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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1196859-What-A-Difference-A-Year-Makes
Rated: 13+ · Fiction · Contest · #1196859
A new successful writer contemplates on life after a dramatic change just one year before.
He placed the fortune cookie back onto the small plate in which it was served, and absentmindedly began spinning it with a finger. What an unassuming little thing it truly was, he mused. He still hasn't decided if people are more excited about its lightly sweetened confection at the conclusion of a particurlarly filling meal or the supposed prognostication the sliver of paper within it is believed to provide. It's highly unlikely that anyone would truly put much stock in the latter. At least, a year ago, he probably wouldn't have.

         "Aren't you going to open it? It might change your luck."

         He looked up to see a familiar face wearing a bemused expression, and responded with a smile. "You're right, Yamada-san. One never knows."

         The youthful sushi chef returned his smile before resuming running his knife through the slab of salmon that lay on his cutting board, skillfully creating perfectly proportioned slices for use in one delectable creation or another. "This all seems so familiar, Simisu-san. Doesn't it?"

         Jon Smith looked out the restaurant's window, and watched as the rain outside continued to pour. Yamada was right. It was a year ago to this day--also on New Year's Eve--that he found himself sitting on this very stool at the sushi bar in this late night joint in the middle of the city, and was also tentatively spinning a fortune cookie at the end of that meal. "Yup. All too familiar..."

         "What was it that the fortune in that cookie said?" Yamada asked, stopping his cutting briefly. "Something about sorrows casting shadows?"

         Smith smiled, and offered without even thinking, "Joys are often the shadows cast by sorrows."

         "Yeah, that's it!" Yamada exclaimed. "Boy, what a difference a year makes! Here you are, dressed in your finest, and you've got this huge smile on your face. Quite a different scene that last time."

         He chuckled at his friend's incredible memory. "Yeah, I was a different man. And, it was a different time. I'd just lost my job that day, and was very depressed. I didn't know how to face my wife with the news, and was crazily thinking about calling it quits. Thank goodness I ended up at this restaurant that night."

         "Ended up?" His favorite Japanese restaurant's sushi chef asked, raising an eyebrow. "You're making my restaurant sound unimportant."

         "Not at all, Yamada-san," Smith said, chuckling. "Quite the contrary. I'd say it was fateful. That fortune cookie, in particular, changed my view on life. As you very well know, I stayed at home for a few months after that, trying to rediscover myself, deciding what direction I should go on. The job at the firm was all I'd done for over fifteen years. But, I didn't know if I wanted to go back to that field of work. Looking at the want ads became an all-day affair, but my wife was very supportive. Thank goodness her salary managed to cover our living expenses. While waiting for interviews, I started writing, and just wrote about anything and everything that came into my mind. I didn't realize I had it in me to be a writer. Then--"

         "Then, six months ago, you came out with your first book," Yamada continued the tale that was clear he also liked to tell other people. "Quite a hit, it was. Spent fourteen weeks on the New York Times bestseller list, didn't it?"

         Smith smiled at obviously one of his biggest fans. "I believe so. My publisher is more concerned about my next manuscript for me to dwell on such statistics anymore."

         "Well, I'm sure your next book will also be a hit," Yamada remarked, returning to his work.

         "I hope so," Smith said, as he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see the lovely face of his wife.

         "Ready?" she asked, picking up her purse.

         "Yup," he responded, getting up, and donning his trench coat. She briefly looked down at the table and saw the uneaten fortune cookie, picked it up, and playfully waved it in front of his face.

         "Aren't you going to open this, sweetie?" she inquired. "It could change your luck."

         He took the fortune cookie from her gloved hand, and placed it back down on the plate. "Nah. I've got it very good right now. And, I don't want anything to change that."

         "Well, at least eat the cookie," she suggested, picking it back up, breaking it open and offering him the broken halves. She casually placed the piece of paper back on the plate without even looking at it. He chuckled at her, placed one of the halves in his mouth, while feeding her the other. They smiled as they savored the sweetness of the little cookie. Then, she took his hand in hers, and began leading him to the front doors. "C'mon. We're already late to the party. Happy New Year, Mr. Yamada!"

         "Happy New Year to you, Mrs. Smith!" the kind sushi chef responded. "And to you, too, Simisu-san!"

         Smith turned back briefly to give Yamada a quick wave. "Happy New Year to you, my friend. I'll see you again soon."

Yamada watched as his favorite customers--celebrities, in his mind--exited his restaurant, chuckling at their attempts to not get wet in the pouring rain while getting ready to cross the busy street. He cleared the dirty dishes from the sushi counter, and nonchalantly picked up the unread fortune from the small bread plate. The loud screech of tires made him look up and out his restaurant window just in time to witness a truck running over the young couple that just left his restaurant. He stared in bafflement over the commotion that ensued outside, and was frozen in place over the horror he just saw. He looked down at the small piece of paper that he held with a trembling hand, and his eyes widened at what he read: Today, your luck will change.


Contest Winner for 01/01/07 round of "The Writer's Cramp
Word Count:
1000
© Copyright 2007 Sam N. Yago (jonsquared at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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