Formula

Formula

It was so cold you had to think just to get through it. You dared not stop for a second or you might freeze in place. It was an “ear-flaps-down” kind of day. Turn a corner and watch your breath get carried away in a cloud. Keep your head down. Keep moving. Nothing was worth stopping for.

But wait. What was that? Poking up out of the snowbank – a distinct contrast to the still-white snow. A black book. Books are always worth stopping for, in my humble opinion. I grabbed it, tucked it into my bag, and hurried to my car.

By the time I got home, I had forgotten all about – until I was looking for a pen and had to dump the the bag’s entire contents onto my couch. No pen!

But the black book, with it’s warped pages, was beckoning like the Split Rock Lighthouse on the Duluth shore. See me! Come to me! I am here for you! (All things my faithful lover would say – if only . . . )

I grabbed it and sat down – now forgetting why I ever needed a pen at all. With great anticipation, I opened to the first page – and nearly wept with disappointment. How anticlimactic! Gibberish! Writings of a mad scientist, ramblings of a person who wrote just to write. None of it seemed to make any sense at all.

I turned page after page with fewer and fewer hopes of realizing an unspoken but real expectation of something I could make sense of. And then I got to the last page - and nearly wept again. This time with joy!

A kindred soul had discovered what I only dreamed about. Or at least that’s what it said. Now I just had to make sense of all the previous pages and I would be rich. Not that money was important to me. My dream wasn’t about the money; it was about the desire to make a difference in the world. To leave my mark for centuries to come. To make life better for everyone who had ever suffered through winter’s worst features.

No, I’m not talking about static electricity. I’m not talking about that horrible sound when you take off a scarf and the crackle makes you wince in fear of getting a shock. While that is one of the worst things about winter, there is one worse.

After all, ice and snow is beautiful. The flakes blanketing everything with pure whiteness. Icicles suspended from eaves and trees. The picture perfect beauty that winter offers up is not to be discounted. Snowmen, ice skating, skiing, snowshoeing – these make winter fun. Even if you don’t romp in snow, surveying a snow-covered field or the frosted pine trees, are enough to make anyone say ‘Yes! This is lovely’.

So why, why, why? Why do we have to deal with it on the roads, on the sidewalks, in the parking lots? Why is it we can send a man to the moon, land on Mars, and yet we still haven’t figured out a way to keep snow and ice off the roadways and walkways?

Who would complain about this? Snow plow guys? Kids who shovel sidewalks for a few extra bucks? Salt manufacturers? Surely these geniuses could fashion another way of earning money that didn’t require them to love something the rest of us hate. Am I right? Let’s assume so.

So many questions. Curiosity killed the cat. But satisfaction brought it back. I am determined to decipher this book and put an end to winter’s hallmark feature.

So what was written on this last page that had me giddy? These words. “I’ve done it! I have the answer! I will change winter forever with my formula to keep roads and walkways clear of snow.”

So I pored over those pages. Over and over I pored. Then I poured myself a cup of mud water and pored some more. I looked up chemical symbols. I researched terminology. I wondered why this genius who wrote it all down couldn’t have made it simpler. Simple enough for me to craft this concoction of complete creativity that would allow all of humanity to welcome winter with open arms.

Who would I call? Did I know any scientists? I so wanted to tell somebody! But who?

I turned on TV and sat down to ponder. At just that moment, there was – on the screen – a flyer. A flyer like you might see on a telephone pole. Which is exactly where the flyer on the screen was – at the same intersection where I found the journal! The flyer said “REWARD - $20,000” for any information that results in the conviction of person responsible for hit and run of this man.” They gave vehicle information and an eyewitness account. “The man went flying. It all happened so fast,” she witness said tearfully, “and I was too late to help him.”

To call the timing serendipitous is a ridiculous understatement. It seemed there was a connection. Was this man was killed because of this book? If so, cui bono? Who would benefit?

If he was killed for what was in the notebook, why didn’t they take the notebook? Maybe they didn’t think it would matter because, with him gone, no one would be able to make sense of his notes. That seemed to be a good possibility at this point.

Then I heard a man pleading for help. Asking for anyone - who might know anything about the vehicle or persons involved who ended his father’s life - to please come forward with whatever information they might have. His name under his incredibly friendly face appeared. Fred Simmons.

I needed to find Fred. I had no idea if he could help, but if by some chance this notebook did belong to his dad, he should be the one to have it. Who knows, maybe he had insight to its contents.

The number to call was a police line. I didn’t want to turn this over to them. I would have no way of knowing if Fred received it. I needed to figure out how to get it into Fred’s hands.

Well, that’s what the internet is for – am I right? Within minutes I found a way to reach him. I picked up the phone and called. It seemed like the way to go – a little harder to ignore. Unless, of course, he was like me and didn’t answer calls from unknown numbers. Something told me he was taking any and all calls these days – if it might solve his father’s death.

He picked up on the second ring. I introduced myself, described the journal, and asked if it could be his dad’s. He seemed hesitant – dare I say suspicious? After a long pause, he mentioned a nearby coffee shop and asked to meet there in an hour. I assented.

I arrived and he was nowhere in sight. I waited, sipping my pistachio latte, and taking in the view. People on laptops, a couple in an intense conversation, an older gentleman reading an actual “paper” newspaper. I heard my name before I saw him.

Della?

“Yes, that’s me”, I said as I stood up.

“Thanks for waiting”, he said and motioned for me to take a seat. (He was even better looking in person.)

We sat and I pulled out the journal. He looked around nervously. I quickly stored it back in my bag and asked him if everything was okay. I learned that he believed his father may have been killed for the journal. I asked why they didn’t take the journal and he explained.

The journal was missing information; it was no good to anybody except his dad. He had discovered the answer and the rest of the formula somewhere safe.

I queried who would want to keep this undisclosed. I was very interested in having the solution available and could not imagine who wouldn’t be. Fred explained. It seems another party was also close to the solution. They lacked the final piece and had tried to get it out of his dad to no avail. They knew if he got to the marketplace first, they would lose big time. Their greed wouldn’t allow that.

“So”, I wondered, “Does having this book bring you any closer to knowing who killed your dad? Do you have someone specific in mind who would’ve wanted him dead?”

After a moment of silence, he said, “I don’t know why I’m telling you this, but I feel I can trust you.”

“ My dad was very secretive about his work”, he explained. “He sent me a video explaining the rest of the formula. With this book, I can make this a reality. But, in doing so, I may be putting a target on my back. Which is exactly what I intend to do so I can elicit the perpetrators.”

I listened with alarm. This did not sound like a good idea to me and I understood why he would want to do this. If it was my dad, I might do the same. So I asked if there was anything I could do. He told me his plan and begged me to not tell a soul – especially the police.

On the day we were to execute the plan, I was ready. Fred had let it slip to the right (wrong?) realtor that he was in possession of the rest of the formula and he just needed a facility to start producing. The realtor arranged the meeting.

I acted as Fred’s. When the time came, I was surprised to find I was sweating profusely. Was I about to meet a murderer? Why did I let myself get involved in this? How would I extricate myself and get this information to the authorities? In fact, why hadn’t we let the authorities handle this? Can you say ‘second thoughts’?

I waited in front of the warehouse. Two men drove up and got out of a dark, tinted-windowed, sedan. I introduced myself and said I’d be checking out the space on behalf of my friend. They seem nonplused to say the least. I recorded our conversation throughout the tour and, at the end, obtained their phone number and declared Fred would be in touch.

Fred and I met up at the same coffee shop. He had gotten what he needed. He had photos of the men, photos of their car, and had put a tracker on their car. He had a friend run the plates. Then he went to the address and – lo and behold – found the damaged car that likely ran over his dad – just as it was being towed to a junkyard to be demolished. He took pictures and hurried to the police station. In the end, they caught and charged the culprits who were swiftly charged, convicted and sent away.

Justice was served and I accepted the reward money (Fred insisted it wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t contacted him.)

That is all well and good. But I know you must be wondering. Why is there still snow on the roads? Must we suffer another winter of ice and slipperiness, potholes, towing, slush, and the myriad of other complaints that snow and cold bring? Am I right?

Well, Fred is still trying to figure out one last frustrating piece of the puzzle. I’ve chipped in my reward money to help. And since we hit it off so nicely, we’re both very working to solve the problem. We’re also implementing some very creative methods to work with the “enemy” to cultivate a solution that will keep them happy at the same time.