What Remains to be Done.

           Oscar was a writer, or at least that was how he generally introduced himself.. He did not say that he was employed as a shelf stocker at Giant Tiger, which is how he earned most of his meagre income. His short stories would sometimes get published, sometimes for a small amount of money, sometimes for none. His two books had been purchased by friends and family members and few else, the royalties were anything but royal. The editor of the local newspaper did not feel that it was worth her while to have someone interview such an unsuccessful writer, even though it was a small town paper, and he lived in that small town.

           He kept his optimism even in the face of his lack of any real success as a writer. He believed firmly that all he would need is one success, and he might then be a ‘professional writer,’ and no longer just a minion in a major chain grocery store.

Then One Day

           Then one day, as Oscar was stocking shelves at the beginning of the workday, as well as training someone to do likewise, something unusual and potentially dangerous happened. The two of them were stocking shelves with some pretty heavy items, so he had to keep his eye on the young man who was working with him. Everything was proceeding as planned, when Oscar felt a very strong urge to go to the bathroom for a pee. As he was now in his early fifties, he was at the beginning of the long road that would take him to where nature’s call would be getting louder and shriller with the passing of every year. He told Sam, his trainee, to stop stocking while he went to the bathroom. Then he headed in a quick pace, being careful not to knock anyone over, to the room that would likely give him relief.

           Not long after he left, Sam decided that he didn’t really need to be scrutinized by an ‘old man’ just to stock shelves, so he got on with his work. To use one of his favourite expressions, it wasn’t ‘rocket surgery’. Anyone could do it.

           As Oscar returned from the washroom, he saw the careless work that Sam had done, putting some particularly heavy items rather precariously on the top shelf. Oscar picked up speed so that he could undo what Sam had done before there was some kind of accident. But then he saw an old man walking slowly down the aisle, just as one of the heavy boxes began to teeter, a prelude to a fall and crash. 

           Oscar moved as fast as he could, and was able to push the box back before it came down on the old man’s head. As for himself, he tripped and fell at the old man’s feet. Sam asked him ‘Are you okay?’, when deep inside he just wanted to laugh. He was worried that he might get fired for what he had done, and what almost happened. 

           Oscar said that he was fine, and that he would show Sam how to stack the heavy boxes properly. Then he felt a tap on his right shoulder. He turned around and saw the old man looking up at him, with thankfulness all over his smiling face.

           “Thanks for what you just did young man. I’ve never been rescued before. Thanks again. I won’t insult you by offering you money. However, I would like to buy you lunch at the restaurant across the road”

           Oscar thought a bit, and liked the idea. It had been a long time since he had lunched with anyone. Usually he just sat on a bench outside the store and ate sandwiches that his wife had made for him. 

           “Okay, sir, I will take you up on your kind offer. My lunch break begins at noon.”

Lunch with a Literary Man

           The two men sat in a booth at the back of the restaurant. The old man introduced himself as Edwin Kent. Oscar knew the name, and when he looked hard enough at the old man, he recognized his face. “You’re one of my favourite writers. We studied a couple of your books in high school. There wasn’t one that I didn’t like. It was then that I decided to become a writer myself, although as you no doubt can tell, without anything like your success.”

           This started a long conversation about writing, Edwin early asking if he could read some of Oscar’s works. He also said something unusual. “With all I have written, I am still haunted by what remains to be done.” With those words, Edwin just shook his head, and started to eat his lunch. It was clear that he did not want to explain what he meant. It was something that obviously troubled him.

           The rest of the conversation was all about inspiration, and how exciting it was to begin a new work. It went on so long, that Oscar suddenly realized that he was going to be a little late getting back from his lunch break.

           As they got up, paid and left, Edwin asked if the next day, Oscar would bring some of his short stories for him to read. He got a very enthusiastic “Yes of course”, from the younger man.

What Had Begun Did Not Last

           Unfortunately for the two of them, what had begun that day did not last, although both of them certainly wanted it to. In a few short weeks, Edwin died. He was in his mid-eighties and had not been well for a long time.

           The next week Oscar received a call from a lawyer, telling him that Edwin had bequeathed something to him in his will that he should come and pick up. Oscar had no idea what that could be, but he was immensely pleased that the old man had thought that much of him in their short term as friends as to do this.

           The lawyer’s office was not far away from the Giant Tiger where Oscar worked, so the next day, he walked over there during his lunch break. He identified himself as the Oscar that he had called, upon which the lawyer opened up a drawer in his desk and took out a box filled with papers. The old man had written “WHAT REMAINS TO BE DONE” in large capital letters on top of the box.

           Then the lawyer told Oscar that there was a paper that had to be signed. It was presented to him, and he looked over it carefully. He did not believe what he read. What Remains to be Done, was a collection of short stories and three novels that Edwin had not been able to complete. He had signed over the rights to these works, wanting Oscar to complete them, and get them published under both their names.

           As soon as he arrived home after work, Oscar took one of the unfinished novels, and read it all the way through. Over the next week, he completed it with a finishing chapter t. He contacted Edwin’s publisher, who already knew about the agreement, and very much wanted to publish it.

           Within the passage of a couple of months, the book became a best seller, in part because of the name of the main author, but also because of rumours of the ‘spectacular ending’ that it had. Oscar could not believe the size of the first royalty cheque.

           Oscar then quit his job and worked on completing the other two novels. They too eventually became best sellers. They earned him two more spectacular royalty cheques.

           He later completed the short stories and published them in a compilation that sold as well as the novels had, as later would the novels he would write on his own, now that his name was well known. A single slip of a heavy box had caused a landslide of success.