The Recorder

PART ONE: I yawned hugely. It was way too early to be awake. I stood on the platform waiting for my train. I had my headphones on, but they weren’t plugged in. I wasn’t in the mood for music, not this early. I did it because I didn’t really feel like interacting with anyone. I guess I’m just charming that way.

The train pulled in and I shuffled forward until I was inside. There weren’t many people taking the train this early on a Sunday morning, so I had my pick of the seats. I chose a set of four, two facing the others. I sat on one, placed my bag on the seat next to me, and put my feet up on the seat in front. In the window to my left I caught a ghost of my reflection: shoulder-length dark blue hair, pale skin, grey eyes. Satisfied my hair wasn’t sticking out at odd angles, I pulled out my sketchbook.

I’m going to let you in on a little secret. The train is the best place to practice drawing. Seriously. I’m what I like to call an art-ninja. I take the subway all the time, so I always carry my sketchbook with me, and a fine tip black artists pen. When I’m in the train, I watch people. The people I find the most interesting, I try to recreate on paper. And trust me, there are a lot of interesting people that take the train. It’s a lot of fun, because you have to try not to stare. I had a quick look around. My eyes immediately fell upon a man standing near the entrance. He was leaning against the fake glass barrier, wearing a dark suit and sunglasses. He was holding a suitcase in front of him. Even with the sunglasses obscuring his face, I knew that he’d be handsome with his strong jaw and well-formed lips. He would be my target today.

I uncapped my pen and started to draw. With his sunglasses on, it was hard to tell if he noticed me looking at him. I tried my best to look as little as I could. I paused to consider how best to recreate the dim light around the man. The train suddenly jolted, and my pen struck me on my right ear. Worried I had been inked with the uncapped pen, I rubbed my ear vigorously with my left hand. The man wearing the suit turned his face towards me, and smiled. He lifted his left hand, slowly and purposefully, and tugged on his right wear.

I sank backwards into my seat, horrified. Had he noticed me sneaking looks at him this whole time? I relaxed when I realized that I was getting off at the next stop. I’d never see this man again, just like all the other people I had drawn. Everything was going to be ok.

I shoved my sketchbook and pen into my backpack, and got up. I decided I’d go through the entrance behind me, so I didn’t have to pass the man in the suit. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that the guy had also gotten off through the other entrance. It’s no big deal, I told myself. It’s just a coincidence.

I turned a corner. I had to go down a dimly lit corridor, and up a flight of stairs before reaching ground level. As I walked, I could see two figures coming towards me. A man and a woman, both wearing suits, sunglasses and carrying briefcases identical to the man on the train. I stopped in my tracks. This was getting really weird. I whipped around to look behind me. There again was the man I had seen on the train. There was no one else here. ‘Just relax.’ Said a voice. I felt a sting near the base of my neck. The next thing I knew the world had turned black.

I woke up, my head feeling like it was stuffed with cotton. I was in a room, not unlike the investigation rooms you see in crime shows. I was sitting at a table, which is where I had been resting my head. Directly opposite sat the man from the train. He had removed his glasses displaying his chocolate brown eyes. I was right, he was handsome.

‘Thanks for joining us.’ He said, smirking at me.

‘Where am I?’

The man laughed in response.

‘You held your cover very well agent. I’m impressed. I wouldn’t have any idea it was you, except for the fact that you seemed to be observing me. And the signal of course.’ He said.

‘I don’t think I gave you any signal.’ I replied.

‘You can drop the act now. The Organization wants to know what info you’ve collected while on assignment.’

‘This must be a mistake, I don’t know anything about any kind of organization.’

‘Really? Then how do you explain this?’ The man pulled something out of his briefcase, and threw it down onto the table between us.

I gasped. It was my sketchpad.

He started flicking through, and I caught glimpses of my work. The elderly lady with the flowery skirt from last month. The little girl with beautiful curly blonde hair holding a balloon from last week. He stopped on the drawing I had done early today of himself.

‘You have a real eye for this kind of thing. A useful trait for someone in your position.’

‘It’s just art!’ I exclaimed, almost hysterically.

‘Sure, if that’s how you want to play it. I know cross jurisdiction co-operation is sometimes an issue within the Organization, but I didn’t know it would be this difficult. We’re on the same side you know. I’ll give you some time to think about it.’ With that, he stood an exited the room.

I was completely and utterly confused. Where was I? Why was I here? And what is the Organization?

PART TWO: I sat in that small room for what felt like hours. Thankfully that man, whoever he was, left me with my sketchbook, so I wasn’t completely without entertainment. I had a spare pen tucked away in my pocket, so I pulled it out and started doodling.

Before I knew it, I was drawing the nameless stranger again, but this time without the sunglasses. I tried to imagine what kind of guy he was, and pictured him in different clothing. I imagined him in more comfortable clothes, plain white tee and loose three-quarter khaki slacks. In my mind’s eye he was relaxed and leaning back in a way that accentuated the muscles in his arms and chest. I was just trying to recreate his sarcastic, lopsided smile when I heard the door open.

It was him. I quickly shut my book, my face burning. I was mortified that he had caught me drawing him for the second time. He didn’t seem to notice however. He walked to the opposite side of the desk and faced me. He stood there awkwardly for a moment. He even looked… embarrassed? He cleared his throat loudly.

‘You’re right. You aren’t supposed to be here.’ He finally said, as he rubbed the back of his neck with one arm. A nervous tick of his, I guessed.

‘Great. Am I free to go?’

‘Not exactly.’

I glared at him.

‘Are you serious? This is all your fault. I was just on the sub, trying to visit my sister like I do almost every Sunday! She’s a single mum you know. She needs all the help and support she can get!’ I took a deep breath.

‘I know all this now. And I’m sorry. We mistook you for someone else.’ He said placatingly.

‘Well why can’t I go then?’ I felt like screaming at him. My sister was probably out of her mind worrying about me. I didn’t even know how long I had been gone.

‘We think you might be able to help us.’

‘Help you do what, exactly?’

I must admit I was a little curious. Whatever I had fallen into, I wouldn’t mind knowing a bit more about it. It would make a good story and my life was pretty average. I worked at a café most days, visited my sister and nephew on the weekends, and drew pictures in my spare time. Pretty normal stuff.

‘Let’s start from the beginning. My name’s Damien.’ He said, reaching his hand out to me. I shook it wearily.

‘Kate.’ He took the seat in front of me.

‘So are you going to tell me what’s going on now?’ I asked.

‘I am an operative of the Organization.’ He said. ‘The name basically says it all. We organize the universe.’ I stifled a snicker. This was insane.

‘No really, it’s true. We make sure things go the way they are supposed to. There are groups of us all over the world. Wherever there are people, there we are as well. We mistook you for a Recorder.’

‘And what is that, exactly?’

‘Let me explain. Our civilization is made up of moments and events. Some of these seem insignificant, and others are crucial to the formation of our culture. The organization makes sure that these tiny moments run perfectly.’

‘I’m not sure that I’m following you.’

‘Well, imagine a father takes his son to a baseball game. If this boy is the future President, this baseball game, believe it or not, could be one of many events that shapes his character. Or going even further back. If his parents didn’t meet, this boy would never have been born. Do you get what I’m saying?’

‘I think so…’ I said slowly. ‘I just don’t get how this would work. How could you possibly know every moment to ever happen? And make them all go the way they’re supposed to, like it’s all planned.’

‘No, we don’t know everything. We are only given certain glimpses of the future, and those are the ones we focus on.’ I sat back and thought for a moment. I really didn’t think I believed any of what Damien was saying. I just didn’t think it was possible.

‘Ok, so how do you even make things happen? And what if they go wrong anyway?’

‘Events generally run smoothly. Most of the time we only observe. If something goes wrong, people like me try to fix it. I’m an Editor.’

‘Ok so what does a Recorder do?’

‘Recorders observe, record and report, and alert Editors if there is an event that didn’t go the way that we had planned.’

‘Ok, but what does this have to do with me?’ He looked me in the eyes, and smiled.

‘We have an opening. How would you like to become a Recorder?’

PART THREE: This time, I laughed right in his face.

‘That’s a good one. Ok, where is the hidden camera. Behind the glass there?’ I waved towards the reflective glass that covered the wall directly behind Damien.

‘This isn’t a joke Kate. Let me show you. Stand up.’ Damien said, getting to his feet. He reached across the table. ‘Take my hand.’

I took it, and in an instant the scene around me changed. We were no longer in the interrogation room. We were in a hallway, except there were no doors. It seemed to stretch on forever in front and behind. It was lined with windows of every shape and size imaginable. Some were tall, stately glass windows. Others were small, with rusty bars.

I peered out through a window close to me. It had a wooden frame, and a cactus with a single pink flower sitting on top. Through the window I could see a pretty woman with brown hair, and grey eyes. She sat across from a boy, about six years old who was finger-painting.

‘That’s my sister’s house!’ I gasped. Damien grinned smugly at my amazement.

‘This is the Hall of the Universe. Through every window is a crucial moment in time.’ He said.

‘Is this happening now?’ I said.

‘Yes and no. It’s all relative. Life isn’t a straight line, but an infinite circle. But in our timeline, I would say this was about two months ago.’

I pressed my face against the window. I could see now that the boy was painting a picture of himself, my sister and me holding hands. Damien was right, I had seen that a short while ago stuck to my sister’s fridge.

‘What could be so important about this moment? He’s just painting.’ I said. Damien shrugged. ‘Most of the time we don’t know. It could be that he’s meant to be a famous artist.’

‘So, if this moment didn’t go right, what would you do?’

‘This particular one went just fine. But I could show you something harmless.’ Damien hovered his hand over the cactus in the window sill. A second pink bud emerged and bloomed before my eyes.

‘We had better go.’ He said, taking hold of my hand again. The landscape changed again, and we were transported outside of my sister’s front door. My backpack was on my shoulder. Damien let my hand fall.

‘I’ll let you think about it. Let me know what you decide.’

I turned to face him, but he was gone.