The word that best described Sam Partridge's life was 'mundane.' Everything, day in and day out, was routine. Routine, and boring.
Six days a week, he rose at six in the morning, drank precisely two cups of coffee, always black, and then headed off to sit in a tollbooth to mindlessly accept tokens from subway goers for eight hours. It was a thankless job, one that not many would do, and the pay was lousy, but he didn't have the privelege to attend college, so he was stuck. No training or special license was necessary, so it suited his uneventful life.
Sam had no wife or children. He liked to pretend that it was due to his six-day work week, and that he just didn't have time to meet a woman. The truth was that while he had at one time circulated bars, in an attempt to meet someone, he'd long given up that idea.
He wasn't an attractive man. Thinning black hair that always looked oily topped his potato-ish body. He hefted around a belly that rivaled self-proclaimed beer guzzlers, on top of legs slightly shorter than normal, so he always appeared to be waddling.
His unattachment ensured he'd always be chosen to work on the important family holidays. This Christmas Eve was no different.
Very few fares came through that day, and after the fifth sour-faced individual grimaced at the inconvenience of stopping to drop a token into the basin, Sam got an idea. He needed a hobby, something to break up the monotony of his life and his job, before he really did snap and mow down the usually dense subway crowd with a machine gun, like he often daydreamed about.<
* * * * *
Upon arriving at the store, flocks of people bustling about in the mad dash just prior to closing on Christmas Eve, Sam realized he had no idea what to take up as a hobby. Nor did he have time to dawdle up and down the aisles, weighing his options.
An announcement over the intercom confirmed his woes -- they were closing, which meant another two days in his recliner, eating TV dinners and watching television until the National Anthem sang him to sleep.
Sam turned to leave, and accidentally kicked a large shopping bag sitting on the floor right behind him. He picked it up by the handles and looked around him for it's owner since the item had slid across the floor a couple of feet. Whatever it contained, someone had likely intended it as a gift for someone.
Everyone kept hurrying past; no one even looked his direction. The crowd gradually thinned. No one was searching for the bag. Sam looked warily around him, wondering if anyone would chase him down, screaming that he was a thief, and he strolled out of the store.
* * * * *
Once home, Sam set the large, colorful bag on the cluttered kitchen table. His palms were sweaty, he was anxious, and he paced, glancing now and then at the shopping bag.
All the way home one the bus, it sat between his feet, taunting him, making him feel like he did something wrong. Sam hadn't swiped it from some unsuspecting shopper. He shouldn't feel guilty that someone was being deprived of a gift. He'd even waited and searched the throng of shoppers, looking for anyone who might be trying to find the misplaced bag.
Two hours passed before his tension eased and he relaxed enough to look inside. A camera! Photography was the last thing he'd ever thought about for a hobby. Sam never noticed much beauty in the world around him, so the thought of capturing it on film wouldn't have occurred to him. His world revolved around a dreary little apartment and a subterranean tunnel with a train and flourescent lights that buzzed constantly.
Respecting the delicate equipment, Sam took the thin silver camera out of it's box. He'd seen these advertised on commercials and in store ads. Digital cameras were the latest in technology, and the must-have item for anyone who owned a computer and too semi-regular pictures.
Sam admired the many buttons and shiny newness, then carefully replaced it. His conscience told him to return it; his interest told him to use it. The latter enthused him more. In the spring, he told himself, when rebirth was upon the world and things bloomed that were worthy of photographing. Besides, beyond his dingy apartment window, even with all the holiday lights and wreaths, the city was bleak and drab.
The rest of the winter passed slowly but surely, Sam's life continuing on as routine as ever, with one minor exception: this year, when the snow gave way to a new season, he would find a little joy in flowers, the chirping birds, and maybe even a walk through the park down the street, because he finally had a new hobby, and something to look forward to.
* * * * *
The day finally arrived when the last of the dirty, slushy snow melted in the streets. Sam rushed home, more eager than usual, and removed the camera from it's box for the second time. It was just as new and shiny as he remembered.
He smiled--really grinned, which was completely unlike Sam. With a bounce in his step, he walked the ten blocks to the park. His hobby, his camera, gave him a boost of confidence. It gave him a reason to be alive. Along his walk, others noticed, too. People nodded casual greetings, and some even said hello to him, also a new experience for Sam.
He came upon an empty bench and took out the camera immediately. Looking around, he wondered what to take a picture of first. A lone yellow flower, barely bloomed, caught his attention from the corner of his eye. Sam managed to ease his weight to one knee and leaned close to take the snapshot. Incredibly proud, he clumsily returned to the bench, pulling up his pants by the belt loops. He turned back to admire the early flower once more, only to discover it lay flat to the ground.
His heart sank. "I must've stepped on it when I got up," he mumbled. As proud as he was of himself for his camera and his brand new hobby, he sulked back home, feeling terrible.
The next day, his mood improved and again he found himself ready to tackle his new obsession. Sam barely arrived at the park when a small toad hopped across his path. Once it stopped, he focused in and too his subject's picture. This time, by the time he lumbered to his feet, the amphibian hopped a couple of feet further down the paved path, oblivious to it's fate. While Sam looked on, a girl on a pink and white bicycle raced around him, ringing her bell, and ran over the toad, squashing it flat.
Once again saddened, Sam returned home again. Photography wasn't what it was cracked up to be, he thought. Perhaps Fate conspired against him. Maybe he cosmically deserved a mired, routine existence with happiness that eluded him forever.
* * * * *
A week passed before Sam grimly picked up the camera again. It was a sunny Saturday morning. Children would be playing at the park, dogs would be romping with their masters, and Sam could use a little fresh air. Besides, he didn't have to take any pictures. He'd bring it, just in case, he finally decided.
The sights and sounds of the park soon made Sam smile, and before long, he'd forgotten the bad luck he'd had with his photography venture and took out the digital camera. Everything inspired him as he zoomed in on one subject after another, but he never clicked a picture. Nothing was exactly perfect to his amateur eye.
Then his gaze fell upon the majestic elm, in all its leafy green glory, near his bench. He focused, zoomed in and out, framed the picture just so, and pressed the button. Almost immediately, clouds rolled in, blocking the sun, and in a matter of minutes, a lightening bolt sizzled to the ground with a deafening crack and split the tree trunk in two, scorching the grass at its base.
Sam was dumbfounded as he looked on, his ears ringing from the incredibly loud boom. Then, as quickly as the sky blackened, it cleared, having never shed a single raindrop.
It had to be coincidence. The flower, the frog, and now a tree, perished just after being captured on the film of this camera. A supernatural joke? A run of incredibly bad luck?
A test. That's what Sam needed. He'd try one more time. After looking around, he walked several yards to the swings, where a solitary little girl pumped her legs, swinging.
Her blonde curls bounced in the air, her laughter and glee floated on the light breeze. She looked healthy; the frame of the swings looked stable.
Sam's palms sweated in anxious nervousness. He raised the camera to his eye and took the snapshot, then waited. His wait was all of thirty seconds. At the highest point of the arc the little girl cut through the air, the chain snapped and with a short scream, she plummeted to the ground.
Sam dropped the camera as if it scorched him. It couldn't be! The camera was... cursed? Later, the paramedics said she felt no pain. Her neck broke on impact.
He took the mysterious item home and hid it safely on the top shelf of his closet, safe, where he was sure it would never harm anyone or anything again. He cried for the pain he caused the girl's family. But, it wasn't his fault, Sam thought. He never honestly believed it was anything more than bizarre coincidence.
* * * * *
In the days that followed, Sam arrived at one conclusion. Other than the fate of his subjects, he had enjoyed his time at the park. He learned to appreciate the beauty around him, and decided upon walks through the park to replace his old hobby. The exercise wouldn't hurt him, and he wouldn't be cooped up in his cramped apartment, dwelling on the item hidden in his closet.
It was on one of these walks that he met Diana. She often walked there herself, mostly for the sake of her poodle. She made Sam laugh, and she enjoyed his company.
They began to date and in time, his happiness erased the painful memory of his camera's curse. Sam eventually dropped weight, his confidence grew, and so did his love for Diana.
Christmas Eve, two years after finding the camera, Sam proposed. A diamond engagement ring was her gift. She accepted happily, and they married on Valentine's Day.
A month later, on Sam's birthday, she surprised him with breakfast in bed. "I have a present for you," she told him.
"A present?" Sam grinned. Diana was the best at picking out gifts.
"Close your eyes," she told him.
He obeyed, and she placed a small gift-wrapped box in his hand.
"Unwrap it with your eyes shut, then open your eyes to see," Diana instructed.
Sam did as he was told, a goofy smile on his face. When he opened his eyes, a flash blinded him. He forgot about the box he held and looked at Diana's hands.
They held the camera he'd stowed in his closet. He felt the color drain from his face and asked, "Where did you get that?" Maybe, by some miracle, she owned one that just looked like it.
Diana laughed. "I found it up in your closet when I was cleaning. I wanted to capture the surprise on your face," she explained.
Oh, Sam was plenty surprised, he thought, as the first wave of pain from his heart attack gripped him in a constricted band around his chest.
