Chapter 1

It seems that life enjoys changing your plans. But maybe not as much as making you question what you thought was real and what was from a child's imagination.

I will never forget the day when I met that strange little man. I did not know it at the time, but my whole life would change. Mostly for the better although there would be things I wish I hadn't seen or done.

My name is Rian Brownsfield. Everyone calls me Mr. Brownsfield, though I have never figured out why. I do not wear expensive suits with bowties and top hats demanding people's respect. I am certainly not old enough for it to be proper form.

I can only reach one conclusion. People do it because it seems natural. Even that one does not satisfy me. I suppose the mystery will have to continue on.

I am just an ordinary man. But you know what life likes to do with that. It takes ordinary and makes it extraordinary.

This is my tale of adventure and magic.

 

It took longer to get my coffee than usual that day. There was a short, old man in front of me that was holding up the line. He couldn't decide what to order.

I was tempted to hop in my car and go through the drive-thru instead of waiting in line. I ended up staying so I could say hi to my favorite barista.

With my patience growing thinner by the moment, I tapped the man on the shoulder. “Could you order soon? I'm kind of in a hurry.” I did my best to sound polite.

The man turned to face me. He wore a trench coat. It wasn't originally designed as a trench coat, but because of his height it fit as one.

He had a gray beard that he tucked into his coat. And he wore a fedora. The man reminded me of a spy from a children's chapter book.

“I need something that will give me a lot of energy.”

“Then I would recommend the Heart-Stopper. It has six shots of espresso.”

“Is that a lot?” the man questioned.

“The name says it all,” Meagan, the barista, replied.

“Okay, I'll take it,” he answered, shoveling out a few dollars. “By the way, can either of you tell me how to get to Willow Avenue?”

I stepped aside to let the person behind me order. Meagan didn't need me to tell her what I wanted. I always ordered the same thing. Black coffee with a splash of milk and a pinch of sugar.

“You turn left onto the highway and keep going until you hit the stoplight. At the stoplight turn right. Willow Avenue will be on the left.”

The man nodded slowly, a little confused.

“I'll write it down for you,” I offered.

The man gave me his receipt to write on. When I was done writing the directions, the little man grabbed his coffee, said thank you, and left.

“That was strange,” Meagan told me.

“I feel sorry for whoever he's going to meet. I don't want to see what that espresso does to him.”

“Don't you live by Willow Avenue?” She slid my coffee across the counter.

“Just off of it on 55th Street.”

I was about to leave when Meagan asked, “How's work going?”

“Not that great,” I replied. I worked at an investment firm as an assistant to the boss. I would never say this out loud, but the guy was a total jerk. To say nothing of my coworkers.

“Maybe taking them coffee would help you get on their good side,” Meagan suggested.

“If they have one. But it's worth a shot.”

“Three lattes coming up.”

“How did you know I needed three?”

She waved it off like it was a piece of cake. “After my shift, I turn into a corporate spy and sneak into your office building.”

I couldn't help but chuckle. Her sense of humor was great. She could make a bad day good. And she always did it with ease.

Meagan talked over the noise of the espresso machine. “One for your boss and your coworkers on either side of your cubicle.”

She put all of the cups in a drink carrier. I put my coffee in with them. I traded her twenty dollars for the drinks. Meagan went to grab my change.

“Keep it. Put it towards your dreams.”

“Thank you. That's super sweet.”

I said goodbye and left. I had more hope for the day than usual. Like something good would actually happen. I felt a small spark of joy deep inside my chest.

I climbed into my car and headed to work. The drive was the same as every day. Moderate traffic. The occasional car cutting you off because he's late to work.

I pulled into the parking garage across the street from where I worked. I don't live in a big city. But at the rate they keep building things it will be soon.

I drove higher and higher trying to find a parking space. The lower levels were usually full when I arrived. Today the garage was fuller than I had ever seen it. When I finally found a spot, I was on the second floor from the top.

Since I started my job at the investment firm, I had never been late to work. I needed to hurry if I was going to keep it up.

There was a line for the elevator. The man in front of me nervously tapped his foot waiting for the doors to open. I caught myself constantly checking the time on my phone.

The familiar ding of the elevator came right as the doors slid open. The impatient people filed into the already empty metal box.

We all packed ourselves in with no room left. The doors were about to close when a young girl came running up. She couldn't be much older than me. Probably twenty. No more than twenty-one.

She was dressed nicely, but she was in disarray. You could see the stress all over her. She held a tiny baby on her hip. There was no way she could fit in the elevator.

I stepped out and let her take my place. She let out a flood of grateful thank yous. I told her it was no problem. As soon as the doors closed, I made a mad dash for the stairs.

I would have taken the steps two at a time but I didn't want to spill the coffee. After I made it down all five flights, I checked my phone. Nine o'clock on the dot. My work day had officially started.

The investment firm was right across the street from the parking garage. Normally I would go up the street a ways and use the crosswalk. The day had proved so far that it wasn't normal.

I looked both ways before crossing the street. The cars were far enough away to make it. I sprinted straight across the road. Technically I didn't j-walk. I j-ran.

A car honked their horn at me. It wasn't even close to hitting me though.

I entered the building a minute past nine. So, I was a minute late. Hopefully, the boss wouldn't hold it against me when he saw I had lattes.

I said good morning to the security guard. He just kept his nose buried in a sports magazine and ignored me like always. I have no idea where the rumor started that security guards were supposed to be friendly. Maybe they were. Maybe the company hired the bad one of the bunch.

I went to my cubicle. My cubicle neighbor, Nancy, perked up when she saw what I carried.

“Hope you haven't had your coffee yet,” I said.

“Is it made with low-fat milk?”

“Always for you,” I lied. Meagan never told me if it was low fat, but based off what I paid it wasn't.

“Mr. Brownsfield!” someone yelled.

I looked down the rows of cubicle offices. A guy I didn't recognize stuck his head out a couple spaces down. “The boss wants to see you.”

“I wonder what that's about?” Nancy asked, interested.

I wished I felt as hopeful as Nancy. I took a deep breath and started walking. I didn't notice that I still carried the drink carrier with me. Or all the finely dressed people who had never been there before.

Stopping in front of my boss's office, I took another deep breath. I had barely tapped on the door when my boss told me to enter.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Yes, I did. You're fired.”

I almost dropped the coffee out of shock. I didn't believe what just happened. The guy did not pull his punches or beat around the bush. “Why?” I managed to ask.

He never looked up from the report papers he read. “Because we don't need you anymore. The company is growing and we need to make room.”

It took all I had not to throw the coffee in his face. “I do all my work and help others with theirs.”

“Maybe at your next job you'll learn to only do your work.”

I started to leave.

“Mr. Brownsfield,” he called. “Don't forget to pack your things and close the door on your way out.”

I was too dumbfounded at what happened to slam the door shut. Otherwise, I probably would have.

I went back to my office. I found an old box no one was using and packed the few things I had.

“So, did you get a promotion?” Alice, my other cubicle neighbor, asked.

“You could say that. I got promoted out of the company.”

You could tell they were just as shocked as I was. When they recovered, Nancy asked, “Do we still get the coffee?”

I shook my head. Partly in disbelief. Partly in disgust. “No,” I told them simply. “I bet there are some homeless people outside that would appreciate it more.”

With that, I tucked my box of things under my arm, picked up the drink carrier, and left the building forever. Deep down I was sort of relieved. The whole time I was there I felt unappreciated and out of place.

I found some homeless guys on the corner where I crossed the street every day but today. I approached them with the lattes.

The homeless guys were pretty rough. Not the kind of people I would invite into my home, but they needed some love. Life hit them hard. And now life hit me out of my job.

“Do you guys want some coffee?” They perked up at my question. I gave them the “low fat” lattes. One guy mumbled his thanks before I walked off.

I walked back up all five flights of stairs in the parking garage. I collapsed in my car. I sipped my quickly cooling coffee. So much for feeling hopeful for the day. To make things worse my car wouldn't start on the first try. Probably out of spite.

It was nice enough to start on the second try.

The whole drive home the only thing I could think about was what I should do next. And I had a long time to think because I hit every red light.

I struck out with every idea except one. Construction. They were always building new things around here. I think I knew one or two people who were still in construction. I wondered if they could get me a job.

Although I didn't really want to get into construction, I had no idea what else to do. Maybe I should take this time I was given and figure out what I wanted to do. Go chase my dreams. But first I needed to figure out what they were exactly.

I drove slowly when I passed Willow Avenue. I scoured the street for signs of an over-caffeinated small man. Nothing as far as I could tell. I was tempted to drive down their neighborhood to get a better look but decided against it.

“Just be thankful he's not on your street,” I told myself.

Speaking of my street, I turned onto it. It was across and down one street from Willow Avenue.

I lived on 55th Street. It was a dead-end street. One might say I made it that way. If you were to stand at the beginning of 55th Street and look straight down, you would see my house.

If someone wanted to extend the street they would have to tear down my house. Let's just say that wouldn't happen.

If someone wanted to extend the street they would have to tear down my house. Let's just say that wouldn't happen.

The house isn't technically mine. My great aunt owned it. She lets me rent it “for safe keeping.” She lives somewhere in the Bahamas, but visits me for vacation.

If a big construction company tried to buy the house, my great aunt wouldn't let them. She's filthy rich so she would just buy them out.

I pulled into the driveway and parked my car. For some odd reason there was no garage. My great aunt insisted on not having one.

I took the final sip of my coffee before going in. I strolled up to the front door. I dropped my now empty cup.

Sitting on the welcome mat was a large lantern I had never seen before.