In the acreage of his heart, Josh had not been a cultivator until the day he turned forty-seven. He considered life to be infinite and people more or less replaceable, an indictment of discernment of which most people are guilty.

On the day of his birthday, he mentally cursed as he assembled the attire necessary for his job. For six years, he volunteered for every additional duty and shift, and dutifully learned far beyond his job title. The day prior, his manager casually informed him that he would not be getting a promotion.

The divorce he suffered six months before still perched on his chest at night. A reminder of his absence at home was being repaid with a bitter loneliness. Although he had done something right, he also committed the sin of deflecting his priorities.

“Choose wisely. Every decision has a consequence,” he told himself.

After downing his quick cup of coffee, Josh went to his car and plopped inside. He tried to summon the enthusiasm for a day at a job that had become his executioner.

As he neared the antiquated convenience store, he was startled by Mr. Shazam running from the opposite side of the street. Mr. Shazam was a gloriously intelligent homeless man of indeterminate age. Josh, on multiple occasions, bought Mr. Shazam food or cigarettes.

Josh had never seen him run. As Mr. Shazam reached the north wall of the convenience store, he leaned against it with his right arm, bending over and breathing hard.

Josh pulled in the parking lot and stopped. The shrill siren of a police car echoed behind him. As he turned to look, a black and white sped into the parking lot and stopped in front of him.

The policeman who exited the vehicle looked older, much too old to be a patrolman. He flipped open the holster on his right side and pulled out his service pistol.

“Don’t move!” Instead of keeping his pistol pointed down, the policeman aimed it at Mr. Shazam, who still gasped for breath.

Josh didn’t consider himself to be rash. A primal instinct of protection flared in him. Before he even realized he was doing it, he quickly exited his car and stepped forward, putting himself almost directly in the line of fire.

“Hey! What’s going on?”

The policeman didn’t bother looking at Josh. “Step back and get back into your car!”

Josh did involuntarily take one step back but moved no further. “This must be some kind of mistake. Mr. Shazam isn’t a criminal. He’s not armed.” Josh looked at the police officer, his focus on the gun that trembled in the officer’s hand.

“Someone called in a break-in down the street. When I arrived on scene, he was getting out of a car parked on the street and holding a weapon, which he held up toward me.”

Everything the policeman got wrong flashed through Josh’s mind. While he didn’t know what Mr. Shazam held in his hand, he knew that the owner of the non-working vehicle let him sleep in it anytime he wanted to. Mr. Shazam had run toward one of the few places he felt safe.

“You’re not understanding…” The rest of whatever Josh was going to say dried up on his lips as the officer briefly pointed his pistol at Josh.

“Back in the car! Now!”

Mr. Shazam stood up and turned toward the officer. He waved like he did with everyone. “Sorry about that.”

Mr. Shazam took a step toward the officer.

“Stop!”

On the front side of the store, the convenience store clerk froze as she looked around the side of the building. In my brief encounters with her, Susan was polite, no matter how unruly or argumentative the customers became with her.

For reasons Josh couldn’t understand, Susan took two steps forward.

The policeman swung his pistol in her direction. I could see anger flare in the officer’s face as he realized two people were interfering.

Mr. Shazam turned his head to look at Susan and smiled. He took another step as he refocused on the police officer.

Josh wasn’t thinking as he stepped toward Mr. Shazam. His intention was to get close enough to make eye contact with him. This tactic had worked well many times.

Josh watched in detached disbelief as the pavement rushed at his face. He felt his nose crack as he blacked out.

Josh felt like he was shaken awake almost immediately.

“What’s your name? Can you hear me?”

Josh couldn’t focus on the person’s face above his.

“Open it wide,” another voice said.

Josh rapidly blinked several times and turned his head to the left. He could barely make out the silhouette of someone kneeling on Mr. Shazam’s back. He realized it was the police officer, who had his head bent to the right, rapidly barking words into his shoulder as he held his left hand there.

“It’s my birthday,” Josh said.

The person kneeling over him put their hands on both sides of his face. His fingers were wet. “This is some kind of birthday. Try not to move your head. You’ve been shot.”

“Was Mr. Shazam shot?”

“Right arm,” the person above him said. “No. He’s okay.”

The police officer’s face appeared above John.

“Cuff him for interference.”

There was a wild squabble of voices above Josh.

“Eff off. We don’t know whether the bullet passed through his head. Move away and let us treat him.”

Josh’s eyes locked and focused. For some reason, the EMTs face looked indistinct.

“I’m sorry you’re having to deal with this.” Josh spoke clearly, as if he had stumbled and fallen.

“It’s my job. Are you feeling any pain?”

Josh shook his head.

“The bullet did not go through,” Josh said.

“You were shot in the head. You have a wound above your right ear.”

The EMT later told the shooting investigation team that Josh looked up at him and smiled.

“There’s an exit wound on the top of my head,” Josh said.

“How you know that?”

“I can see it. Push your finger right on top under my hair.”

Josh felt the EMTs wet fingers slide up and push. At the time, he didn’t think much about Josh saying he could see it. People in trauma said all sorts of things.

“I’ll be damned,” the EMT said. “You’re right.”

“It’s my birthday,” Josh repeated. “And now I don’t have to go to work.”

…

A year later to the day, Josh looked across the table at his ex-wife. Soon to be wife again. Mr. Shazam sat to his right, happily eating from what amounted to a quarter of the entire birthday cake in the middle of the table.

Mr. Shazam stopped eating and spoke, even though blue frosting lined his mouth like badly applied lipstick.

“Tell it again, Josh!”

Josh, laughed and shrugged. “It was the best thing that could have happened to me. I could see the other five police cars arrive rapidly one by one. The second ambulance. Susan going back inside the convenience store and crying. And I could see myself on the dirty pavement with blood everywhere around my head. It was peaceful. I felt happy when I saw the police officer pull Mr. Shazam up to his feet. I saw it all from a distance. This sounds crazy, I know. Officer Corbin lost his job, but at least we kept him from being prosecuted. And then of course you, Cindy, came and picked me up from the hospital the next morning. And I don’t even hate my job anymore. It pays the bills and that’s more than enough. Oh, and Mr. Shazam got a great place to live after all of that.”

“Shall we toast?” Cindy raised her glass of wine.

Josh raised his glass to meet hers. Mr. Shazam, instead of toasting with them, downed the rest of his in a big gulp. Cindy laughed with Josh as they clinked glasses.

Sometimes, you need to get shot in the head to be awakened.

Sometimes, all it takes is to stop whatever it is you’re doing and do something different. The universe provides its reminders both gently and forcibly.
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