As he reached for his latte, Danny wondered why he felt the way he did. He has not felt at ease for a long time now, but somehow the feeling was much more intense today. As far as he could tell though, today had been the same as any other. He had woken up in his flat, careful not to jostle what's-her-name. He had watched the news, gotten dressed, and drove his Ducati to his office downtown. After that, he got into the executive elevator and rode it to the floor before the last, where he flirted with the receptionist, what's-her-face, as usual, and entered his office where his latte was waiting to be drunk.
So, if nothing special or different had happened, why did he feel so down? He was a 28 year old multimillionaire! The five million dollar deal he had to finish off today was irrelevant. Five million dollars were immaterial to Danny, let alone his whole firm. How many people could call five million dollars immaterial? And yet, no sooner had the thought occurred to him, he felt miserable. Before he could delve deeper into the issue, he was interrupted by a soft timid rap at his door. It took only an instant for him to compose himself – it was a vital skill for any seasoned and successful business man like himself to have, and one that he was exceptionally good at.
"Come in," he called out, and dropped the pretense of arranging papers as soon as he saw his best friend Ronnie's head poke into the room. Ronnie works in the mail room, and Danny had met him on the very first step of his staircase to success. The many floors between Danny's CFO office and Ronnie's mail room had had no effect on their friendship.
Knowing Ronnie as well as he did, Danny directly detected something off about his friend. For although Ronnie's lips were arched in a gesture of mirth, his eyes bespoke pity and sorrow. "What's wrong with your face?" Danny shot, "You look like you just saw a cat get beaten to death with a stapler."
Confused, Ronnie replied, "I was just wondering what time you wanted to…uh…" he hesitated, bit his lip, and then continued, "Go to the cemetery."
With those last four words, it all hit him with the force of a cliché piano falling out of nowhere. Becky has been dead a full year today. Danny's wife, whom he loved with enough intensity to pass for worship, was killed a year ago. Becky had stolen Danny's heart in preschool and had never given it back. Becky was a surgeon who had found time in her busy work schedule to go on campaigns to third world countries and provide health care to those who could not afford it, and she had loved Danny in spite of how different they were. Danny never cared for anything except her and making money. She, on the other hand, was making a difference, saving lives, and keeping him happy. She was superwoman, and she was no more. A stray bullet caught her in the neck during a skirmish between rival militias in Africa. She never stood a chance. Danny scoffed at the irony of her dying at the hands of the people she was trying to aid.
What would she say if she saw what Danny had turned into? He had all this money that could be doing so much for the world, and he was using it to keep his ass warm. He was not even happy. He had been trying to distract himself for a whole year from the agony of not seeing that gorgeous woman's face, or hearing her soft voice and feeling her warm breathe against his neck as they lay in bed, talking late into the night. He busied himself with work and one night stands so as not have any free time to torture himself with thoughts such as he was having now.
Danny began to lose his composure, and he felt tears well up in his eyes. He felt despair wrap its cold cruel hands around his whole being. Where were his values? Did he ever even have any? How could Becky have loved this? She would be mortified if she saw what he had let himself become.
Ronnie, who had been eyeing Danny anxiously but respecting his need for silence, got up, walked around the table, put a hand on Danny's shoulder, squeezed it, and left the room. A few minutes after Ronnie left, Danny emailed his resignation, wrote a check with most of his money to the organization Becky worked with and was so passionate about, canceled his meeting, and went back home.
Danny had decided to go to China and see his brother Bobby, a Buddhist monk. He needed out of the city and he needed to grieve. The serenity of a temple was perfect for that. Who knows, maybe he would join the monastery himself. "Maybe, but I'm not shaving my head," he mused.
