The Advertised Man

It’s not the fall that kills you, so they say, but the sudden stop. There was no arguing that The Advertised Man’s death was a result of a fall from his penthouse balcony. He was thirty eight years old. But there was much debate as to how he ended up on the other side of the safety railing and onto the sidewalk. When witnesses found the body, he was shirtless and clutched to something in his hand though no one could initially tell it was. He was so named The Advertised Man by the media who had learned of this revolutionary method of profiting from advertisements. It is unclear whether the Michelangelo Advertising Group (MAG) had approached him or vice versa because not much is known about his past, not even his real name.

There was much debate as to the authenticity of the photo that surfaced on the internet claiming to be that of The Advertised Man before he was known as such. Reasonably so, everyone was and continues to skeptical as the skinny young man with long hair barely resembles the chiseled looks of the man whose corpse lay lifelessly on the concrete. Assuming that it was a picture of him in his younger years it would drastically show the drastic effects of cosmetic surgery and contractual obligation to using all sorts of fitness videos and tools. Some would argue that it is a portrait of a young man who, in his more vulnerable years, was taken advantage of by MAG to sell his body to advertisers in exchange for fame and fortune. These people forget that early on in his career, it was The Advertised Man’s idea to install cameras around his own penthouse apartment to ensure maximum exposure to the public.

The concept of The Advertised Man was simple. While the man was not above appearing in commercials, this new method of selling ad space involved selling his whole body to the industry. With certain exceptions, his skin was available to be tattooed like a billboard. Executives in the fitness and healthy food industries jumped at the chance to sculpt him into the “perfect” specimen. When his body began to form into what the industry deemed an “attractive” shape, clothing designers hung their creations on him as if he were a living mannequin. Plastic surgeons even jumped at the chance to “fix” what “deformities” he had and the result of this madness was The Advertised Man in all his glory, a walking billboard and the epitome of what it means to be “the best.”

Someone must have pointed out that while this was wildly successful with the public, it was missing a woman’s touch. Try as they might, The Advertised Man just did not look good in a chic nightgown so it is rumored that MAG had arranged for him to have a girlfriend. She did not have the obligations of donating spot on her skin to be tattooed or have cameras on her twenty four hours a day. Her name was Tatiana and was a beautiful 24 year old fashion model from Russia. There were times where it seemed they actually hit it off, moments of genuine care for each other instead of some staged farce to sell clothes and perfume. It was never confirmed but some believed that Tatiana even learned his real name. Then there was the controversial moment in which their first night together was sold on the internet to sell condoms and marital aids. Those who have seen it admit there was a tender moment between them that felt more like an intrusion than an advertisement.

As young attractive girls do, Tatiana grew tired of their current situation and left him abruptly. The Advertised Man wasn’t even sure that their relationship had ended until he saw it on the extra wide television that was given to him by another sponsor. From that moment to his death he seemed less energetic and less enthused about his situation. While officials at MAG are unable to confirm this, there were rumors that he wanted out of his contract to live a life as a regular man and not as the advertised one. Conspiracy theorists have speculated that it was MAG who had The Advertised Man killed because of his desire to leave the life of a living billboard. The general public is of the opinion that he had committed suicide, depressed from Tatiana’s rejection. Actually it was amazing how many companies deftly managed to dissociate their product with The Advertised Man’s gruesome death. It was a somber day at the staff meeting that morning, I’m sure.

The day after his much talked about death, the police made an official statement and declared that there were no illegal substances found in his body. His blood alcohol level was slightly elevated but nothing compared to a night of heavy drinking. The body was taken by MAG and a lavish funeral ceremony was planned. The casket, as previously agreed upon by The Advertised Man, was decorated accordingly by sponsors still willing to be associated with him. There were many executives and celebrities but the only one to shed a tear was Tatiana. The circumstances surrounding his death will always be a mystery with the only clue being what he clutched in his hand that night: a newspaper clipping. Its headline read “The Advertised Man Obsolete, MAG to hire Fleet of Advertised Men.”

Wish Granted

Marshall Finn ran home as fast as his short legs could take him. He kept looking back to make sure the boys who picked on him didn’t follow him from school. It used to be just one bully that Marshall had to deal with. Someone told him to stand up for himself, which he did, and that only resulted with the original bully bringing his friends along to terrorize Marshall. Normally, he would run straight home to his room and cry into his pillow. He knew how much his father hated seeing him cry. But the tears he held back could not be concealed by the isolation of his bed. Marshall wanted to scream so he went into the garage where he thought nobody could hear him.

The young child believed he could climb into the backseat of the car and scream his frustrations away but alas, his father had locked the car doors. Frustrated, Marshall kicked one of the rear tires and wildly swung his arms at the car hoping he could somehow jolt the car door open. He pressed his arms against the window of the car and buried his face into his arms letting the hot tears roll down his arms. His breath quivered with dry heave as he fogged up the window. When he felt that he had cried all he could cry he lifted his head ever so slightly. It was then that he saw the reflection of something in the car’s window.

Something on the garage shelf directly behind him glimmered, almost as if it was beckoning to him. Marshall found a sturdy box and slid it next to the shelf before climbing on top of it to reach for the mysterious object. At first, he wasn’t sure what he was looking at. It looked like a small tea kettle that had been squashed under some great weight. Marshall thought there was some sort of intricate carving on the side but the bronze or whatever metal it was made of was tarnished. He rubbed at it as hard as he could. Just then the object started to glow and vibrate. The faint light emanating from it made the object grow warmer and warmer.

Thinking it would burn him, Marshall’s instincts told him to let go of it immedieately. Instead of bouncing off the ground it stuck to it and made a high piercing sound, like a bell that only Marshall can hear. Smoke emerged from the spout and accumulated just over Marshall who was unsure as to why he wasn’t more scared than he probably should have been. As the smoke cleared a figure emerged who the young boy realized closely resembled the intricate carving on the object’s side.

“Who are you?” Marshall asked.

“I am the genie that you summoned,” he answered.

“So that was your lamp?”

“Yes. I know it doesn’t look like a traditional lamp.”

“Why not?”

“Quite simply, it doesn’t look like a traditional lamp because it isn’t one.”

“I guess it can’t be very traditional if it has a genie in it. I’ve never seen a genie before.”

“Ah, you’ve heard the stories. So you know how this works?”

“I get three wishes.”

“That’s one thing that the stories have wrong I’m afraid. You see, we don’t offer three wishes. Well, at least I don’t. I can’t speak for the other genies. I only offer one wish. So you better make it a good one, one that you really want.”

“Only one? That makes this a harder choice. Why do all the stories say three wishes?”

“It’s an understandable mistake. The answer is quite simple. As I said, you only get one wish. However, I know how hard it is to know exactly what you might want so I give you two chances to alter your original wish. You can see how that can be misinterpreted for three wishes.”

“I see.”

“So what do you wish for, young master?”

Marshall furrowed his eyebrows and stroked his chin as he thought hard about what to spend his one wish on. He bit his lower lip when he realized that the answer was so obvious.

“I wish,” Marshall said, “that all the bullies of the world would disappear. I don’t want them to be hurt or killed or anything horrible like that. I just want them to disappear from the face of the earth. Bullies are horrible people and I don’t want them around anymore.”

“That’s a noble wish. Most people I knew wished for their own personal gain but to rid the world of bullies could make the world a better place.”

The genie just stood there looking at Marshall who was confused as to what was supposed to happen next. After all, this is the first time he was given the opportunity to make a wish come true. As much as he hated his own bullies, he knew that getting rid of all of them was the only way to go. But the genie didn’t do anything to indicate that he had done anything.

“Are they gone?” Marshall asked.

“Not quite yet, young master,” the genie answered.

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

“The thing is there’s still the matter of your alterations. I’d hate to fulfill your wish without you using it to its full potential. I’m a magical spirit, not a salesman. I have no reason to take advantage of you.”

Marshall nodded indicating he understood. He sat on the box he had used to climb up and get the lamp and he thought what flaws could have been in his initial wish. It was then that he realized that the bully who had chased him home was a boy too. Sure, he was a much larger and intimidating boy, but he was a boy nonetheless. This boy had a mother and a father and other people who cared for him. Marshall was ready to make his first alteration.

“I’m sure they have family and friends that care for them. I mean, I know it’s hard for me to see how they could be cared for so deeply, but I’m sure they are. Otherwise who would be sending them to school every day?”

“You have sound logic and wisdom for a young boy. And quite merciful as well,” the genie remarked, “So how would you like to alter your wish?”

“Wherever you end up putting those bullies, I’d like for their loved ones to be there too. They can love each other and be a family and all that, just… I just don’t want them to be able to do all pick on innocent people.”

Marshall got off the box and picked up the lamp. He walked out of the garage and back into the house followed closely by the genie who was patiently waiting his final alteration. The boy sat at the dining table and looked at his distorted reflection on the lamp before realizing another flaw in his wish.

“Some will wonder where all those people end up,” Marshall spoke without looking at the genie.

“If it is your wish then I can put them all somewhere safe. They’ll all live their lives as they normally would have but none of them will harm you anymore.”

“But they’ll never be seen again?”

“When they disappear, they will remain that way.”

“Someone might think they’re hurt even if they aren’t. Then the police or something will come looking for them. It’s not their fault, just their job, but they might figure it out. They’ll take your lamp away and they might put me in jail for making a simple wish.”

“That does seem troublesome.”

“I think I’m ready to make my wish with all the changes and everything. I wish all bullies of the world would just disappear. But they should have the chance to live their lives with all their loved ones. And anyone who can undo that would be just as bad as the bullies themselves so they should just disappear too.”

“Wish granted,” the genie said as he smiled at Marshall. With a wink, the genie snapped his fingers and with the sound of the snap reached Marshall’s ears he woke up in the schoolyard.

The playground was emptier than usual and the streets were quieter than Marshall was used too. It was end of the day and the remaining kids played as if it had always been this empty. The young wisher cautiously walked back into the school building pretending he needed to go to the restroom. Instead he sneaked up to his classroom and saw that the boys who picked on him no longer had desks. There were no hooks with their names on them for their coats on their cold days. None of their cubbies for their books were there anymore. And, most glaringly, they were missing from the class photo by the teacher’s desk.

Marshall walked back on the playground and walked with confidence for the first time in two years. He felt hopeful about how a school day would end. He even caught himself looking forward to going back to school for the rest of the week, rest of the year even. In the corner of the playground he saw a child from a younger grade sitting by himself, cradling his head between his arms. Marshall went to ask what was wrong. This younger child was quiet and didn’t know how to react to Marshall’s questions. In an attempt to be friendly, Marshall took a ball and brought it to the quiet boy and invited him to play but the little one refused.

“What’s wrong?” Marshall asked. He got no response. “I know nobody can be picking on you. I used to get picked on a lot.”

The boy turned his back to Marshall and curled up into a little ball, quite obviously ignoring Marshall.

“That’s right, you probably don’t even know what it’s like to get bullied. There’s no reason to be scared. Just come on and play. We have a chance to play without anyone telling us what to do.”

Still no answer.

“Come on!” Marshall raised his voice, agitated. “What’s wrong with you? There’s no reason you should be sad! Play”

Frustrated at the quiet boy, Marshall took the ball in his hand and threw it at the little one. The quiet boy started to cry and the tears streamed down his face. Marshall saw the look of pain on the boy’s face and recognized the pain in his eyes. And upon realizing what he had done, Marshall ran straight home into his room and cried into his pillow.

Mr. Porter's Last Supper

Mr. Porter is a man of great influence, well-known throughout the city for his power which he acquired through means both legal and not so legal. At 6’5” and 300 pounds, his mere presence was intimidating. But his cordial demeanor went a long way to smooth things over with people who were fortunate enough to be on his good side. He recently received the news that his estranged daughter and only legitimate child is pregnant. Having been the conqueror of all he surveyed for so long, Mr. Porter decided it was time for him to step down from power and become a true family man for the first time in his life. He would get to know his daughter better, help her raise the baby, and ensure that his grandchild would never want for nothing.

Noble a move as that may sound, it creates one rather messy problem: stepping down is seen as a sign of weakness and Mr. Porter has acquired many enemies on his way to the proverbial top. It only took a matter of hours for news of his retirement to reach the ears of his fiercest competitors in both the corporate world and underworld. Mr. Porter knew that his corporate rivals were of no consequence, and his lawyers have ensured him that there are no more connections between him and his criminal empire (at least none that can be proven in court) so the FBI was nothing to fear. But it only took one day after he announced his retirement to his staff for Mr. Porter to learn that one of his enemies had hired an assassin, one that goes by the name of The Fox. No one had ever met The Fox in person and if it wasn’t for the fact that Mr. Porter had hired this mysterious mercenary once or twice, he would have little reason to believe such an assassin actually existed.

When it was confirmed that The Fox was the one hired to take him out, he knew there was little that could be done to escape imminent death. He made sure his affairs were in order. He named the successor to his businesses, both legitimate and otherwise. There was no easy way he could tell his daughter face to face what was about to happen so he wrote her a letter to be given to her when he died. One does not attain Mr. Porter’s position without being prepared for such matters so when the day that a hit was actually put out on him there was little else to do than to have his last supper. He knew exactly which restaurant, which meal and which courses, which wine to order, and he even knew which suit he was going to wear. A part of him wishes he could spend his last meal with his daughter but she was visiting her boyfriend, father to Mr. Porter’s grandchild.

“Is there anything else I can get you, sir?” the waitress asked as she poured him his wine.

“That should be all. Thank you,” Mr. Porter responded as the waitress hurried back to the kitchen. His eyes wandered around the room deliberately, a habit that has kept him alive in his earlier days. But old habits die hard even if he has had a cadre of bodyguards following for the past few years. It’s a good thing too because his experienced eyes spotted a single person who didn’t quite fit in that particular restaurant.

Mr. Porter spotted the tall, thin man before he sat down and thought it was odd that the stranger was wearing tinted glasses indoors. Where this thin man was sitting, he had a perfect view of Mr. Porter’s seat. This may very well be The Fox, Mr. Porter thought to himself. He didn’t anticipate being killed this early. The thin man wore a smart suit that was expensive but did not attract too much attention other than the pale ivory cufflinks and beautiful silk tie. While the tinted glasses hid the thin man’s eyes, it was pretty clear he was looking straight at Mr. Porter. The thin man sipped at his espresso. The waitress then came out of the kitchen and served Mr. Porter’s starters. When she left his table, the thin man approached him.

“Yes?” Mr. Porter asked the thin man without looking at him, perturbed at the thin man’s audacity.

“I know you’ve been expecting me,” the thin man replied. “Do you mind if I sit with you?”

“You’ve got some balls, pal,” Mr. Potter answered. “Can’t I enjoy this meal in peace, at the very least?”

“Mr. Porter, if you don’t wish to eat with me that’s perfectly fine. But know that our business with each other will be seen through by the time you finish your dinner regardless if I’m permitted to sit down or not. I simply came over to tell you how much I respect you.”

“This doesn’t seem like a move you’d normally make. It seems messy to me, if I’m being completely honest with you.”

“I hardly ever do this. But for you I’d make an exception.”

“What’s so special about me?”

“Let’s just say you’re business has helped my business.”

“So what about me do you respect, exactly? What makes me so special that you show yourself to me before our little transaction is complete?”

“You’ve led quite a life, Mr. Porter. But for you to walk away from it and right the wrongs with your daughter is very admirable.”

The waitress came and took Mr. Porter’s empty dish away. The thin man watched as the attractive, young waitress hurriedly walked past. He took off his tinted glasses and put them in his inside coat pocket.

“As you can see, it’s not exactly going as well as I’d hoped,” Mr. Porter responded, “being interrupted in the middle of dinner and all.”

“I understand,” the thin man said as he was about to turn around, “I’ll let you finish your dinner.”

“No,” Mr. Porter stopped him, “You can sit. If this is my last meal I might as well take advantage of the company. Even if it is you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Porter,” The thin man took the seat directly across from him. The waitress came by and served the main course. Mr. Porter offered to pay for another espresso for the thin man who politely declined. “I know it sounds silly to admire someone like you even if it is for something as noble as taking care of family.”

“There’s no shame in wanting to get out of this dirty business. I’ve thought about it many times.”

“So why did you wait so long to actually do it?”

“I’m not going to lie. I really loved the power and the money. When you get that at the rate I was getting it, and at a young age too, it’s really hard to give that stuff up. Every so often you’ll run into a girl that will make you want to leave the life.”

“Of course, of course,” the thin man watched as Mr. Porter methodically devoured the perfectly cooked steak. The waitress came by and poured another glass of wine. “Obviously none of them had a lasting effect.”

“Not exactly true. One girl nearly convinced me to get out of the life completely: my daughter.”

“What happened?”

“Her mother didn’t exactly want me in her life. She took off with her. Can you imagine that? She was my daughter too and she just took off with her. I sent people to find them but my ex-wife refused to be found.”

“So when did you reconnect with your daughter? How did you find her?”

“She found me actually. It was a few years ago and she was just out of high school. She wanted to know who her father was so she hired a private investigator. I seriously thought it was a fed. Nearly had the guy killed too.”

“But you didn’t. I would have known about that.”

“No I didn’t. It’s messy business to have someone killed anyway, expensive too. Obviously there are no do-over’s so you better be damned sure the guy you want killed deserves it.”

There was silence for a minute as Mr. Porter continued to eat. It was obvious he was enjoying it despite having an unexpected guest.

“You don’t seem afraid of me,” the thin man said.

“I don’t see any need to be. A situation like this was bound to happen the way things were going. I just wish I had more time to spend with my daughter. When she first found me, I was caught off guard. I had no idea what it took to be a good father. I ended up just throwing money at her whenever she came to talk to me.”

“Men like you aren’t built for family life, anyway.”

“Men like us, you mean,” Mr. Porter remarked as the waitress brought out the dessert.

“No, Mr. Porter,” the thin man clarified, “I’m not like you. I don’t indiscriminately throw a man’s life away as if it were a simple plaything that happened to be in my way. I feel every death that I’m responsible for.”

“You get numb to it after a while. Trust me.” Mr. Porter devoured the desert. He sensed his end was near and decided there was no reason to mind one’s manners at this point.

“That’s what’s different between you and me. We take lives all the time. But I have no choice to live the way I do. You made your choice to be a crook.” The waitress came by to refill Mr. Porter’s glass with wine one more time and left the check at the table.

“I don’t know if it’s your reputation or the fact that you’re about to kill me, but I admire the guts you have to talk to me like that. It’s been a while since someone has. But you’re wrong.” Mr. Porter took a swig of wine into his mouth.

“Wrong about what?”

“I was built for family life. I did my best to take care of my daughter the only way I knew how. It was the wrong way, sure, but I tried my best and you can’t fault me for that. At least, with me out of the picture, my grandchild won’t have to know about the monster who was his grandfather.” Mr. Porter savored the last swallow of wine.

“Are you ready?”

“I was born ready. Can I ask you something first?”

“Of course you can, Mr. Porter.”

“Aren’t you afraid of being seen here with me? You got a lot of eyewitnesses around.”

“I don’t think you understand, Mr. Porter.”

“What don’t I understand?”

“I’m not here to kill you because I’m not The Fox.”

“Then who the hell are you?”

“I go by many names. But many people refer to me as Death. These other people here haven’t been able to see me since I approached you.”

“What? So I’m dead already?”

“Soon.”

“How? How soon?”

“A minute or two, and a man of your know-how should be able to figure it out, Mr. Porter.”

Mr. Porter closed his eyes when he realized that his antiquated notion of “hitmen” had deceived him.

“The waitress,” Mr. Porter finally said.

“The waitress,” Death confirmed.

“I would have never expected The Fox to be a woman. Is she going to shoot me?”

“She doesn’t have to. She’s a bit more subtle.”

“Poison? I didn’t taste any--”

“You wouldn’t have tasted anything different. The chemicals she used, alone, were completely harmless. But used together, it is quite a powerful poison. It’s quite elegant approach if you ask me.”

“I thought that waitress was a little too good at refreshing my wine,” Mr. Porter said as he chuckled to himself. “So that’s it. Is it going to hurt?”

Death didn’t respond. He just got up from his chair and Mr. Porter joined him. The two shook hands as Mr. Porter looked back and saw his lifeless body slump over and fall off the chair. The strange duo walked out of the restaurant to the sound of panicked patrons screaming.

Small Talk

The old man enjoyed eating on the outdoor patio of this particular restaurant. Something about the fresh air really stimulated his appetite. It wasn’t on a busy street so it wasn’t terribly busy and the air wasn’t tainted with the acrid air of car emissions. The waitress walked up to his table where he was quietly reading a news paper.

“Are you ready to order, sir?” the waitress asked with a smile.

“I believe I am but if I could just have a few more moments. My daughter hasn’t arrived yet and I’d hate to get her order wrong, or have the food get cold before she gets here,” the old man responded.

“Of course, sir,” the waitresses nodded as she turned to walk to the next table. The old man thought for a split second and waved her back.

“Actually, I’m sorry. Would it be too much trouble to ask for a cup of tea before ordering any food? I’d like something to drink while waiting for my company to arrive.”

“Absolutely! What kind of tea would you like?”

“Oh, I’m not too picky. And could you kindly throw away this newspaper for me? Reading it always makes me so sad.”

“It’d be my pleasure,” the waitress said as she took the newspaper under her arm. “I’ll get you a cup of chamomile. It’s my favorite and calms me right down.”

“Thank you so much! I wonder if there was ever a time when being well-informed of current events wasn’t such a depressing endeavor. You’ve been so helpful, Sarah. Thank you, again.”

“Don’t mention it,” Sarah smiled and threw the newspaper in the waste bin. It was then that she realized that she had forgotten her name tag at home. Perhaps she had waited on the old man before and couldn’t remember. It’s unlikely but really the only explanation that made sense to her.

A small boy wandered around under the tables of the outdoor patio as if it were an endless forest made of plastic, metal, and bits of wood. The old man smiled knowing how lost the child was in his own little world. The boy saw the old man who pretended not to notice. The young boy inched his way out from underneath the adjacent table and just stared at the old man who was still pretending he wasn’t being watched by a pair of young eyes. His little hands held on to the chair he hid behind as if the floor were about to give way any second. His eyes just stared at the old man who seemed so familiar and strange at the same time. It was then the old man acknowledged the small boy’s presence, without looking up as Sarah served the tea. He thanked her as she left.

“You seem to be on quite the adventure, young man,” the old man said. The child coiled back out of shyness, trying to hide behind the chair knowing it was an utterly useless action.

“I don’t think I remember what it’s like to be as young as you,” the old man continued. The boy emerged from behind the chair. “But no one ever forgets what it’s like to go on an adventure! How are you, John? I don’t believe we’ve formally met.”

The boy’s eyes widened. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be afraid of this stranger or polite to this man who somehow knew his name. There was something about the old man that led John to believe that he is to be trusted. He wasn’t exactly sure what it was, but John felt like he was talking to a best friend he never knew.

“Where’s your mother?” The old man asked. John turned towards a woman on the other end of the patio chattering away angrily on her cell phone. The boy didn’t say a word but the old man knew what he was trying to communicate. She was completely unaware that her son had wandered through a forest of tables and chairs to stumble upon a conversation with a familiar stranger.

“Do you know who I am, John?” The old man asked. John just looked at him with deepening curiosity until a tiny spark made itself known in his eyes. John was about to say something until the old man raised his hand to stop him. “No, I’m not Santa Claus though a lot of people make that mistake, a lot more often than I’d care to admit.” Now John had to solve the mystery of how this man not only knew his name but knew what he was going to say before he even said it. What sort of super powers did this old man have? John wondered.

“Well, I’ll give you a hint,” the old man answered. “I’m a scientist and an artist. I only created one thing that everyone recognizes but they wouldn’t know me if I was looking them right in the face. It’s okay though. I like being anonymous. Do you know what that means? Anonymous? It’s like being hidden in plain sight. You see, I don’t like seeking attention. Have you guessed who I am?” John nodded, no. “You’re a smart boy; I think you’ll figure it out.”

John looked at the old man and smiled a tiny smile.

“You think I’m odd, don’t you?” the old man asked. John didn’t respond, just kept on smiling. “It’s okay. I think you’re odd too. And that’s quite a compliment. Trying to blend in is wasted energy especially if it’s far from the type of person you want to be. But being yourself is as rewarding as it is difficult. Now to be yourself and remain anonymous—well, that’s one of the great balancing acts of life. You see, it’s a delicate thing to both stay out of the spotlight while being you because each and every person is unique and worth getting to know.”

The young boy’s mother began to yell into her cell phone still oblivious to John’s absence. The smile melted away from the child’s sweet face as the old man looked on at the mother.

“You know, John,” the old man said as if John’s mother hadn’t just been yelling in public, “I have many children. My oldest tends to be a bit of a troublemaker. We get into huge arguments, so large in fact that many people think we don’t like each other when in reality I love her as much as any of my other children. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

John was distracted and didn’t answer the old man. The old man took a sip of his tea and waited until the young boy turned back to him.

“Do you see that lovely young lady over there? The one wearing the red dress and talking to those gentlemen over there in the distance?” The old man asked as he pointed her out. “Her name’s Lucy. It’s short for something but I can’t tell you what. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you and if you did believe me it might frighten you, but the important thing is we’re here to have lunch because we love each other (even though we fight all the time). In fact, I’m pretty sure she’s hiding that conversation she’s having from me. She can be mischievous like that from time to time.

“Now, it’s not my place to tell you but I know why your mother’s yelling worries you and I know what she’s mad about. I know you haven’t seen much of your father lately and that’s a little bit of why she’s so cross all the time. But know that it’s not your fault. In fact, without you she would be entirely loss and I know that seems like a lot of responsibility for someone so young but the young are so much stronger than people give them credit for. She might yell at you when she’s angry but I assure you she’s not mad at you most of the time, and someone like you, John, you’ll know when she isn’t. Both your father and mother love you more than they thought they could love anyone and nothing, I really do mean nothing, can change that. But it’s a rough time for your parents right now. And those are the times that you have to be at your strongest because this next year or so will be rough for your family.”

John was scared but the old man held his shoulder and he somehow felt assured that all would be okay, that he was never really alone as long as he was there for his mother. The young boy still couldn’t fully understand how this old man knew any of this but he was more worried about his mother. John smiled at the old man before being grabbed by the arm and turned around violently and abruptly.

“Johnny! What did I say about wandering off? Sometimes you’re nothing but trouble I swear to--” she stopped herself as she realized her son was talking to an old man. Her voice lowered as she addressed him. “I’m so sorry about him. He won’t bother you again. Isn’t that right?” She said that last sentence forcefully as she stared at the boy intensely. John looked at the old man and back at his mother.

“I’m sorry, mommy,” the boy finally said in a register just above a whisper. “It won’t happen again.” He wrapped his arms around his mother’s waste. She was caught off guard and didn’t know how to respond except apologizing for John’s behavior.

“I’m so sorry he bothered you. He can be--” she was cut off by a simple hand gesture from the old man.

“It’s quite all right,” the old man said, “In fact, your son is quite the conversationalist. You two must talk a lot. And he was no bother, just a curious boy looking to go on an adventure underneath patio furniture. And congratulations by the way!” He added. “John here told me how excited he was about getting a baby…” The old man looked at John’s mother expecting her to finish the answer.

“Thank you,” the mother replied, “But I don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl. We wanted it to be a surprise but my husb--” she got choked up and held back tears. She couldn’t bring herself to say the word “husband.” Her eyes wandered down to John’s eyes and she couldn’t help but smile.

“It was nice meeting you,” the old man said. “And it was an honor to know you, young John.”

“Likewise,” the mother said. John waved as the two walked down the street.

Lucy walked towards her father and kissed him on the cheek as she put her purse on the empty chair across from the old man.

“Hey, dad,” she said. “I’ve got to go freshen up. I’ll be right back.”

“Sure thing, Luce,” her dad responded. “Wait a minute, who were those gentlemen you were speaking to just now?”

“Nobody, but I’ll tell you all about it when I come back. It’s actually a funny story,” Lucy said. The old man saw Lucy toss a pamphlet into the waste bin where his newspaper was also thrown. As he waited for his daughter to return, the old man reflected on how much he always enjoyed small talk.

Late Lunch

Lucy was on her way to lunch with her father who she hasn’t seen since their last argument. It had been a while. She was an attractive petite blond in her twenties who used to be such a sweet angel until she decided it was time to be on her own. Her and her father butted heads quite often but ultimately they end up patch things up over lunch the next day. It was a simpler relationship than any other observer would care to admit, and easily misunderstood.

“Young lady!” a man in his mid-forties implored as he extended a hand to Lucy expecting her to shake it. She did not. “Do you have a minute to speak with us today?” The man gestured to his companion who was just a few years older than Lucy but much shorter than he looked like he ought to be. It was as if his struggle with gravity was a losing one. It seems his only purpose was to hold what looked to be church pamphlets for the older man who did all the talking.

“I really can’t,” Lucy responded as she lifted her foot up to shove her heel back in her shoe, “I’m on my way to meet my dad for lunch.” She wore her hair up today. And her summer dress was as red as the color of her lipstick. She wore her Chuck Taylor’s which were half a size to large but they were comfortable.

“Please, it will only take but a minute, young lady,” the man begged smiling with the little bit of charm that he had.

“I’d rather not,” she answered. Lucy was annoyed and couldn’t be bothered to be polite about the fact that she was running late.

“I was just wondering if you had a minute to talk about God,” the man said in one last ditch effort to lure Lucy. Most people would have kept on walking but there was a mischievous twinkle in Lucy’s eye.

“You’d like to talk about God?” she asked.

“Yes!” the man exclaimed it as if it were some badge to be touted about, like a secret that’s worth telling only the most worthy. “Are you a religious person, miss? For instance, do you go to church?”

“Not particularly. No.” Lucy answered succinctly.

“May I ask why?”

“What’s the point? People go to church to pray. There’s nothing to pray for other than one’s own personal gain.”

“Well I don’t pray for myself. That would be a very selfish thing to go to church for.”

“You’re telling me you’ve never asked God for anything to make your life just a little bit better?”

“I ask God to help those who need helping.”

“Why don’t you just help them?”

“I do help them. In fact, that brings me to my next point. You see, I’m a pastor at a church not too far from here. My name is George and this this is my helpful friend, Jordan.” Jordan nodded his head to Lucy who thought it made him look more like a well-trained pet than a helpful friend.

Pastor George continued to talk about the wonders of his church and Lucy continued to deflect his every advance. George seemed more an experienced salesman trying to make a pitch than a pastor attempting to spread charity. Lucy sensed this early on and allowed the old man to attempt to restore her faith in what he referred to as “God.” At one point, the pastor tried to convince her that Jordan was gifted with the ability to sense one’s closeness to God.

“How about that old man there? Why don’t you show Lucy here what you can do?” George asked he gestured to the old man sitting alone at the restaurant patio. Jordan stretched out his free hand, closed his eyes, and slowed his breathing. It took all of Lucy’s strength to stifle her laughter. Finally, Jordan put down his hand and took a deep breath as if he had been running the whole time. Without saying a single word he looked to George and shook his head.

“I thought so,” George commented to Jordan. The pastor then turned to Lucy. “Jordan here senses that not only is that old man sorely lacking in his ability to be close with God but--” George paused and looked at Jordan to confirm what he was about to say, “But it seems he may have an exceptional capacity for evil.”

Lucy nodded and assured them that she had to get going as to not be any later for her lunch meeting than she already was. Jordan handed George a church pamphlet and the old man wrote down his phone number on it before handing it to Lucy. They parted ways and Lucy headed towards the so-called evil old man.

“Hey, dad,” she said as she put her purse on the table in front of the empty chair. “I’ve got to go freshen up. I’ll be right back.”

“Sure thing, Luce,” her dad responded. “Wait a minute, who were those gentlemen you were speaking to just now?”

“Nobody, but I’ll tell you all about it when I come back. It’s actually a funny story,” Lucy said. As she walked away she tossed the pamphlet into the waste bin.