Crossword Puzzles

Darin is good at solving crossword puzzles, but today, he's struggling.

Darin shifted on his seat on the bus to downtown Seattle and tried to focus on the crossword puzzle in front of him. Fifteen rows and as many columns looked back at him, a surprisingly few of them black. Through thick rimmed glasses, he peered at the clues blurring in the dim morning light, twisting the pen in his hands. The puzzle defied him this Monday morning; Darin had managed to get just two words in and he was having serious doubts about their accuracy.

Darin had written "Pasta" for 6 across, figuring on the clue that said "Linguini etc", followed by "Prate" for 6 down, which he knew was a common crossword term which meant "to talk idly". He tried to focus on a number of clues adjacent to these, but to no avail. "Like some notebook paper" was 15 across, a 5 letter word and 17 across was a formidable 15 letter challenge : "Dairy farmer's pitch (Part I)".

Darin sighed, his hands crumpling the paper somewhat. His eyes looked vacantly through the dirty window, and while it was a beautiful morning with the sun bathing the tall birch trees in a dazzling hue of gold, the middle aged man's face did not register any elation at this sight. The bus moved sluggishly along Beacon Hill, stopping every so often to let in another commuter. The clue "Your parent's sisters" on 7 down was an easy one - if Darin had seen, no doubt it would have brightened his morning, building back some lost confidence. But he remained trapped in his thoughts and the puzzle remained  unsolved.

Ever since he was ten, Darin had been taken up with word puzzles. The mental challenge of figuring out many combinations in succession, rapidly eliminating them to come up with the one right word thrilled him, still to this day. It was a welcome diversion from the monotony of his day job, that demanded little of the intellect he had studied and worked hard to amass. Gone were the halycon days when he designed the fuselages for a number of Boeing planes, and it seemed like another lifetime when he worked with a crew of other young and talented scientists at NASA.

Oh, how life rolled on like a merry river, and he, always at the helm, steering his ship, so sure that however turbulent the currents may be, wherever they may take him, the direction would be to prosperity and better times. But then how life had taken a turn. Darin tried to pinpoint in his mind an exact time when his star stopped shining. Like many people, Darin did not link the success and failure of his career to issues larger than himself, but chose to find fault with himself and his all too human limitations. He scratched his chin absently and was shocked to find a slight growth of stubble - he who took great pride in grooming, who never failed to shave in the morning! Suddenly finding himself exposed, inadequate and common in this public setting, Darin looked about him self consciously. 

"Hello Mr. Green", catching his eye, his companion chimed in with a smile. She was a young girl, dressed smartly in a black pencil skirt and white shirt. The fresh vigor of youth shone from her even voice, sparkling blue eyes and disarming manner.

"Oh, hello." Part of him resented this intrusion, wanting to get back to his gloomy thoughts and the equally hopeless puzzle, but the wholesome nature of the girl would have none of that. She took it as a given that Darin would be only too happy to speak to her. After all, Mary was nineteen, a straight A's student from Roosevelt High where she had been swim team captain, and was now happily interning for Facebook. Life to her was a thing of joy and beauty;  young men doted on her, everyone she knew spoke so highly of her, and thus her youthful mind turned in a compassionate path. She saw in herself the power to dispel doom and gloom from even the most despondent.

"You wouldn't remember me, that's ok. I swam with your daughter at Roosevelt. I have seen you when you come in for drop offs and pick ups, but I guess we never really met."

"Oh, ok." He turned sideways to see Mary smiling at him good-naturedly. So pretty and self assured. So trusting of the big wide world that she had barely begun to see. Dimpled cheeks, auburn hair cut short and parted in the middle. She had stuck out a hand, forcing Darin into a longer conversation than he had hoped to have.

It wasn't that Darin was an unsociable man; on a normal day, he would have been cheered up by this youthful persona. But today, preoccupied with foreboding thoughts, he was want to be a bit irascible. Yet the persistence of the young woman had its intended effect. As he looked at her disarming smile, he felt his burden lift slightly. He even imagined confiding his troubles, she would likely be sympathetic. But then, that was out of the question. Mary knew her daughter, and it was not wise to say much.

"Linda told me you design sail boats. That should be fun!"

It was not possible to answer truthfully. When humans carry on a conversation, we tend to speak what the other would prefer to hear. It is that skill that keeps the conversation flowing. So, most such interactions are not truthful, but can anyone doubt how much the human heart gains from such, even not strictly honest, pleasantries? Such are the contradictions of life, indeed.

"Yes, we do some solid work."

"I always thought design, architecture would be interesting. I studied user interface design myself, but I always wanted to build things. Software to me is never quite real!"

"Ah, it can seem that way. Well, nowadays, we use a lot of software to help with our design", there was a twinkle in his eye as he watched how animated she was. Truth be told, Darin hated software. Some of the best designers he worked with were let go as they refused to use the latest computer program the executives decided upon. He had tried, but could not get the hang of the poorly designed program, and eventually met with the same fate.  As he walked out last Friday, he had consoled himself with his likely prejudiced view of software leading to terrible design. In his mind, there was no replacement for genuine artistic talent.

"I'll do my internship at Facebook, but I want to study architecture for my undergrad. Last summer, me and my two best friends took a tour of Europe. It opened my eyes, why the buildings had so much character. Inside the Louvre, I could totally lose myself for hours, just admiring the artistic integrity of the whole thing. It is such a remarkable difference from modern architecture. Now we play with straight shapes, that's the easy stuff! The renaissance was something else. Why, all those arches, vaults and domes. Such attention to detail." 

"Attention to detail means time. Seems we no longer have much of that", he remarked dryly.

"So true! Everyone's rushing but where are we going?", her laughter was light, like the tinkling of a wind chime against a slight breeze.

Indeed. Where was he rushing to anyway, dressed in his work clothes? Why did he need to wake up early and take the bus downtown? Mary's words made him think about his current predicament and he again lost himself in his thoughts.

After losing his job, he came home and acted as he would any other evening. Everything was normal. He would not worry Shirley - his wife; this would be too much for the poor woman who had stood by him, through all his trials and tribulations, for thirty five years. It was his habit to read her a page from a well liked novel, before going to sleep. He chose to read her parts from "Sister Carrie", which chronicled the downfall of a man as he fell out of favor with the world. In this way, he imagined sharing his misery with his wife, who he loved very much. As Shirley murmured and snuggled closer to him, in his mind, she was commiserating with him.

Now he wondered how the world made them so alone in their troubles. It seemed that a certain depth had been hollowed out of relationships by the workings of the system and all one could hope for was an attempt at a gentle fiction. This fiction helped, indeed, and relationships, even when not fully honest, provided that life support we all needed, especially during trying times. But could we go no further? It seemed such a pity. What limited us, Darin pondered.

He glanced at Mary who was typing away on her iPhone. Gosh, how fast she typed, Darin could not help the thought. Fully engrossed in her chat, Mary did not notice Darin looking at her. He suddenly wondered if this little angel could have any worries or doubts of her own. From there, it didn't take him long to think of Linda, his own daughter, and life's struggle unfolding on her tender journey.

Linda was a year senior to Mary, and was enrolled at Syracuse in New York City. The money she made working the 4 to 12 shift at a bar barely covered her rent, clothing and food. She depended on Darin for half her tuition, the rest being paid by a scholarship program. Some nights, she would call Shirley and weep quietly; on account of an uncouth customer, an irate boss, or an irate boss who invariably took the side of the uncouth customer.

Yet, whenever they met, Linda was the picture of youthful exuberance; life's travails seemed to never pin her down, not for long anyhow. Did Mary confide in her parents? Darin wondered. Maybe she had a boyfriend to run to with her troubles. Darin saw, from the corner of his eye, that Mary had stopped typing at the same pace as before. She had lost some of her ebullience, and after trifling with the phone for a tad bit more, resolutely put it in her purse, took a deep breath and came out of her world beaming and happy once more.

"Mr. Green, My stop is coming up. It was so nice chatting with you!"

"Oh, the pleasure was all mine."

"Please say Hi to Linda for me, I lost touch somehow."

"She's studying in New York, she should visit us for X'Mas. I will let her know."

With her parting, she took away the bright spot that had opened up momentarily for Darin. He suddenly felt very much alone. At the Union Street stop, Darin got off and headed for the Starbucks down 2nd. The library opened at ten, which gave him two hours to while away, reading the paper and sipping a latte. The headlines that spoke of a slowing global economy and a roaring stock market did nothing to brighten his mood,  he wondered whether he would be able to find another job, at his age.

From his seat towards the back of the coffee shop, he could see the barista making the drinks. As he had nothing much to focus on, his eyes followed her practiced moves on the coffee machine. She worked off a stack of orders on post-its stuck on the side of the counter, seamlessly moving between grinding the coffee to whipping the milk to mixing the drink. Between orders, she would mop any spills off the counter top, clean the steam nozzle. Smoothies were made in a blender to the side, she would make about two cups of espresso while the blender crushed the fruits. Once the drinks were made, she would write down the name of the customer on the cup and call it out.

Darin marveled at how quickly she worked, without really hurrying. The world belonged to the young, he figured. This woman likely held hopes and dreams she was yet to achieve, being willing and able to work towards them. As one grew old, regardless of  the profession, there settled in the soul a sense of subtle but certain resignation. It was the slow loss of hope, the weighing down of the years, a sense of how large the difficulties of social life loomed; towering over the individual who faded into insignificance in this vast and intricate machine.

Before heading out the door, he stopped by the kitchen. Strangely enough, he was sensing a connection with the world the way he had never felt before.

"Say, you make a darn good latte. Thank you!"

"Oh, you're welcome!"

"I've come here most mornings, never did stop to say Hi, until now."

"Oh, I know you. You make sail boats, right?"

"How did you know that?"

"Oh, you'd be surprised how much I know."

"Well, I am surprised at how you make ten espressos a minute, that's for sure."

"Yes, sir. You coming tomorrow? Will make you a special."

"I look forward to it."

After the old man left, the barista wondered what made him talk to her today. She had seen him come in, sip his latte, read his paper and walk out without much ceremony. Always alone, he seemed buried in his private thoughts, which at times seemed to wrestle with the crossword puzzles he brought with him. She felt that perhaps he must be going through a life change, she looked forward to seeing him on the morrow, maybe she could find out. A tune settled on her lips and she worked the rest of her shift with a spring in her step.

Back at her office, Mary looked up Linda on Facebook. In a short while, they were chatting.

"Say, it was the strangest thing. I met your Dad on the bus today."

"Oh, are you interning?"

"Yeah, but guess what?"

"What?"

"Heard from another friend that my BF - Greg - is cheating on me. Remember him?"

"Yeah, he's in New York, actually."

"Exactly! What are the odds?"

"You want me to check out the story?"

"You know anything?"

"I thought he was dating, I've seen him with a girl a couple of times."

"Tall, blonde?"

"Yeah"

"So it must be true. Son of a -"

"It's his loss, Mary. So many more fish in the sea."

"We have to talk more."

"Yes. Chat after work?"

"Sure."

"Xiao"

By this time, Darin was perched in a swivel chair at the library, clicking through multiple job listings half-heartedly. Experience told him to look for a job just like his last. Employers were little interested in his glory days, and were quick to probe into his most recent work. At first, he resented how they summarily dismissed his best years. Once he made peace with this, Darin was decidedly vague when talking about the challenges of being a rocket scientist. Now when the interviewers heard him, they decided that Darin probably did very poorly at each step in his career, how else could they explain his lack of enthusiasm? Of course all the interviewers were in their twenties and thirties. It would take them a little while longer to see that life had a way of making people doubt the very things to which they had devoted so much time and effort. And by that time, they would be facing their own desperate interviews. 

When we change the story we tell others that have power over our economic condition, a strage thing happens. We start believing in the altered version, and every little snag, misfortune and misstep on our path lead us to reinforce that belief. Before we know it, we have started thinking and acting well below our potential. This very thing happened to Darin somewhere along his illustrouous career. And when he started work on something completely new, the realization that he was struggling to keep up with the younger, more nimble workers made him wonder whether his past successes had been flukes, one way or another. Each day, he saw him stagnate, struggle to master concepts, while people around him buzzed about merrily. Darin, if he had been rational, could have seen that what spurred on these people was nothing but what he once had in abundance:  The vitality of youth, images of a good life around the bend, romantic escapades that re-energized a soul that otherwise would remain numb with the daily routine.  But all Darin saw was his inadequcy. 

A luxury yatch builder was looking for a designer with CAD surface modeling chops. He noted down the address on a little notepad, lifting his eyes now and then to surreptitiously observe the library that was slowly stirring to life around him. A woman in a long white dress walked in lesurely, sitting across from him. Several students congregated around a computer trying to finish up a school project. A bleary eyed young man with a large unkempt backback walked in with a DVD. The homeless, after the battering from the cold streets, found some needed comfort inside the library. A mom, with a baby on a sling, walked towards the children's section as another toddler skipped besides her.  

The gentle buzz on his cellphone surprised him with its caller, his daughter who rarely called him. Darin quickly gathered his notepad and jacket, speaking softly as he headed to the door. Linda's voice dripped with good cheer and suddenly Darin found how much he missed her.

"Dad, guess what?" - still the same Linda who'd enjoy this game. Darin's heart longed to have her home.

"Um, you met a boy?" - he would play along, just like the old days.

"Guess again."

"You didn't meet a girl, did you?" - feigned alarm in his voice. The giggle across the wire was so full of mischief.

"You would approve if I did, right? Both you being progressives?"

"Oh, surely. How could we not? But tell me, the suspense is killing me."

"I was selected to be the captain of the basketball team! And I wanted to tell you befoe mom, cos you were my first coach!" And as an afterthought, "Act surprised when I tell the both of you, though."

Linda had remembered. Suddenly Darin felt his throat stiffen as long suppressed emotions rushed at him. Words got stuck inside him as he mumbled a socially accepted response.

"Well, you have to come home." Then there was an awkward pause which Darin was compelled to break: "I guess I'd love to play a game for old times sake."

"Sure, no worries. I won't totally slam you."

"Just enough."

"Yeah, just enough. Almost X'Mas. I'll be there before you know it. Hey, guess what?"

"I thought we played that already?"

"LOL, I'm going to take you and mom for dinner. I made my first pay check, Yay!"

"Let me make reservations at John Howies."

"DAD!"

After he hung up, Darin felt rather pleased with himself. He must have done something right, that the impish Linda was fast growing to be a bright and wholesome young woman. He decided to get himself a suit and a tie. He will land this job, he must land it, so he could inform his daughter about the intricacies of building something robust yet beautiful that would sail out far into the Sound, bringing joy to its occupants cocooned inside its luxurious comfort.

Author's Note

I changed the ending to round out Darin's day. The previous ending left it hanging. Appreciate if you all can tell me how it flows. I'm a new writer so any feedback is much appreciated.