She sold happiness in glass jars.

She sold happiness in glass jars.
The poster read, "Happiness! Sold in glass jars! Call today!" and below the text was a phone number.

I was walking home after a long, tiring day at work when I saw a notice stapled to an old pole. I took a picture of it, thinking it was funny.

I was going to show my wife when I got to our apartment, but I got caught up in the housework and forgot about it—dinner, dishes, laundry, packing a snack for our daughter, putting her to bed, and then putting away her toys that she left in the living room—the same thing every night.

The next day, I woke up sleeping back to back with my wife. I always had to get up before her for work, so I quietly got ready and left the house.

At work, I was updating the company's latest expense report. Most days were like this. Essentially, I was paid to stare at a computer for nine hours a day, entering a few numbers into a spreadsheet. I finished the work very quickly, so I decided to leave the office early—not least because it was Friday, and many people leave early on weekdays.

On the way home, I thought about what my life had become. I did that a lot. I always dreamed of traveling when I was younger. I wanted to drive across the country or backpack through Europe alone. Then I met Kelsey. Don't get me wrong, I loved Kelsey. I mean, I still do. We just don't have that spark anymore. When you meet someone and enter into a relationship, whether it's meant to be or not, some of your personal plans have to be put on hold. And then that relationship turns into marriage, and then you have a child, and then you have to put your daughter in daycare, and then you have to get a higher-paying job and work more hours, and blah blah blah.

I'm not trying to throw a self-pity party. I'm simply saying that I wasn't happy with where I was in my life. I wouldn't call myself a happy person.

As I was walking home, the same route I took to and from work every day, I passed the same poster I'd seen the day before. I don't know why, I really don't know, but I decided to call the number. I thought it was some kind of joke. Maybe someone would just pick up the phone, say, "I love you!" on the other end, and hang up. Or maybe it was a sex worker line. I had no idea what to expect.

I rang the bell. It rang only once before someone answered.

“Hello?” the woman said.

"Uh, hi—um, I'm calling about your poster? Your ad?"

“Oh, cool,” she said calmly, “when do you want to pick him up?”

"Take what?"

“To the bank…” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Oh, sure, um," I realized then that I'd left work early without telling Kelsey so I could just pick her up now and she wouldn't know anything, "what exactly are you selling?"

"I told you. It's happiness. In a glass jar. Just like it says on the poster. Happiness is best preserved in glass jars. They're stronger than, say, a plastic bag."

"Um, okay. Where should we meet?"

"Sure. I don't want you to turn out to be some kind of pervert or anything, so let's meet in a public place."

The public spot we chose was a Starbucks parking lot, a little over a mile away.

Well, I didn't think I was actually going to buy a jar of happiness or anything. I was 99% sure she was going to sell me drugs. Maybe there would be heroin in the jar. I remember thinking, Oh no, "happiness" must be a nickname for some street drug, and I'm going to make a deal. What if she's a cop? What if I get arrested? But something inside me told me to keep going, and so I did.

I stood outside and texted her.

Me: I'm here.

She: Cool. I'll be there in a sec.

Me: How did you arrive?

She: Silver Camry.

And as her last message came through, I saw her car pull up. She pulled into a parking spot not far from where I was standing. I saw that no one else was in the car, which allayed my fears of kidnapping. She opened the door and stood on the sidewalk, looking around until her eyes met mine. I nodded my acknowledgement. She simply responded with a wave, gesturing for me to approach her car, and I did so.

She was young, maybe in her early twenties, with curly golden hair. Her skin was pale, contrasting with the all-black outfit she wore. I thought she looked like Glinda, the Good Witch from The Wizard of Oz , wearing the Wicked Witch's clothes.

“Good day,” she said by way of greeting.

"Oh, yes, that's true. I didn't pay much attention to it."

"You were the one who called about the can, right?"

"Yes, it was me."

"Cool, well, here you go."

She handed me a very small glass Mason jar. It was no more than two inches tall. Inside was a light. Not a bulb—just light. As if someone had bottled sunlight. It glowed even in the daylight. It was like a tiny sun, or a tiny universe, existing in this little crystal house. I admired it, not trying to hide the awe on my face.

"Cool, right?"

"What—what is this?"

"You've asked this, I think, three times already. My answer is still the same. It's happiness. Happiness in a glass jar."

"What should I do about this?"

“Keep it,” she said simply, “if you have any problems, write to me.”

She started to get into the car.

"Wait!" I said, "I thought you were selling this? How much is it?"

"Don't worry, man," she said with a smile, "you'll pay."

She closed the door, and I stepped aside as she backed up and drove away. What the hell just happened? What was I holding in my hands? I looked at the can again, its glow simply mesmerizing. I put it in my pocket and could faintly see its glow through my pants. I went home.

What had been a nice, sunny day quickly turned rainy, with clouds blanketing the sky. There was no rain forecast, otherwise I would have taken the bus or subway to work that day. I ran home, trying not to get too wet. I finally found shelter when I reached my apartment building.

I walked up to my door and discovered that my key was no longer on the key ring. Damn, I can't believe I lost it again , I thought.

I knocked on the door and said in a pretty loud voice, "Hey baby, it's me, I don't know what happened to my key." I heard the door open from the other side.

When the door opened, I was greeted by a large, stocky man with greasy hair and a scruffy goatee, who said, "Looks like you've got the wrong door, mate."

“Oh!” I said, disoriented, “Sorry, good night.”

He chuckled as he closed the door.

Apartment number 33.

I know it was my apartment. I know that. I'd lived in apartment 33 for five years. But it wasn't my apartment. From what I saw inside, all the furniture was different, it was painted a different color, everything was wrong. I felt like I'd hit my head and been drugged. Nothing made sense in that moment.

I took out my phone to call Kelsey, to calm me down and tell her I'd just gotten confused for a second. But her contact wasn't in my phone. In fact, there was nothing in my phone. I had no messages with her. No previous calls. No photos. It was as if my phone had been factory reset. Had this girl somehow switched my phone when I wasn't looking? I would have just dialed Kelsey's number manually, but I couldn't remember it. I used to know it by heart, but not anymore. I needed to get back to the office; I had all my contacts saved on my work computer.

Since it was still raining, I took the bus that stopped right in front of the apartment complex. I rode downtown toward my office, constantly looking down at my wet shoes, wondering what the hell was going on.

We have keycard access to the building, so only authorized personnel can get in. I always keep my access card in my wallet, always. But surprise, surprise—it wasn't there. I called the speakerphone we had for guests with appointments or for employees as a backup in case someone lost or forgot their card.

BZZZ

"Hey, it's Tim, I must have lost my card. My employee number..." I stopped as my mind went blank.

A voice came from the speaker: "Tim? You've disconnected, what's your employee number?"

"Uh, I don't remember, I—"

"It's okay, just tell me your full name and department."

"Uh, finance. I'm in finance. My full name is Tim Brooks."

"One second."

About thirty seconds later the man spoke to me again.

"We don't have a Tim Brooks working in this building. Did you have a meeting with someone?"

I recoiled in surprise, nearly tripping over my own feet. I'd just been in this office an hour or two ago. What was happening to me? I felt like I had Alzheimer's, but I was going through each stage one day at a time. I stared at my hands, unsure if I was in the right body. I felt the world around me disintegrating. I had no control over the situation; I was simply sitting in someone else's head, observing the world through their eyes.

At that moment, I received a message. I immediately recognized the number; it was the girl. The one who gave me the can. I forgot about it all until I saw her message.

She: Hi. How are you?

I looked at my phone, stunned. It angered me that she was being so casual about it. She knew what was going on. She somehow did this.

Me: What the hell did you do to me?!

She: The worst is yet to come.

I was astronomically close to simply throwing my phone as far away from me as possible in frustration. I pulled the can out of my pocket. It looked unchanged, still glowing just as brightly.

"What the hell did you do!" I yelled at the can, realizing I probably looked like a crazy person.

As I stared into its glittering glass, I realized something. I no longer knew what my wife's face looked like. I knew her name. Well, I know it began with a K, or maybe an S. I couldn't picture her in my mind. I knew I had a wife. I knew I had one. Yes, because I have a daughter. I had a wife and a daughter. I just couldn't remember their faces then—nor their names, nor their birthdays, nor any memories I had with them.

I know they existed. They really existed. I just saw them this morning, right? I couldn't remember what she looked like, or what she smelled like. What was our first date like? We had a wedding, right? What about our first kiss? Or my daughter—or was it my son? Maybe I didn't even have a child. But my wife, or girlfriend, she was real. I knew she was. The thought was tearing me apart. I couldn't see her in my head. I couldn't remember a single fact about her.

I was standing outside the same building, but I wasn't sure why I was there. Did I work there? I had to work somewhere. Now the rain was accompanied by a cold wind. It whipped into my face, making my nose and cheeks sting. I wanted to go home. I wanted to be with her. I wanted to be warm. I wanted to go to a shitty office job that would keep a roof over my head. I wanted it all. I was soaking wet. I was miserable. I couldn't remember my parents or my childhood. Did I even have friends? Why was I out in the rain?

I looked at my hand. I was still clutching the can. The only memory I could clearly recall of my entire life was that girl giving it to me. Told me it was happiness. It didn't bring happiness. It brought pain. It brought suffering. In that moment, I was more miserable than ever.

My phone vibrated:

Break the can, Tim.

I looked at my other hand. With the setting sun and rainy sky, I swear the can glowed brighter than any streetlight near me. I didn't break it because I was following its instructions. I broke it because I was angry. I broke it because I was upset. I needed to get it out. I raised my hand above my head and in one swift motion brought it down, smashing the can on the concrete beneath my feet.

The dark, cold air that had accompanied the rain dissipated as if it were the shock wave from a bomb explosion, and I was at the epicenter. I saw a warm, yellow light from inside the can quickly spread across the ground and up into the sky. It was as if I were witnessing the beginning of the creation of the universe—as if God had just snapped his fingers and said, "Let there be light." I was engulfed in it. I no longer saw the street, the rain, or anything dark. I felt as if I were falling into a star faster than the speed of light. It was like sitting in front of a fire on a cold winter night, but this warmth enveloped every part of my body.

And then I blinked.

I immediately felt the sheets beneath me, and my back barely touched my wife's. I looked out the window. The morning light penetrated the glass and shone on my face.

I got out of bed and grabbed my phone. It was Friday. I had one message:

Let me know if you need another jar :)

I called in sick at work. I snuck into my daughter's room and greeted her with a kiss and told her she didn't have to go to daycare today. We were having a family day. She smiled and stretched, yawning before curling up and going back to sleep.

I went back to bed and hugged my wife tightly. I didn't let go for hours. Our daughter came into our room and eventually woke us up—she was jumping on the bed and screaming for us to wake up. Yesterday, I might have found this annoying. Yesterday, I might have found many things annoying, or monotonous, or boring.

But not today. Today I pulled her under the covers between me and Kelsey.

Today will be a good day. Today I was happy.