair for spackle, or at least a sturdy tool belt. The image of Newton holding up a fork over the radiator made me grimace.

  If I had a heroic landlord, he would have carried this computer to my apartment for me and then down to a cab tomorrow morning. Maybe the shipping company would come and pick it up for me. It was their mistake. Somebody named Libby Howard or Liberace Hawthorne was desperately in need of their computer. I sipped on my cocoa and casually walked over to the box to examine the photos on the side. It was a nice-looking, expensive computer with an endless list of features. I’d bet Lydia Hayward didn’t get demoted; she probably advanced in her chosen profession and received a bonus. She needed a computer to match how fabulous and successful she was in her life.