The strangest case
It’s late again. That horrid bus is always late when it is bitter cold or raining, but early and already gone when my train is delayed. I swear I will spend the best years of my life under a bus shelter waiting. I maneuvered my butt onto the cold, metal bar that passes for a bench in the shelter. I’ll probably get hemorrhoids from sitting on it every day. It would be wonderful to have a car. To turn on the heat, listen to the radio, park in front of the building I work in. Envy fills my heart every time I get to work, dripping wet with squelchy shoes and I am greeted by my coworker, Lisa, who has casually popped out of her car and glided the twenty meters from her parking space to the entrance, dry and still smelling of warm wool. To have enough money for a car would be divine.
I sigh and look around at the usual suspects on my morning commute. Smoking, head phones guy is reading near the garbage bin. Looks like something philosophical and dry. I wonder if he actually enjoys reading those high-brow books or if he just likes to appear complex. Chitty and Chatty are texting while talking to each other about their weekend dates. Both bathed in perfume, artfully painted with makeup, and wearing nearly identical outfits. Must be students. Under all that pomp, they look barely old enough to drive. Sad Sally is at the other end of the uncomfortable bench. A middle-aged woman with defeat hanging on her like a blanket. She probably cries in the bathroom at work, when no one is around.
Though, I am not any different than this motley crew. I caught my reflection in the Plexiglas of the bus shelter. It took me a second to realize it was me. Bland and uninspiring. That is what my last Hinge date called me when he said he wouldn’t be seeing me again. Jackass. He was so arrogant and superficial, making hurtful comments for no reason. But he wasn’t wrong. Bland and uninspiring in both appearance and personality. That’s me. I looked away, so I didn’t depress myself and end up like a younger version of Sad Sally.
The bus made its appearance at the stop further down the street. Finally. Another couple of minutes and it would be at my stop. I stood up, picked up my bag, and turned to queue with my ticket in hand, nearly knocking down an elderly gentleman in the process.
‘I am so sorry. I didn’t see you,’ I said, reaching out for his arm, so he didn’t fall to the pavement. Where the hell did he come from? Spry little goblin.
He just smiled, bowed his head, and quickly walked on down the sidewalk. I smoothed out my jacket and picked up the ticket I dropped. There was a small case in front of me. The old goat must have dropped it and not realized. I yelled after him. The other commuters were already boarding the bus, handing the driver their money or scanning their pass. Dammit. I couldn’t leave the case at the stop, could I? It would only take a minute to catch up to the old man. I could get the next bus, 15 minutes from now. I usually got to work early anyway. I could spare the time, no matter how annoying this was.
I picked up the case and waved the bus driver to go on, pointing toward the rapidly disappearing geriatric. He closed the doors before I even had a chance to finish my sentence telling him I would catch the next one. Rude. I pursued the little old man, walking briskly, but not running. Certainly, I could catch up to a pensioner without exerting myself. Speed walking past the plumbing supply store, barber, and the real estate office, I had nearly caught up to the owner of the case. But then I slowed to a stop in front of the empty store front on the corner when I saw something in my peripheral vision. What was going on? I turned to face the window with a ‘To Let’ sign and waved my hand. No reflection. I couldn’t see myself. Even a bland and uninspiring person had a reflection. I set down the case and my reflection instantly reappeared. Pick up the case, no reflection. Put down the case, reflection. Repeating the process half a dozen times, I must have looked like the human equivalent of someone flicking the light on and off. Was the case affecting my mind? Maybe there was something on the handle that was making me hallucinate.
I grabbed the case and waved at a woman pushing a pram toward me. She didn’t wave back. As she got closer, I flapped my arms around and wiggled my hips. Still no response. She may just be distracted with the child or the errand she is running. Just before she passed me on the sidewalk, I gave a rude gesture then lunged at her pram, giving the impression that I was poised to knock her infant into the street. Nothing. I pulled back against the store front as she passed by, put the case down, and said, ‘Excuse me, ma’am, do you have the time.’
She started and turned toward me. ‘Oh, you gave me a scare. I didn’t see you,’ looking at her phone she added, ‘it’s half past.’
Thanking her, I waited until she rounded the corner, then I picked the case up again and resumed my pursuit of its owner. Turning round the corner and looking along the street he’d retreated down, I saw nothing. Where did the little bugger go? He wasn’t moving that quickly, was he? I need to ask him what the case does and how it works? He definitely would want it back. Wouldn’t he? If it was that important, wouldn’t he have realized when he dropped it? Did he abandon it? Maybe I should hold onto it for him, but just until he notifies the bus company of his missing property. I can call them tomorrow to see if anyone reported a missing case.
I notified work that I was taking a sick day, hurried home, and set the case on my kitchen table. It was slightly larger than a toaster, bluish metal with strange swirl patterns, and had no apparent opening or seams. The handle appeared to be welded on the outside, different in style and material than the case itself. An afterthought or a solution to make transport more convenient? Was it the handle that made me invisible or the case? I dragged the standing mirror from my bedroom to the kitchen and began a series of tests. Touch the handle, invisible. Touch the case, invisible. With only one finger, invisible. Touch it with the tip of my nose, invisible. With gloves on, not invisible. So skin contact was needed to make it work, but only minimal surface area. Strange.
Someone created this, but to what end? What would you do with an invisibility case? I looked at my reflection contemplating what someone like me would do, if I was invisible. Bland and uninspiring. I was already invisible to most of the world. Fear of repercussions kept me soldiering on in obedient obscurity. But now those repercussions didn’t exist. What would I do with an invisibility case?
***
The Thames looked like a fat ribbon of brown muck from my new high-rise apartment. My apartment, purchased, not rented. A brand new Mercedes S560e also sat in my parking stall. Sadly, marred with a learner’s sticker. I didn’t realize it would take so long to get the hang of driving. New clothes, new hairstyle, personal chef five days a week. The invisibility case and I only had to visit four banks to provide me with the means to live my best life. The first one wasn’t as profitable as it could have been. I was carrying the case in one hand, while stuffing stolen money in my backpack with the other. It was awkward and cumbersome. After fashioning my backpack into a reverse kangaroo pouch, with a cut out hole in the pack and my shirt to maintain skin contact, I was able to free up both hands and carry a significantly larger bag to place money in. Though by the third bank job, the police had devised a plan to catch the ‘Money Magician’, as they were calling me, and marked some of the bills. I wasn’t able to use half my haul. Then I knew I had to play further afield and made a trip to Manchester on my fourth run. I calculated it up and figured if I visited three more banks in other parts of the country, I could retire and set the case aside.
Tonight though, I was going on a date. It amazed me the significant increase in quality of men interested in dating me as a well-groomed ‘financial market analyst’ instead of a bland and uninspiring compliance auditor. I wasn’t different, not really, but handsome men faked interest when I bought expensive scotch and gourmet lobster dinners. And they tried, some succeeding, at getting me into the bedroom, rather than a peck on the cheek and a false promise to call at the end of the date. This evening’s company is Alberto, a lovely Italian art dealer with a passion for pricey wine. We are going dancing.
The evening did not end as expected. At dinner, Alberto made a comment about enjoying the company of older women. I was confused at first, trying to figure out why he would tell me that, a woman eight years his junior. It occurred to me at dessert that he thought I was in my forties when he mentioned Duran Duran and asked me if I ever saw them play in concert. I lost my enthusiasm for dancing and told him I was developing a headache, heading home alone. Once I removed my makeup and stood in front of the bright lights of my bedroom, I could see in the mirror that I looked haggard. There were crow’s feet at the corners of my eyes, the edge of my lips was no longer plump and defined, and I could see grey hair hidden in among the blonde. Why had I aged so abruptly? I looked over at the small, bluish metal case I stored behind my Jimmy Choo collection. Moving the shoes off the shelf, I pulled out the invisibility case, set it on a chair, and looked at it. Was the case aging me? Did it get worse with each use or did it set in motion a process I couldn’t stop? Best to stop using it altogether and see if I could halt my decline.
Six months have passed without using the case. I don’t appear to have gotten any older than the night Alberto brought it to my attention. But now I am running low on available cash and he does like to be wined and dined. I had previously planned on three more banks, but I really think I can only afford one more robbery. Beyond that and I may be too frail to really enjoy the gains I have made. One more bank and then get rid of the case. And maybe Alberto. Neither of them is good for my health.
I strap my kangaroo pack with the case onto my back and pick up two empty duffel bags. To avoid CCTV picking me up on the way into and out of the bank, I stay invisible the entire way, riding the Tube there, rather than taking my car. I stand outside the Barclays until just before close and slip in as they are shooing the last customer out the door. The safe will stay open for a half hour, while all the staff close down the systems and put away deposits. I use my 30-minute window wisely, opening cash boxes with the master key I lifted from the manager, emptying deposit boxes, and packing the duffels quickly and efficiently. I slip back out when the security guard opened the door for the cleaning staff. They won’t notice the robbery until the next morning, when they open the safe and access the cashboxes. The Money Magician strikes again.
After leaving the bank, I waited at the end of the platform for several hours, selecting the emptiest train after the commuter rush. Though I was invisible, I was still solid and took up space. People would bump into me. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself by being in the way. The train car wasn’t completely empty, so I maintained invisibility until I got home. Once inside my apartment, I shed the kangaroo pack and dragged my duffels into the bedroom. I flipped on the lights and stopped dead in my tracks. The person looking back at me from the mirror was not the same person that left for the bank. My hair was now snow white, my skin sagged like melted cake icing, and my eyes were sunken. The case had stolen at least 15 years. I slumped down and cried until I fell asleep on top of the duffels.
Commuters swarmed around me like a river around a rock, rushing to catch a train, hurrying, hurrying. I am sure my aged form elicited more than one curse word, as I clogged the flow of younger humans on their way to work. Standing next to a bench along the platform wall, I looked around at the crowd, put down the case with my gloved hands, and pretended to rummage through my purse for my Oyster card. I mumbled ‘Where did my card go?’ just loud enough to dispel suspicion about my leaving before the train arrived. Hurrying back down the corridor, I left the case behind at the platform. I walked as quickly as my older body would allow to the escalator. Just as I cleared the top and disappeared into the crowd, I could hear a voice yell after me, ‘Lady, you forgot your case.’
