by Michael Tuberdyke

Everything was in order. The clamps were nailed to the wall organized by size along with the levels. The work bench was clean with each box of nails and screws labeled beside the bottles of wood glue. The hammers, mallets, and sanders sat upon the table untouched.

“I don’t know,” James said, looking at the table he built by hand. “I guess one day I decided not to come in here. I can’t remember why. I don’t know if it was because of work, or my wife, or if I was just tired and wanted to be comfortable–not comfortable–but I was just used to coming home, sitting down,and turning it off.”

“That happens,”Chris said, taking a sip of his coffee. He had come in from out of town and James was putting him up in his spare room.

“You still have the tools. Remember Bill? He went six months without a single idea and sold out his lot completely. Two years later he’s buying it all back.”

James laughed. He found that to be appropriate for Bill. James liked to have his workshop just as much as he did not like to have it, but he did not ever consider selling. On occasion, he would stumble upon a few pieces of wood in the trash on his way home. He liked to sand them down as smooth as they could be worked and then after he would throw them into the fire.

“I don’t think twice before throwing the pieces into the fire.”

“Lucky you. All my early projects I would like to burn. I had no idea what I was doing.”

James nodded his head. He had those projects too. He had found them to be the ones that were the most fun. They were fun in the same way a new relationship is. Everything was uncertain and it did not matter how many times something was done because he had never done it with the piece he was experiencing now. Time and knowledge made him critical and that spoiled it.

“Just keep the tools.” Chris was holding his coffee looking at the collection of hammers. “If you get an idea then you’ll be ready.”

James suddenly felt uncomfortable as though there were a ghost in the room. In that room he had experienced victory and in that room he experienced defeat. He felt he would take a defeat over nothing.

“It’s not as big as you’re making it.” Chris could sense James’ thoughts as they stood there together.

“I did think about getting rid of it all.”

“That would be a shame. I still use the chair you built me five years ago along with the table you somehow were able to manage building into the corner of my kitchen.”

James nodded.  He remembered that table perfectly. The planning took months. He had dreamt about the table and its placement in the home.

“That was a good one.”

“Something like that can’t be found anywhere.”

Jim did not say anything and switched the topic. He wanted to not talk about any of the past jobs. He felt it was bad luck. It was even worse luck to talk about the things that one would be working on. He did not like when people talked about their projects. He did not want to be one of those people. He would rather sell it all off and buy it back then turn into one of those people.

Michael Tuberdyke is the author of the novels, The Pharaohs and The River May Run.