Yes, Differently — Page 39

#01

The Morning of Signing

The morning of the signing was a Wednesday.

The contract had been on the desk for seven days. Had moved past wobble into knowing. The body said yes at the end of last week; the hand would say yes today. Sat in the chair with the chipped cup at 7:14 AM. Wrote the morning page in the fourth notebook — which would, by Wednesday afternoon, be one page short of full. The page said: I will sign at 2:14. Picked the time on impulse. 2:14 PM was, by my own internal calendar, Wednesday's stillest hour. The signing would happen then.

#02

The Signature

Signed at 2:14 PM.

The signature was the one I'd practiced four times the prior evening — the same habit from signing the chapbook copies. The pen was the black Uni-ball. Three lines at the bottom of page three. Capped the pen. Read the signature. Signed the second copy. Capped the pen again. The contract was, by 2:18 PM Wednesday, signed.

#03

The Email to Daria

Sent the signed contract to Daria at 3:14 PM.

Three short lines: "Hi Daria — signed, scanned, attached. Excited. Slightly. The good kind. — Jan." The send-button whoosh sounded the way it always sounded. Daria replied within nineteen minutes: "Welcome to the book. We will take good care of it. — D." Read the reply. Closed the laptop. Sat with it for a long minute. Had, by 3:33 PM, officially signed up to write a book over the next 24 months. The lamp was on. The cat was on the desk.

#04

Telling Mom

Called Mom at 6:14 PM her morning.

Told her I'd signed. Mom said good. Mom said 24 months is long enough. Mom said you will write a real book. I said I think so. Mom said eat well. Take care. Mom said, in English: I am proud of you, Jan. She didn't say more. The call lasted seven minutes. Sat with the closed laptop afterward. The lamp was on. Mom had blessed it.

#05

Telling Priya, Saturday

Told Priya in person on Saturday.

She hugged me at the café. She said of course you signed. She said the book is the book you have been writing in pieces for four years. She said I will buy the first ten copies. I said you only need one. She said I will buy ten. They will be for people I will, in the next two years, decide they are for. Didn't argue. Priya ordered the second coffee. The afternoon was the right afternoon to tell Priya in person.

The following Tuesday, the kitchen at dinner

#06

The Tuesday-After, August

The Tuesday after the signing August was at the apartment for dinner.

The contract was on the corner of the kitchen table. He'd been quiet about it across the prior week. At minute fourteen he said: can I read it. I said the contract? He said yes. Handed it to him. He read it for the four minutes it takes. He said Daria gave you a good deal. I said yes. He said you have 24 months. That's the right pace. I said I know. August didn't make the signing into A Thing. The contract returned to the corner of the table.

#07

The First Drafting Day

Started drafting on Monday morning.

The fifth notebook was open to its first page. Hadn't started in it on the Wednesday or the weekend — the fifth was the new-book notebook, and the new-book notebook would start on Monday. Monday was the right day. The first sentence I'd been carrying in my head since Daria's email. Wrote it at 7:42 AM. The sentence was the right sentence.

#08

The First Sentence

The first sentence was: "This is a book about a chair I dragged in off the curb." In the weeks before signing I'd considered four other first sentences.

None were right. The chair piece's opening had always been I have, for four years, sat in a chair I dragged in off the curb. The new book opens with the same chair in a slightly different sentence. The sentence is the right entrance. Capped the pen. Closed the notebook. Would write page two on Tuesday morning.

#09

The Wednesday-After

January 2, 2030.

August had asked, on December 30th, if he could read the first thirty pages aloud back to me. I said yes. The reading happened at 9:14 AM in the kitchen. August read for thirty-eight minutes. The pages, in his voice, were different from how they'd been in my head. The differences were the places I'd find the work in the editing pass two years from now. Didn't interrupt. The reading ended. August said this is the book the chapbook was an excerpt of. He'd said the same phrase at the offer-decision. He said it again. The phrase was the right phrase.