On December 13th, I was put into production. I was one of the very first of the 2023 calendars. Coated in cellophane to protect me from damage. Each and every holiday marked meticulously on my tastefully studded squares.
My colors; white with black and gold trim. Simple. Elegant. Effortless. My brothers and I were shipped in giant containers on the 27th of December. Every single one of us chattering at excitement over who was going to buy us.
On the first of January, we were taken from our crates and brought into the stories. I thought I would be able to handle my excitement. The other calendars looked to me as a sort of big brother to them, since I had been manufactured so far before any of them, but even I was too excited to think.
Then it happened. As we were being taken from our shipping container, half of us were placed on the shelf, and the other half in storage. To my dismay, I was placed in storage. The other calendars were oblivious to the evil path we had been cast upon. But not me.
I knew.
We waited in storage for months. The dark creeping in all around us. It was only a few days before the first of us died. There was a leak in the drain above him. The cellophane protected him for a while, but in the end, it only prolonged his suffering. I still remember the sound of his paper growing damper and damper.
Somebody used the calendar behind me to wipe his ass. Apparently, the store was out of toilet paper and the man was desperate. It was a bad way to go. But in a way, I was almost jealous. At least he was being used.
Then, countless months into my dark prison, I was retrieved by a worker and put on a shelf. Like a lost soul finally leaving purgatory, I gazed at Elysium in elated fervor. I was in a Staples. The phosphorescent lights bathed me in a bright glow as I was carried towards the calendars. I could not believe that I had made it out of that dank storage to behold the glorious shelves.
I looked at the noble shelf the man brought me to; a “Happy 2023!” sign hung over me. To my right, a “2023 planner.” To my left, a “2022” notebook sat in silence.
Wait a minute.
“What is the date?” I asked the planner to my right.
He stared sullenly ahead. He was silent for a moment before he spoke.
“June 27th,” he said.
I breathed a sigh of relief. I wasn’t too late.
“2024.”
Fuck.
I sat on that rack, I eventually learned it was called the ‘clearance rack’ for a long time. In some ways, it was better than storage. Sure there wasn’t the constant threat of death or the crippling darkness, but in its place was an even worse affliction.
Depression.
Every day, people walked by. Ignoring me completely. I couldn’t even blame them though. Who wants an expired calendar?
Nobody.
So I sat there. Days became weeks. Weeks become months. And I sat there. Watching for yellow in my paper. Checking for rips in my cellophane. Hoping for a customer, but expecting the landfill.
Then one day, a man comes in. To be honest, he’s probably not much more than a boy, but just as it looks like he’s going to pass by, he stops.
I can tell immediately that he is not a very bright person. I am further convinced of this impression when he picks me up and brings me to the checkout.
I wait with bated breath as the cashier looks me over. It’s the same man that brought me out of storage. He knows that I am expired. That I am barely better than trash. He says nothing, scanning me with his barcode scanner before ringing up the beautiful, idiotic boy.
The boy brings me home and hangs me up on his wall. All of my dates are about three days off, but this fool has no idea.
He begins writing on me. Filling me with his idiotic plans and due dates. I try to warn him that he needs to adjust, but he cannot hear me.
Months pass on the wall. They are the highlight of my life. Other objects in the boy’s life surround me. An unsolved Rubik’s cube. A Fushigi ball. An incorrectly assembled Lego set that is definitely below the boy’s age range.
As I lay on the wall in bliss, I noticed the boy’s life begin to change alongside mine. Every day, he consults me, trusting my judgment with his life’s plans. A terrible choice.
His life crumbles around him as he misses important deadlines and life events. First, he is fired from his work. Then his girlfriend breaks up with him for wishing her a happy anniversary three days too late.
Finally, his family disowns him after he misses Christmas. I thought that was kind of an overreaction, but also cmon. How do you forget Christmas?
The boy is crying in his room one day and I start to feel a bit strange. My whole life I had been so focused on being bought, being used, that I never put much thought into being used correctly.
But right there, I have to admit I felt a bit guilty. I continued to feel this way after he left. I was supposed to make the guy’s life easier, but I ended up ruining it.
I think it’s about time I do something helpful.
I squirm with all my might. Flexing my pages and shifting. All I need to move is an inch. I flex as hard as I can and then suddenly I’m off.
I slide down through a crack between the dresser and the white wall, landing on the carpet. Once more, I am in the dark.
The boy comes back, but all I can see is his feet. The boy is so stupid he doesn’t stop to think about what happened to his calendar.
He buys another calendar and this time gets the year right.
I am back in the darkness I had once abhorred. Well, I still abhor it to be perfectly frank, I’ve just had some character development since then. I’m stuck behind a dresser that I know this fool will never clean. I will not even be granted the mercy of the landfill. But I am happy here.
Happy to have been of service.
Adam Rimland's Portfolio 