The Man With the Frozen Hands
Preface:
This is a short story I wrote and submitted for the Imagine Little Tokyo Short Story contest, the first contest of the sort I’ve ever submitted for, and the first piece of fictional work I have ever published. Though I did not win the contest I am still very proud of the story as it is close to home.
The only item in the prompt was to make the setting in Little Tokyo, and as I work close by I decided to write a story inspired by my job and by a man I’ve met many times in Little Tokyo, Arthur Nakane. Mr. Nakane is a famed musician who has performed worldwide but always performs in Little Tokyo. Every chance I had to talk to him was a delight and he always offered me words of wisdom I still hold dear today. This story reflects much of my own life, my struggles and fears as well as the inspiration Mr. Nakane gave me. With that, I give you “The Man With the Frozen Hands”.
The Man With the Frozen Hands
“No ma’am, I can’t print this document in color,” Alex said looking at the black-and-white document on his computer.
“You said that last time, do you like repeating yourself?” The woman said. Alex flinched at the comment as if she had spat venom through the phone.
“No ma’am, I don’t, but like I said last time if you want this printed in color I’ll need the document in color,” It was common sense, but it seemed like if you put a computer in front of certain people they went back to the 2nd grade. “Do you think you can get the original colored document?” Alex asked, hoping to get an actual reply and not another snarky comment.
“…I’ll see if I can find it.” the woman said followed by the dial tone.
Alex slumped in his chair and tugged at his cheeks, a habit his fiancee said: “Will give you wrinkles before you’re 35”. He was 25, but he was sure his bad habits made him look 10 years older. He sat up in his chair and looked around the gray half-empty office, with poorly lit fluorescent lights and a water stain on the ceiling that he was sure was getting bigger. “If there’s a fountain of youth, then I definitely found the opposite of it”. He said under his breath.
He minimized the black-and-white document revealing an email he hadn’t bothered to open. He could tell by the subject it wasn’t going to be anything good.
“Thank you for your interest in the Daily News, we know how valuable your time is, however, we regret to inform you…”
It was the same rejection email sent by hundreds of businesses that Alex knew by heart. He shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, another habit that would add wrinkles,
“At least they had the decency to send an email,” he said. “It’s ok Al, just keep applying, keep working, and…”. Did he really believe that anymore? It had been years since he graduated, followed by years of applying and receiving rejection after rejection. The only job that ever accepted him was his current one. He had been excited at the time, thrilled even.
“It’s this for now, just to pay the bills and the wedding. I’ll be out before I know it and writing till I drop dead,” he told himself when he first started.
That was 2 years ago. 2 years of converting PDFs into Word Docs and converting Word Docs into PDF, 2 years of arguing with people who couldn’t work a typewriter let alone a computer, and 2 years of watching that water stain grow bigger and bigger.
“Alex?”
Alex jolted, breaking out of his downward spiral. He turned and faced his boss. “Oh Mary, sorry I was..”
“Daydreaming?” Mary said her eyebrow raised.
Alex sighed, disappointed that he was caught “slacking”, a sin worse than murder in this office. “Sorry, it’s been a long day,” Alex said, hoping Mary wouldn’t pry further.
“Aren’t they all?” She took a thin piece of paper out of a stack and handed it to him. “At least the rest of the day you can daydream about how you’re going to spend your money.”
He took the check from her, but before he could say thanks Mary had moved to the next desk, startling another employee. He could imagine her repeating her “clever” joke over and over again to each poor soul that took a moment to breathe or check their phone.
Payday was always a good reminder of why he was here, “just to pay the bills”. It improved his mood slightly to see the monetized worth of his work. What didn’t improve his mood was deducting his bills from his pay: $800 for rent, $300 for car payments, and $150 for gas and electricity.
“Everything I put up with, all this crap from people and what do I have to show for it”. He stared at his manager’s office. “I should just quit, I should quit, and focus on my novel. If I quit, I’ll have all the time in the world to write. Maybe it’ll motivate me to finish it too, if I don’t work I’ll have no choice but to finish it”.
He knew of course that wouldn’t be true. He’d been working on his novel for years with little progress. Sure he wrote his outline and a page, maybe 2, but it wasn’t far. Would this time be different? He sat with his thoughts, still staring at his manager’s door. He knew he wouldn’t do it, as much as he thought about it. There was so much at stake, but he desperately wanted things to be different.
His phone vibrated, pulling him out of his spiral again. He checked his phone and saw the reminder banner across his home screen “Lunchtime”. His shoulders relaxed and he felt a wave of relief wash over him. He could use a break, a breath of fresh air, and time to think. His job had one benefit (that actually had nothing to do with it): it was a short walk away from Little Tokyo, one of his favorite places to visit growing up. He was happy to learn how close the neighborhood was when he first started working. Though he had been working at his miserable office for some time now, the charm of the Little Tokyo village never wore off.
The air was brisk and clouds covered the sky. Alex heard that it was going to rain today, and a light drizzle was already settling in. This meant it was perfect weather for steam buns. There were plenty of restaurants that made steam buns around his home, but no place made them quite like Yamazaki Bakery. Alex made his way into the Little Tokyo village, shuffling through dense crowds of tourists who visited for the holidays. Fortunately, the crowds were mostly gathered at the rotating sushi bar and anime stores away from the bakery, making it a short wait for his precious buns. He bought himself 2, a treat for his rough day at work.
Alex took a seat on a bench just outside the bakery, in front of the large glistening Christmas tree that stood in the center of the village. The buns warmed his hands which were nearly shaking in the cold wet weather. He pulled apart one bun releasing a cloud of steam that reached his lips. He bit into it filling his mouth with the delicious flavor of curry chicken. Alex tried to savor every bite but failed miserably as he scarfed the bun down in a manner of seconds. Suddenly, as he swallowed, he felt the overwhelming urge to cry.
He held back his tears so as to not make a fool of himself in public. He had wanted to move on by now, move on with his career, and start pursuing his dreams of being a writer, but instead, he felt trapped, lost, scarfing down buns that only gave him an ounce of serotonin. He sat slumped on the bench and faced the floor, tears wheeling in his eyes when he heard a keyboard play. Alex looked up and saw a man in an electric wheelchair humming as he pressed the keys on a keyboard, finding the tune to a song. Alex hadn’t even seen him set up, but it looked as though he had been there for some time.
“You better watch out you better not cry, you better not pout I’m telling you why,” he sang through a microphone. He played his keyboard periodically, keeping the pace of the melody. “Santa Claus is coming to town…” He continued to sing while Alex sat with his now cold bun and listened to the music. The man was older and his voice was a bit strained, but he sang well. He played the keyboard just as well, but slowly, and Alex noticed that he pressed the keys with the gloved knuckles of his middle fingers. Alex had never played a keyboard or really any instrument, but he was sure this was an unusual technique. He noticed that he was staring at the man’s hands a bit too long and looked down, continuing to contemplate his life.
“You sir, you, how do you like my music?” the man said. It took Alex a moment to realize the man was speaking to him. He looked at the man with big eyes, shocked at the newfound attention.
“Me? Oh, it’s nice, it’s a great Christmas song,” Alex said cringing at his reply.
“Oh really? Then why don’t you look up? I’m right here, not on the floor,” the man said still pressing the keys on his keyboard.
Alex could feel his cheeks flush. He didn’t think the man noticed nor did he expect to get called out for it. “I..I’m sorry, I really do like it, It’s just…there’s just… a lot on my mind.”
“Ahhh so much on your mind that you can’t enjoy music”. The man sat up straight in his wheelchair. His expression didn’t change and Alex could tell he was amused. “Tell me, sir, what’s on your mind?”
Alex turned his head left to right as if checking a street before walking across, seeing if anyone was paying attention to their conversation. He didn’t know why he would want to open up to complete stranger, but he felt compelled to do so. “It’s just my job, nothing serious, I’m just really stuck is all… It’s not somewhere I’d hope to be right now”.
The man changed his melody, to what Alex thought might be jingle bells. ”Stuck in your job, that’s a shame. Do they have chained there or cursed to never leave?”
Alex chuckled at the comment, his embarrassment was subsiding. “No, it’s nothing like that I-”
“Oh so you’re not stuck then, you can leave?” the man said, still not missing a beat to the song.
“Well I’m not chained there, but it pays the bills”
The man laughed and dragged his knuckle across the keyboard. “Pays the bills! That’s good to hear, but is it worth it if it troubles your mind so much? Is it something you like doing?”
“No, not at all,” Alex said quicker than he would have liked.
“What is it you like doing?”
Alex paused for a moment and looked down at his leftover bun. “I like to write, I like to write stories.”
The man laughed and pointed his curled fingers at Alex. “There you go, why don’t you write? There’s plenty to write about. You can even write about me”. He laughed and mashed the keys on his keyboard.
“I wish I could, but I don’t think I can write anything worth reading, “.
“Well, have you tried?”
Alex took another pause thinking of the novel head barely written. “No not really. I don’t have the time to write something that no one is going to like. Besides I wouldn’t know where to begin and-”
“Come here,” the man said. He beckoned Alex over to him. He moved from his bench toward the man. As he did the man bit the fingers of his right glove and took it off, and did the same to his left glove. Alex saw that the man’s fingers were curled, stiff, clasping small white packets.
“I’ve been playing music for nearly 50 years. Do you think I knew how to play right when I came out of my mother? No, I practiced and I played and I became better and better”. The man held his hands up toward Alex. “Now I’m old and look,” The man presented his stiff hands to Alex. “My hands are frozen, I try to keep them warm so I can open them, but now I can barely move them”. The man smiled and used his bare knuckles to slowly press the keys. “But I don’t let it stop me, I found a way to continue to play. Maybe one day they’ll freeze too much to do anything, but I’ll just find another way to play my music so long as it brings me happiness” The man moved his hands over the keyboard, creating a harmonious melody. “I created a good life for myself not because I found a job that ‘just pays the bills’ I created a good life because I practiced doing something I love and I didn’t let anything stop me”.
Alex’s cheeks were warm and he felt a lump form in his throat. The man lifted his frozen hand and lightly knocked a curled finger against Alex’s chest. “I see you are young, you have so much time to practice, to work on what you love. Don’t let worries stop you, like how I don’t my frozen hands stop me”.
Alex stood for a moment and stared at the man, lost for words, the only thing he could muster himself to say was “You’re right”.
Alex returned to work a bit late from his lunch, but he didn’t think anyone would notice, and at this moment he didn’t really care. He sat at his desk and stared at his blank screen. He stood from his cubical and saw his manager’s door open. He stared at the doorway, up at the water stain, and back at the door, and walked in.
Afterward
My transition from Journalism to creative writing is something I’m still working through, but something I’m glad to do. I find myself loving my creative work far more than any journalist article I’ve written before. As stated before this is my first published piece but it won't be the last. Since writing this I started re-writing my Novel “Fate of Fandruil: The Hidden Druid”, writing an outline and more structured story, and I wrote another short story, “The Priest & The God”, which I hope to publish soon.
This will be the greatest challenge of my life, but it's one I have to do and one I’m ready for. With that in mind “The Man With the Frozen Hands” is dedicated to everyone who has encouraged and supported me from my parents to Mr. Nakane to my best friend and editor Dalton to my countless friends and especially to my fiancee, my love, Cecilia.
