CATALYST

TRAVIS

          On our way to the mall, David said he wanted to drive by a certain house that was for sale.
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      "Why?" I asked. "Are you thinking about moving?"

      "No. I'm thinking about fixing and flipping it."

      "Flipping it?" I looked over at him, confused.

      "It's where you buy a house that needs work, do the work, and then sell it at a profit."

      "Ah. I see. Have you done this before?"

      "No. It was an idea I had while working on my house. I really enjoyed the work, and missed it when I was done."

      "You definitely have a talent for it. And a good eye for design. Your house is so beautiful."

      "Thanks." He was quiet for a minute, one hand at the top of the steering wheel, one finger absently rubbing just beneath his lower lip. "I'd have to cut back my hours at work, probably. If I wanted to be really hands on, which I do."

      "Would that be a problem?"

      He frowned, dropping his hand to his lap. "Probably. I think my dad wants to retire and he's looking at me to take over."

      "But he would want you to do what would make you happy, right?"

      "Not necessarily."

      I wasn't sure how to respond to that.

      "The thing is," he went on, "I've been thinking. Ever since you asked me if my job was my passion, it's been bothering me that it isn't. There's nothing about it that inspires me. Nothing creative or meaningful. I make good money, and I'm good at making deals, but it's not fulfilling in a way that working on my house was. And I see you coming here all fired up about chasing a dream and kind of wish I had something like that. It's inspiring."

       The idea that anything about me inspired him was beyond crazy. "And I look at you and everything you've done, all the beautiful things you have, your home, your car, all your success, and I think, 'That's what I aspire to be.'"

      "There's more to life than a home and a nice car. Those are only things. I feel like..." He shook his head. "I don't even know what the fuck I'm trying to say. I guess I feel like I've lived a very safe life. It's comfortable for sure, and I'm grateful for everything I have, but I haven't taken very many risks. I'm starting to think that matters."

      "So take one now. It's not too late."

       "He slowed down and leaned toward me to peer out the passenger side window. "It's that one. With the Old Korean architecture."

      I looked at the white house with the red tile roof. "It's nice."

      "It was built in 1925 and still has a lot of the original features. But it's in pretty rough shape."

      It was? Other than an overgrown lawn and some missing roof tiles, I didn't think it was that bad, but Derek's standards were different than mine. "Can we go inside?"

      "Not today. I didn't make an appointment." He glanced in the rearview mirror. "Traffic coming. Gotta move."

      With one last glance at the house, he pulled forward. "I wanted to be an architect once upon a time."

      "You did?" I looked at him in surprise.

      "Yeah. But my dad said there was way more money in property development and I should go to business school."