The Boy | Grace's Mittens

Updated: May 1, 2019

Our first set of stories for you and little one.

Please enjoy "The Boy" and its child-friendly companion, Grace's Mittens, located at the bottom of the page.

The Boy

Mister Edward Davis sat in his favorite dark corner of his favorite endearingly dingy pub one lunch hour on Friday, his favorite day of the week. It wasn’t that Ed hated his job. In fact, it was quite the opposite. He took great pride in his work, and he enjoyed performing the complex tasks that the undertook on a daily basis. However, he was wise enough to know that too much of a good thing would spoil it, and he relished the weekend for the days of relaxation that it gave him to spend with his wife, Olivia, and daughter, Grace, before it was time to return to his painstaking but rewarding labor.

So it was on this sunny Friday in this dark, crowded pub at half past noon that he found himself catching up with an acquaintance that he hadn’t seen in perhaps a decade, enjoying a steak sandwich, and explaining the intricacies of his job, which he never passed up an opportunity to do.

“It’s really quite interesting,” he said, wiping the corner of his mouth with a napkin, “what we’re doing I mean. I’ve been on the team ten years—started out at the bottom of the totem pole right out of school, and I worked my way up to manager. I lead the whole team now, I really do, and I think that the higher-ups have got their eyes on me for director of the department. I don’t know if I’d take it though, I mean if it was offered to me. I’ve been in this role, working with these people for so long that I don’t know if I could even leave.”

He laughed and took another bite of his sandwich. His acquaintance, George, who he had known briefly in school and who was a good friend of a friend, was working on a particularly gristly bit of his steak—he had ordered the same quaintly horrid sandwich—and the distressed look on his face signaled that he was clearly having trouble with the bite. Trying to prevent his lunchmate the embarrassment of an awkward silence, Ed took a sip from his glass of water and continued speaking.

“Besides,” he said, “I don’t know if I would even trust someone to do my job. I’m not trying to sound arrogant or anything, it’s just very complex. If I were to become director or something of the like, I guess one of my lads could manage, but even then, the job is just so important. Really, every day to day operation of the company depends on it. We couldn’t make a sale, heck, I don’t know if we could even open the doors if everything wasn’t perfectly in order.”

“Oh really?” asked George with a gulp, finally swallowing the mouthful he had been working on. He searched for the bottle of ketchup on the table and busied his hands with unscrewing the crusty cap. “And what exactly is it that you do?” he asked. “Something with the finances?”

“No, not at all,” said Ed excitedly. “It’s really quite unique. It’s a very proprietary system, but I think it’s part of what makes us the best of the best.” It was there that Ed launched into a lengthy explanation of punch cards sent through pneumatic tubes and reports copied in triplicate that he oversaw on a daily basis. He went into particular detail to painstakingly illustrate an example of the complex record keeping notation that he had personally developed in order to ensure that the process could be completed and communicated as efficiently as possible in order to meet the demands of the fast-paced industry. He explained how his team was hand-picked and specially trained by him in order to optimize their part of the business, which he reiterated was absolutely essential to the operation of the company. Ed didn’t like to admit it because he wasn’t boastful by any measure of the definition, but he very well may have been the most important man doing the most important work in the company, and he took immense pride in that.

He barely noticed when the waitress dropped the check off at their table and was deep in the next stage of his explanation when George suddenly stood and began to take his suit jacket from where it rested on the hook screwed to the wall next to their booth. “It was great running into you, Ed,” he said, reaching in his pocket for his wallet. “We’ll have to catch up again some time. Oh, I meant to ask. How is the family?”

Ed hadn’t realized that it had gotten to be so late in the hour. He stood as well and rooted around in his pocket for payment. “Oh great, great!” he said. “We’re actually going out into the country for sledding this weekend. You know what they say. You’ve got to play hard to work hard! But really, Grace is getting excited for her winter break, and Olivia is busy organizing something, a bake sale for the poor, I think. I really do adore them. How are you and yours?”

George gave a peculiar laugh and talked about his family for a moment as they left the pub. They went their separate ways, and Ed stopped for a moment to admire the oddly clear sky on the chilly day. He thought of what they had been talking about. It has seemed to him that George had been very interested in his explanation. Perhaps he had attained such a mastery of the craft that he was ready to train a replacement and move on to the next step in his career. He had to stop himself from skipping on his way back to the office.

It did not take long for Ed to decide that he was going to ask for a promotion. The director position that he had reported to had been vacant for a peculiarly long time. He wasn’t sure really how long it had been, but after some thought Ed realized that he had been reporting to a vice president of the company for quite some time, perhaps three or four years. He had very little communication with either of those bosses, mostly because Ed found himself to be an effective leader and rarely needed support from above. He handled issues as they arose and didn’t find it necessary to bother anyone with trivial matters.

He believed that he really had a good shot at the position, so he reached out by phone to his boss’s secretary and made it known that he wished to speak with him. Strangely, the secretary seemed surprised to hear from Ed. He wasn’t sure to make of it but decided not to let it worry him. He was confident in his ability and would let his performance speak for him.

A few weeks passed and Ed filled his time with his job and his family. Everything was going well on both fronts, but he didn’t have much time for anything else. That was okay with him. He saw himself as a supporter. He would care for and provide for his loved ones, and he would carry the burden of the company on his shoulders. And he would never ask for anything in return. Really, his requesting a promotion was more for the company than for him. He had done so well with his team in his department—surely, he could share his talent with the rest of the business.

It was not long before he found himself invited to the office of Mister James Thomas, a vice president of the company. Mr. Thomas greeted him warmly and invited him to sit in one of two overstuffed leather chairs in the corner of his large office. He offered Ed a glass of scotch, which he accepted appreciatively. He did not typically find himself with an appreciation of fine and rare liquors, but he figured that if he got the promotion it would be a taste that he may have to acquire. He took a sip of the ochre liquid and let it slosh in his mouth, feeling the smoky vapors entrench themselves in his sinuses. He set the glass down on an end table and suppressed a grimace from the unfamiliar taste.

“I’m glad that you reached out to me, Mr. Davis,” said Mr. Thomas, after they had settled and exchanged a few pleasantries. “There is something that I have been putting off discussing with you for some time.”

Ed felt his stomach drop. Sweat manifested suddenly in the small of his back and the heart of his palms. He stared into the graying executive’s vulpine face and prepared for his world to fall apart.

“Sir,” he blurted, “if my performance has been lacking then I sincerely apologize. I take my job with the upmost of importance and I believe that I am invaluable to this company. Frankly, I believe that my termination would be a grave mistake.”

Mr. Thomas looked at Ed with grimace, then without warning burst into short, chopped gales of laughter. The contortion of his face was deeply concerning to Ed, as he would not have believed that such a face could make such a shape had he not seen it with his own eyes.

“My dear boy,” said Mr. Thomas, “I believe there has been a misunderstanding. I have no intention of firing you. In fact, precisely the opposite. I believe that you will be retaining your position for quite some time yet.”

Ed’s stomach reversed directions in a vertigo inducing twist. He wasn’t being fired! That was good, but still, could he push his luck with asking for a promotion? He wiped his palms on his pantlegs and readjusted in his seat, trying to regain his balance and establish control over himself.

“Well then, sir,” said Ed, “I would like to put my name forward for consideration for the vacant director position above me.”

Mr. Thomas affected a strained smile and once again Ed’s stomach lurched.

“My boy,” said Mr. Thomas, “Once again I believe there has been some misunderstanding. You aren’t being fired, but we certainly can’t have you advance up the ranks of the company.”

Ed made as if to say something, but no words came out. He was completely unprepared for this. He hadn’t realized it until now, but in his head he had already had the promotion. Sparing him the embarrassment of whatever he was about to say, Mr. Thomas continued.

“Did you seriously not know, son? I thought you were sharper than this. Well, I suppose I should explain it to you, so you don’t go asking questions later on. We need to keep this on the hush-hush, you see.” Mr. Thomas paused to offer Ed a conspiratorial smile, which he had no choice but to attempt to return. He botched it.

“You see,” continued Mr. Thomas, “a few years ago, there was an oversight regarding your department. We updated our systems and procedures to allow for the more efficient conducting of our business. We spent millions on putting new procedures and infrastructure in place to ensure our company’s dominance in the sector. In doing so, your department was rendered obsolete. Your director was moved across the city to another branch where he is still gainfully employed with us, but I’m afraid that I seem to have…ahem, forgotten to dissolve your department. I was responsible for the confirmation, but it seemed to slip my mind and your entire department remained on the payroll. We didn’t discover until much, much later. So much later in fact that the discovery of such a mistake would have resulted in unfortunate consequences for everyone involved, including you and me.”

Ed felt numb. He didn’t know what to say. So, as if watching himself from above he said anything. “But sir, I’m—us—we are essential to the company. We keep everything moving and rolling along. The business couldn’t function without me!”

“I’m afraid, Mr. Davis, that it’s just the opposite. Unfortunately for the past five years our little mistake as been naught but a financial drain on the company, and quite a bit on my end to keep it covered up.”

“But all the punch cards!” Ed exclaimed, grasping on to his last hope. “We receive all of the punch cards and file them where they need to go to make business run smoothly! Surely that aspect of our work is important at least for record keeping.”

“Well, here’s another embarrassing a bit,” said Mr. Thomas, providing his best, most indulgent grin. “You see, the shoots that lead to your department were meant to be rerouted to the trash disposal. We thought we had been disposing of all those papers this whole time.”

“But then,” said Ed, finally defeated, “where does everything we send go?”

“Well,” said Mr. Thomas, still trying to win Ed over with his best smile, “That’s the thing. The output from your department was routed to the trash instead. That’s where the error occurred in fact. But cheer up, Ed! Your job is safe. We can never let this get out, can we? This will be our little secret.”

The meeting after that was short, and Ed found himself leaving quickly and rather impolitely. He was in somewhat of a state of shock, and was unsure how to comport himself, so instead of returning to his office, he decided to take a walk outside.

The crisp winter air bit at him, but he didn’t feel it. Edward Davis had spent the last five years of his life leading a team intricately sorting trash from trash bins into other trash bins. All his effort and careful development of the craft had been for nothing. He was nothing. No, he was worse than nothing. He was a drain.

Eschewing every bit of propriety and decorum that he still had, he sat down on the street, back against the wall, and sobbed. To him, at the moment, the meaninglessness of his work was a perfect mirror to the meaninglessness of life. The knowledge of the false pride that he had felt for so long was like grave dirt in his mouth.

His work had created no meaning, and his existence was without the same. Without feeling or sense of self or form he sunk into a melancholy void. Deep in a self-indulgent languor, a too close trolley rushing past him and pushed a gust of frigid air in his face and brought his awareness back to heed. Then he remembered the caress of Olivia and the feeling of Grace in his arms and stood from his spot on the ground, face to the sky in silent scream of triumph.

He had produced nothing at his work, that was true, but with his life he had created meaning. He had created love, and life, and family, and he had that to live for. He had that forever and it was all he truly needed. As he walked home and started to compose his resignation letter in his head it began to snow.