Symphony

By Cal Jones

That galaxy was a stone, skipping across the black ocean. Joined by hundreds, it creates the beautiful cacophony.

I awoke, my phone alarm ringing harshly on the bedside table. Rolling out of bed, I put on the same outfit I’d put on for years. White shirt, dark slacks, black tie. I went to the tiny kitchenette in my apartment and threw together my go-to fast breakfast: bacon on an English muffin. Easy as that, I was ready to take on the day. The drive to work was the opposite. An hour-and-a-half slog through traffic led me to the parking lot of the Rierdan Building.

“Happy Tuesday, Felix,” I said as I walked by the security guard’s desk.

“Morning,” he responded, not looking up from polishing his badge.

 The elevator up was the same as always. Same quiet music playing, same weird dotted carpet on the floor. Getting off the elevator, I was unfortunate enough to run into Sloane as she stepped out of her office with an armful of papers. She looked me up and down. 

“Late again, are we?”

I sighed. “I’m sorry Sloane, but traffic—”

“Just get to work. We’re busy today.”

I sat down in my cubicle, which already had a stack of papers on the side, and got to work. Russell, who worked in the cubicle next to mine, peeked over the wall.

“You’ve got to do something about that traffic, man.”

I looked at him. “Wow, you’re so right. Let me get out of my car and kindly ask everyone to move so I can get to work on time. I’m sure they’ll jump to it.”

He sat back heavily in his chair. “I guess you’re right. But still, you’ve been late like 4 times in the past two weeks.”

“My apartment’s too far away. I’d need to start getting up at like five if I wanted to make sure I got here in time every day.” I started my paperwork, which was as mind-numbing as always.

The loom on which everything is woven is so very fragile. All it takes is one missed thread, one single mistake, and the predicted flow of time, of space, of destiny, of fate, all folds into meaningless cloth. I am that one mistake.

I awoke so tired the next morning that everything was a blur. If I wasn’t so tired, I might have noticed how there was barely any traffic on my way to work.

“Happy Wednesday, Felix,” I said as I walked by his desk.

“Morning,” He responded, not looking up from his computer. I was fortunate enough to get past Sloane’s office, as even though I was on time she’d probably give me an earful due to my recent less-than-perfect attendance record, as Russell had pointed out yesterday. I said hi to Russell as I sat down at my desk, and began working on my paperwork. Well, I say working, but given my exhausted state, all I really did was sit and stare. Time seemed…different as I sat there. Looking up at the clock, I saw it was 5 at night, a fact that shocked me so bad I snapped to alertness, scrambling to actually get any work done. But as I looked, all of my work had been done. I sat back in my chair, relieved. As I drove home, however, something kept nagging me. How had all the work gotten done? I had no memories of me doing it. I lay awake for a long, long time.

The orchestra of millions of possibilities plays loud. The conductor sits above it all. The orchestra bends to his will. He chooses what plays, and what does not. He rules with an iron grip.

I realized that there was no traffic the next day. Actually, no. To say that there was no traffic would be wrong. Traffic had no hold over me. The lane I was in always moved faster than the others, and wherever I went, cars seemed to part for me, giving me extra room. It took me 18 minutes to get to work that day.

“Happy Thursday, Felix,” I said as I walked by his desk. 

“Morning,” he responded, not looking up from his book.

Once I reached the 30th floor, I again was able to avoid Sloane on the way to my desk. Ignoring Russel, I sat down, and took the first sheet of paperwork off the top of the pile next to me. I concentrated on it, and sat unblinking for a good five minutes. 

“I knew it was too good to be true,” I said, tossing the paper down. I rubbed my eyes, which had gone dry. When I opened them, the piece of paper was filled out. I blinked again, staring at it in utter disbelief. I took up the next sheet of paper, and instead of concentrating, I just…did. My job was done in an instant. I sat back, smiling.

The garden grows, and the gardener strolls through it. Carefully pruning, cutting, coaxing. The gardener controls the garden, as much as the garden would try to fight it.

At home that night, I experimented and saw that my abilities extended beyond filling out paperwork. I had been able to create a perfectly cooked steak out of nothing, expand the size of my apartment, and, as a sacrilegious test, successfully turn water into wine.

I walked into work the next morning, elated by my good fortune. The man behind the security desk said something, but I continued on to the elevator. Getting off, I saw Sloane. She did not look happy.

“We need to talk,” she said.

“What about?”

“Your attendance.”
I smiled at her. “Sloane, I can personally guarantee that my attendance issues have been permanently fixed. If I am ever late again, I give you my full permission to fire me.”
She looked taken aback, and I continued to my desk. Once again, all of my work was done in the blink of an eye. Then a thought struck me. I took out my phone and opened the banking app. All it took was a thought, and the balance immediately changed. It now read $10,000,000. I sat back in shock. A man looked over the wall from the cubicle next to mine. 

“Everything alright?” he asked.

I didn’t respond.

I began to hear distant music. A discordant, chaotic, beautiful harmony. It tugged at every fiber of my being.

The next morning, I awoke. With a thought, my clothes were on me. I arrived at work. No car, no bus. One minute I wasn’t there, the next I was. I did my work in a microsecond. I left. The music continued. 

I no longer felt the need to eat, to sleep, to drink. The music filled my ears, echoing through my head. One day, I went to it. All it took was one step, and I was in the infinite blackness. Turning around, everything spread out before me. The smallest molecule, the biggest star. Galaxies, universes, bacteria. The melody. The conductor, the gardener, the weaver. Time had no meaning in this place. I have no idea for how long I stood on watch. But at some point, a thought occurred to me. I took all of my power, the limitless, the omnipotent, and condensed it. I condensed it into a tiny pinprick, barely bigger than an atom, and chose a spot. My presence went to the spot, where I saw a man getting dressed. He put on a white shirt, dark slacks, and a tie. I let the spot drop, right onto him, and I retreated. I don’t know what drove me to that spot. There was nothing special about that universe, that world.

That galaxy was a stone, skipping across the black ocean.

Cal Jones is a writer, tennis player, and food lover who currently lives in Seattle and attends the Bush School. When he’s not figuring out creative ways to procrastinate all his work, he’s stressing out about school and college apps. His dogs and cat manage to keep him away from total emotional breakdown, and he thinks they should probably be licensed therapy animals at this point.