Zara felt like the paper was too light to carry but it cut across her plans for the morning gracefully. She now had just a month. Within these thirty days, she had to gather eight hundred dollars or face moving out again and starting a new life somewhere else.
As she stood in the kitchen, she could hear her phone vibrating; most likely another text from Mira on their plans for dinner on Sunday which was far beyond her financial capability now. Every time she thought about what was going wrong with her life for the last year – all those meals at restaurants she refused, and trips for shopping during which she always found some reasons not to go – the gap only increased.
She paid no attention to the call and instead went to one of the drawers in the kitchen where she stored important documents such as lease contracts, utility bills and six-month untouched envelope. There was her father’s writing on it which still hurt her: “For Zara - Open when you’re ready to hear me”
Prepared to listen to him, regardless of the timing.
The envelope came three days following his burial at forty eight years old delivered by his lawyer with papers on selling the house and insurances. Back then, she was just out of college at twenty-four with fire in her heart for social justice because young people are always sure that they deserve better from this cruel world than what they get. For too long, she had been taking care of wounds left open by his negligence and was blind enough not see that he tried closing them up by coming close.
At thirty, she knew that she could not afford to be angry anymore. The rent day was approaching while there were no longer any clients for freelance graphic design work and the one in a coffee shop could not provide enough money even for food. Having applied in the morning for jobs below her qualification level or simply non-existent ones, she saw every emailed rejection letter as additional proof that she had lost many doors once opened without much effort on her part.
It looked back at her from the drawer like it was waiting for its prey – patient and unassuming.
She used the coffee from yesterday and sat at the small table where she could see the eviction note which was spread out like a map leading to nowhere. On the other side, her neighbors were going for work so that they could get some money for rent in case of any. It made her throat tight with kindness. She wondered how it would feel moving around without having to think about everything. The message this time was from the landlord, “Talked to my wife. If you can get current by the 15th, we’ll work something out. You’re a good tenant.”
14 days as against a month. Kindness choked her.
She took up the envelope, feeling how heavy it was. No matter what her father had written down, it would remain irrelevant. Written words cannot be used for payment of accommodation and also they cannot change one's profession which has been chosen earlier but there is something in the rays of light from the morning sun penetrating through her window and she feels like running her fingers on the sealed edge.
Inside, there was only one page with some writing on it done by her father, an engineer, in his usual calligraphy:
Zara,
If you are reading this then I am gone and you must still be mad at me. That’s fine. For a long time, I too was mad at grandpa just like you are now with me for nothing at all because anger is simply love misplaced.
I know you believe that I preferred my job over taking care about you and your sister. I thought I was ensuring safety. I thought loving equaled providing. I was mistaken on so many accounts, except one — I wasn’t wrong about you two.
You possess the courage that I lacked; the courage to be a creator. I observed as you made that logo for your friend’s new bakery, how you knew what she wanted and was about to tell you. You are not only talented my dear. You have a vision.
Here is a little money, it may not be much but it will create a great difference.This is not for your accommodation or food or other safe options. It’s for the workshop space which you always think of. It’s for the business that scares you. It’s for laying a bet on yourself just like I was supposed to do on my dreams when at your age.
Taking bold steps is better than waiting to be ready because no one is ever fully prepared.
With love,
Dad
P. S. The check can be found in the safe where we keep our valuables. The first drawer in the kitchen contains the key. Remember box number 847.
Her hand shook as she put it under the drawer but then she found it - the small key taped just as he’d told her. A safe deposit box. It completely slipped her mind leaving her only guessing that there were some important papers inside alongside maybe even a couple of her mother’s jewellery items.
In less than half an hour, she had a cash equivalent document of $15,000 in her hands while standing at the bank entrance hall. With this amount, she could pay rent throughout one year without any problem at all! This would provide her with some much needed extra space and time which she had long forgotten about but now remembered once again.
Nonetheless, his father’s words resonated within her: “Not for rent or groceries or playing it safe.”
She remembered passing by that commercial area daily for months on end; there used to be an art gallery here but now it was closed and available for renting again as indicated by “For Lease” sign hung in its window space! The very same place struck her mind as an ideal studio – where she can work with clients comfortably on spacious furniture before taking everything home either way then laying them out across kitchen countertops just like always done before coming up with final decisions regarding such matters… At some point in time she dialled their number only to disconnect call as soon getting informed about high cost required as security fee.
It would make sense if she cashed the cheque, paid her rent and bought herself extra time to secure a well-paying job. After all, being reasonable means keeping money aside for genuine needs and not spending it recklessly on uncertain dreams!
Standing in the bank lobby, enveloped by the tranquility of people transacting around her, Zara remembered what she would have thought about this money six months ago. It would have been a proof that finally her father recognized her value. A year ago, she might have used it to prove something to him, to show him she could succeed despite his absence.
Now she understood what he had tried to communicate to her through the money. This was neither an apology nor an act of faith. This was the money for her to jump with which he was too scared to do himself ever since he remembered all those lost opportunities at the end of his days.
She approached the teller and enquired on cashing in the cheque. It was some amount that could be enough as a deposit for securing the studio, some other part would cater for just fundamental instruments while she built up something real within first three months before relocation would become inevitable.
The balance would remain in a savings account earmarked for subsequent investments.
That day she dialed the number on a “For Lease” sign. The room could be seen tomorrow and was still free today.
When she hung up, it struck Zara that indeed her father had been accurate about one thing – timing. These were same words which she could have interpreted as impulsion at twenty-four or sympathy at twenty-six but they came out when she had already made up her mind – and not just like any other person looking for a confirmation from him but as a grown-up who was finally ready to risk everything including hers.
Eviction letter lay on her kitchen table, but now it seemed different than before; rather than being an end to things, it had started feeling like a prod – that moment when caution began give way sheer terror safest course action open oneself danger harm loss etc.
The bright afternoon sun outside offered hope and endless possibilities as everything appeared new under its radiance.
