Finding Your Gift

He stood before the library and unfolded the flyer one last time. Reading aloud he double checked himself, “Finding Your Gift, Thursday 7:30 in the basement meeting room. Light refreshments will be served.” The sky was getting darker the rain that had plagued the city most of the day was now slowly letting up. “Refreshments. Perfect.”

Walking over to the library's side door he slowly stubbed out his cigarette along the wall of the building. As he reached the pool of light at the door he pulled out an old tin, the kind that once held breath mints and carefully placed what remained of his cigarette inside. “Later,” he said as he shoved the tin back in his pocket tapping the outside of his jacket for assurance. He reached out for the door and entered.

He walked past a young librarian busy on her cell phone. She looked up for a second, smiled and without missing a beat bent her head back down into her cellular world. Behind her was a big clock. One of those with a large face and roman numerals. A second hand glided around and the minute hand made an audible click as it moved. He stood there and watched. He began to explain to the librarian how he believed that he could stop time. Annoyed, she smiled placed her phone upside down on the counter as she listened.

“Time,” he said, “can be stopped. I did it once on a small scale. I took the crystal off my watch and held the second hand still with the tip of a pin and,” he stopped and looked around making sure that they were alone, “and nothing happened.”

She looked at him with a blank stare.

“I can see by your expression that you don't believe me.”

“But you said nothing happened.”

“Precisely.”

“And?”

“Nothing happened. Do you get it? Nothing, nothing at all. I stopped time for, well I don't really know how long, but I did stop time.”

“Okay. Sure.”

“The basement stairs are this way?”

“Yes.” She pointed and automatically recited while she watched yet another video of cats trying to climb Christmas trees, “Finding Your Gift is downstairs to the left. Restrooms are to the right. No preregistration is required. Have a good evening.”

The stairwell to the basement had an industrial feel, barren brightly lit cinder blocks in yellow paint cool and rough to the touch. The meeting room was filled with rows of metal folding chairs in neat rows looking like steadfast soldiers. At the front was a woman reading through pages and making notes with a highlighter. A few seats were occupied most of the group were over by a series of long tables that held cheese trays, bowls of fruit, small sandwiches, coffee, bottles of water and a large orange insulated water cooler labeled “Try Me”. He wasted no time and joined those taking advantage of the refreshments and balanced carefully several items on a thin paper plate eating some things as he walked along the food.

He took his plate to a seat not too far back from the front where he sat and ate. He studied the woman as she gathered her notes, watching her move about back and forth in front of the podium. He hated closed in spaces with no way to see the outside. Taking a deep breath he gulped down some water laid back for a second in his chair and closed his eyes. The sound of metal chairs scraping brought him back to the basement meeting room as people took their seats.

“Good evening. I hope that you all had the chance to partake of some of the snacks. I made my famous punch and if you haven't tried it I suggest that you get a glass or two before you leave this evening.”

The gathered crowd laughed, some waved their cups as show of compliance.

“Okay, so let's get started.”

He drifted in and out as she spoke about keeping a positive attitude, and that we are all special, that we all have something that only you can do. Some special skill, talent something that makes you unique. “I call this your gift. Mine, well mine is I can make a pretty darn good fruit punch, nonalcoholic of course. And you know from that gift I am on my way. I just want everyone here to know that this morning I signed a contract with a local bottler and my punch will be in super markets by the end of summer.”

Clapping and cheers, a couple stood up and applauded vigorously. “So,” she held out her hands to quiet everyone down. “I just want to reinforce that my method works. Find your gift, identify it and then use it to achieve. This will be your road to personal satisfaction and wealth.” More applause.

“I see that we have a new guest this evening. Please stand sir and tell us what your gift is? It can be anything, it can be anything that drives you, motivates you, that brings you pleasure.” Laughter.

“Good evening. I just came for the food.”

“Okay, honesty is a virtue that we all know is required to succeed. But a gift you must have a talent, a skill that you believe is uniquely yours.”

“I can stop time.”

Laughter. “He's a kook.”

“No, I can.” He pulled out his pocket watch and a pin from the lapel of his jacket and smiled.

Upstairs he walked past the librarian frozen in laughter, a sight which is far more hideous than one would imagine. He made his way to the door and fresh air. Outside as he walked along the sidewalk the street slowly came back to life. Cars drove by splashing in puddles as he ate sandwiches from a paper bag and drank fruit punch from a water bottle. “She is right, this stuff is good.”