duplicated. Fate had not brought her back to him, nor had it brought to him anyone like her. He placed his forehead on the bar top. This was the third time he had returned to this café hoping to find her again. The only memorable thing to happen here since that night was hearing that loud bang outside and watching that rugged coffee server leap over the guardrail that fenced in the outdoor tables, clearly looking for a quick exit, or perhaps trying to catch an errant guest who had tried skimping on his bill, or to escape whatever had made the loud noise. Johnny was too upset about Claire that day to really watch where the guy was headed. And he was upset now. How many times and how many ways could fate tease him, just to pull the rug out yet again? The problem with love was that, eventually, everything would remain set free.
YRD301: Strategies for Avian Studies
The Present
It was a new day, and with it, a new chance for fate to intervene on Johnny’s behalf. He began today the same way he had begun every day for the last two months: praying to God that Claire would cross his path again. Even though he was tempted to give up, he couldn’t quite give in to doubt. Besides, today was different. Today was the day he was finally headed back to London, and London was where Claire had said she lived.
But there was more to think about than just Claire.
At the whopping age of twenty-three, Johnny had finally graduated from Oxford University with third-class honours, after dealing with several false starts, all preceded by his inability to hold onto anything that mattered to him, and headed for seemingly greater dreams in London, which, conveniently, was the place of his birth. Even though he could’ve finished school two years earlier, he decided to change his major from experimental psychology to philosophy and modern language, then from philosophy and modern language to classical archaeology and ancient history, and then from classical archaeology and ancient history to economics and management, before finally making the decision to study experimental psychology. His six years of university had absolutely nothing to attribute to stupidity, however, for he did in fact make it to a reputable college a few months shy of his eighteenth birthday. But the constant shift in direction had left him feeling disoriented, and the disorientation kept him from reaching a far more reputable second-class honours classification, which would’ve made pursuing a master’s degree easier. Therefore, when he finally graduated and returned to London, he felt dizzy. He also couldn’t remember where he was going, if he had even established a plan for getting there. He just hoped that Claire would be there waiting for him.
His plan was to hire a life coach so that he could make decisions that moved him along life’s journey a bit more efficiently. He had heard mention of a couple of good ones within a block of each other near the Strand and thought it might be worth paying them a visit, see which one offered more affordable rates, and maybe determine which of the two would understand his life better. It wasn’t until he got down into the Tube that he realized he was still forcing himself to make a decision. Fortunately, he had an easier time picking between two options than he had picking between a thousand, which was about how many job opportunities he had available to him in London, so he continued moving toward them.
The source of his indecision had planted a seed into his subconscious many years ago when someone close to him had once said to him, “If you love something, set it free. If it doesn’t come back, it was never meant to be,” a variation of the classic saying, made more difficult by Claire’s proper use of it just nine weeks earlier. Claire’s disappearance from his life wasn’t the first time he had been stung by the truth behind the saying, though. Deep down he suspected it wouldn’t be the last. Any decision he made could ultimately lead him to that unfortunate reality once again. He hoped a life coach would help him minimize the risk of choosing badly. He just needed to pick the more competent expert, and that was a coin toss.
Johnny actually hated riding in the Tube. Having to share transportation with strangers had often left him anxious, and the train gave him so many unfamiliar faces to look at that he was overwhelmed. It was especially crowded in the middle of the day. But if anything increased his opportunity to find Claire again, it was riding the Underground, so he relented in his desire to stay aboveground to hail a taxicab and waited for the train instead.
The station was ugly, as he had expected. Trash littered the floor and unsavory characters milled about in shadow. Most of the people who waited near the rails were rocking on the balls of their feet, clearly in a hurry to get to where they were going. They probably didn’t want to be down here, either.
When the train arrived, Johnny fought for his position in the cabin. He noticed a man with a guitar strapped to his shoulders climbing out of a seat near the back. Musicians sometimes had good luck, but it was rare, so Johnny thought he’d skip over that guy’s seat in case he was one of the unlucky ones. Of course, he didn’t expect the guy to bump him with his guitar’s neck on his way by. Probably was bad at music if his coordination had any indication to his talent.
The guy was smiling brightly. Whatever was making him so bloody happy, it had clearly numbed his ability to sense his surroundings. He must not have even noticed the physical force that had shifted his guitar half a foot along his back, for he gave nothing in the way of an apology for bumping Johnny. He just kept walking. Maybe that pretty blond girl attached to his hand had something to do with all that blind joy.
Johnny shrugged it off. He wasn’t going to let the guy’s bumping him ruin his day. Let the guy have his happiness. At least he had a woman who appeared to love him, or tolerate him, or something. A businessman had vacated the seat ahead of him. Businessmen were generally luckier in life, even luckier than musicians with girlfriends. Johnny was happy enough just to get that seat.
“Oi,” the businessman said, when Johnny sat down. “I wasn’t leaving yet. Just gettin’ up to stretch. Go find somewhere else to sit.”
Johnny backed away. Once again he was reminded of why he hated public transportation. Then he glanced at the remaining vacancies inside the cabin. They were filling in quickly. If he didn’t take a seat in the next ten seconds, he would be left standing. He decided to take the guitarist’s seat. At least that guy wasn’t coming back.
After somehow ending up on the Northern Line of the Underground near the Stockwell Station, Johnny hunched over in his seat to inhale some paltry air. It was while his eyes scanned the floor that he affixed his gaze on an object he had never expected to find.
A dirty rubber ducky sat next to his shoes. It was yellow with an orange beak and had a chain around its neck. Attached to the chain was a black flash drive. Johnny scanned the boxcar to see if anyone was looking. When he saw no one looking back, he picked up the toy and examined the flash drive. He recognized the duck immediately.
Curious to what he might find, and perhaps a little afraid at the same time, he opened his suitcase and removed the laptop he carried inside. Once it loaded, he detached the flash drive from the duck’s chain and inserted it into the USB port. On the duck drive were two files, a Notepad file labeled README.TXT and a Word document with the title “A Duck’s Grand Adventure.” Johnny clicked on the text file and read its contents first:
To anyone who finds this, please take this rubber ducky wherever you go. At any point you should experience something great, I beg of you, write it down and attach it to the duck. Then leave it for the next body to find. When the seventh individual writes his experience, keep the duck and publish the letters for all to see.
Johnny didn’t know what to make of the note. As the train bounced around inside the tunnels, he had slight trouble focusing on the words. But he was determined to see what secrets the duck kept. His heart actually raced in anticipation. He had a feeling there was more to this duck than what his imagination could spark alone. God didn’t dump moments like this into his lap without having some greater purpose in mind. He felt his body tingle, and not just from the vibrations of the train.
He minimized the Notepad file and
clicked on the Word document. A series of short narratives opened up before him. On a quick scan he counted six of them. Then he scrolled back to the top to read the first. The first one told the story of a man named Will.
Will
To whomever finds this rubber ducky, I say to you congratulations, for you are the seventh person to have stumbled across this truly wonderful creature. It may not seem like much at all, but as you read on, you’ll see this duck has a history of greatness. In the following letters—each written by people who carried the duck before me—you’ll discover how every person who had it had something wonderful happen to them. Of course, greatness is subjective to all of us, and my idea of greatness may not coincide with yours. But I feel this duck has improved the lives of everyone who has touched it, and it deserves some celebration, so whether you think the stories to follow are grand or dull, just know that by finding it, and keeping it, you’re sure to have your story worth telling. And this is my story. Sorry for any spelling mistakes. I’m an artist, not a writer. Well, not the kind of writer you might expect to read. I had to clean up the last guy’s
The Celebration of Johnny's Yellow Rubber Ducky Page 4