1842

(Write for at least 600 words about a change in plans, a clock, and a number)

Walter had his hands in his pockets while he stood in his studio apartment. At home, he could stand in one spot and get lost in his thoughts for hours. His thoughts were not exactly profound or anything. They were mostly repetitive and obsessive and overly analytical. 

Today he was thinking about whether he should go outside of his safe apartment to pick up takeout from a Chinese restaurant he frequented. After more time than it would take a normal person to make that decision, he finally mustered the nerve to go to the place around the corner and get the same thing he always got: orange chicken, among other things. The other things were always the same. He liked to call orange chicken something different though. He called it chicken and goo because that’s really what it was. 

Upon this painstakingly made decision, Walter thrust his hands into his pockets again and was surprised to feel a piece of paper in his pocket that he did not remember putting there. Was it a receipt? No, he discards them upon receipt of the receipt. Was it a federal reserve note of some particular denomination? No, the paper was too thin and not large enough to be currency. Was it a gum wrapper?

“Just see what it is, asshole,” he said to himself out loud. He could have been at this for hours.

Walter carefully produced a small scrap of paper that looked like it had been torn from the corner of a yellow legal pad sheet and a number was printed on it in ballpoint pen:

1842

The piece of paper seemed vaguely familiar to him. Before he could recall why this was, his mind took a wild tangent. This had to have been a coded message! The numbers were written on there as if its author had been trying to destroy the paper, or even the pen. The stokes of each numeral were multiple and deeply indented into the minimal thickness of the paper, tearing through it in some spots. It looked as if a crazy person had written this number down. But who? And why was it left in his pocket with its unclear intentions as a message of some kind. This was an unwanted change in plans. He had to sort this out before eating dinner. He had no choice.

He glanced at the grandfather clock he had since a boy. The mahogany casing stood about as tall as Walter and through the beveled glass was a large brushed metal pendulum that kept the time. Only six more strokes of the pendulum until it was six thirty. That meant it was time to go someplace where his dinner would be prepared for him. Six thirty was when he would leave, assuming he could gather enough confidence and convince himself it would be okay to go outside, that no one was going to try and talk to him or rob him or try to convert his religion. 

He looked at the slip of paper with the frantically written numbers on it:

1842

What did it mean? 

He thought back to the last time he was in close contact with other human beings. He could remember these encounters vividly and he would shudder at the memories of them. He didn’t like people. It wasn’t that he was a misanthrope, it was simply that people frightened him. They made him uneasy. All he wanted to do was mind his own business. He didn’t want to make small talk. He didn’t want to shake hands with people that knew from work or school or whatever. He just wanted to be left alone. The only place he could have been when he was wearing these particular pants near other people was at the Chinese restaurant he was planning on going to tonight for some chicken and goo.

Walter realized he had been standing in front of the grandfather clock for five minutes without moving except to look up at the clock and back down at the scrap of paper.

The time was six thirty-five. 6:35. 1835. He looked dumbly back at the scrap of paper and it finally made sense: 1842. Six forty-two. He had exactly seven minutes to see what this all meant. Six minutes. He now had six minutes to-

JUST LEAVE ALREADY. 

He sometimes thought simple thoughts violently while keeping his expression neutral. It was a bizarre feeling that could sometimes snowball into a fit of rage, only detectible inside of his mind. From the outside, a person would never be able to tell the intensity of the thoughts that burned in his mind.

***

His shoes slapped against the sidewalk as he ran awkwardly to the Chinese takeout place. He had three minutes left before it was going to be the time on the scrap of paper and he had to understand the connection between that time and whatever it signified. 

He burst into the restaurant, bells jingled and heads turned. He looked at everyone wildly and glanced at the clock. 6:42, on the dot. He looked at the patrons like he was expecting something to happen, but nothing ever did. The customers recognized him, then ignored him.

After catching his breath, he realized how hungry he was and decided to place his order, “I’d like an order of crab rangoons, a quart of chicken lo mein, and some orange chicken.” 

The person behind the counter could have guessed the order since he got the same exact thing every time, “That will be $18.42,” she said.

He realized he didn’t have exact change, just a 20 dollar b-- 1842!

 It always bothered him to not have the exact amount of money that people asked for and he wanted to make a note of this amount so he would not forget next time. 

DON’T FORGET NEXT TIME, he screamed in his head. He would bring the exact amount next time. He promised himself that. In fact, he should make a note of that.