The September wind blew gently against Stan. He turned, cupping his hand in front of his cigarette as he lit it. The flame created shadows across his arm as it touched the cigarette’s tip. No one would be watching at 12:30 in the morning. The lone exception might see him, but whoever that potential person might be, it was likely their wakefulness stemmed from their own vices. “Nothing good happens after 9,” his grandfather told him at least a hundred times.
The nasty smoking habit allowed him to disappear from work more frequently than his coworkers. As well as to stand around watching without being noticed. Most of his coworkers needed a break more frequently than they enjoyed them. Some of them undoubtedly needed shock therapy. Their nerves were more frayed than a forgotten sailor’s rope. He knew that nicotine inflamed his nervous system. His IQ told him that much.
Stan stood at least ten yards from the back of the shopping center. The canopy of the trees still held its crest of leaves. Anyone exiting the rear door would need to stand for several seconds to even attempt to see a solitary figure standing under the trees against the property’s edge. Stan wore black pants and a grey T-shirt. The clothes blended in with the unmaintained wood fence behind the trees. At this hour, no vehicles park behind the shopping center.
Waiting didn’t bother him. Like most creative people, he could sit for hours, apparently bored. Nothing was further from the truth. Unimaginative people fail to observe the million interdependent moving parts of the people and world around them. Stan’s curse was that he learned human behavior by being raised by his grandfather Quinn. He’d spent a career as a detective and a follow-up career as a private investigator that carried him until the day he died.
At 12:45, the door opened. An average-size male stepped outside. He winced against the ridiculously bright security light bathing the door. It was Sebastian, the person Stan anticipated.
Sebastian froze as Stan spoke.
“Hey, don’t make any sudden moves. It’ll take you longer to swipe your access badge and open the door than it will for me to make you regret it. You can run if you want. I need the exercise.” Stan’s voice carried well in the quiet of the night.
Stan flicked his third cigarette away but didn’t move closer.
“Who are you? Surely you know who operates this business?” Sebastian attempted to make his voice sound confident. He failed.
“Yeah, I know. Big whoop. He’s not here. You’re by yourself.” Stan laughed. Laughing in such situations caused amateurs to become scared and legitimate players to understand when they didn’t have the upper hand.
“We’ll figure out who you are. No one messes around with us.” Sebastian sounded more assertive this time as he spoke.
“Maybe. But you must explain to your boss why you broke the rules and went out alone. And out the back unprotected, no less. I could take your badge and burn down the place.”
There was silence for ten seconds as Sebastian thought about his predicament. “Can I smoke at least?”
“Of course. Just get your cigarettes from your right pocket and avoid going to your left side where you keep your gun, and maybe we’ll both be okay.”
“Damn! Who ARE you?” Sebastian said in surprise. As he spoke, he moved to slowly extricate his pack of cigarettes. Sebastian pulled the lighter from inside the pack and lit one. Though Stan just finished smoking, he craved another one. That was the problem with smoking; the habit needed constant affirmation and practice. Even when recently begun, the habit had a way of taking control.
Sebastian pulled hard on the cigarette as he smoked, one giant gulp after another. “You’re not going to shoot me, that’s for certain, or you’d done it already. What’s your game?”
Stan laughed. “Believe it or not, I want a job, Sebastian. Just a job and nothing more. And I need you to help me get it.”
Sebastian snorted. “A job? You’re joking, right? You hold me up in the middle of the night and then want a job?”
“Yeah. I could rob you, but then you’d have to attempt to hunt me down. Your line of work doesn’t exactly advertise.” Stan grinned, although he knew Sebastian couldn’t see his face.
“You think I’m going to trust you after this?” Sebastian’s confidence grew with each question.
“Yeah, I do. Think of this as my interview. I got the drop on you because you got lazy. You all are convinced that no one knows what you’re doing in the back of the two storefronts you use to camouflage your real business.”
“You’re crazy. I don’t hire people. If you’ve been watching, you know who does.”
Stan laughed and stepped out from underneath the overhanging tree limbs. He continued to walk calmly toward Sebastian. Sebastian threw his cigarette on the ground and ground it out with his right foot.
“Well, now I recognize you. I’ve seen you around.”
Stan continued to grin. “Anonymity isn’t what I’m here for. I’m showing you my face to let you know that you could come for me easily. To give you an edge.”
“You’re definitely crazy. I don’t see a gun. That doesn’t mean you don’t have one. Or an accomplice watching from several vantage points.”
Stan nodded in agreement. He stopped less than ten feet from Sebastian.
“I’m intrigued by your craziness. If I agree to introduce you to my boss, what makes you think he won’t just close your mouth and be done with you.”
“That’s where you come in, Sebastian. Tell him you recruited me without divulging any of the business secrets. I’ll earn my keep.”
Sebastian laughed at the absurdity of being in a holdup-turned-job-application. He finally replied, “Tell you what. Either you’ll end up in a creek somewhere, or we’ll let you know. How’s that?”
“Agreed. You know I work at the rented office space on the opposite side of your storefronts. I’ll be outside smoking a few times a day. If I hear gunshots, I’ll take it as a “no” for my job application.” Stan laughed again.
Sebastian laughed. “You’re cold-blooded or stupid. We could use either one. But it’s not my decision. I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks, Sebastian.” Stan nodded.
“What’s your name? Creepy-AF-Guy won’t work well as a name if I bring you up.” Sebastian relaxed his arms, indicating that he’d decided no one would get shot tonight.
“Stan. Just Stan.”
“Okay, Stan. Please eff off for tonight, would you? I limit myself to one potentially fatal encounter per night.”
They both smiled.
Stan didn’t wait for further interaction. He turned and walked the length of the building. His instincts told me he didn’t need to fear a gunshot in the back. He had struck just the right nerve of surprise and curiosity. Work tomorrow might be another story. He walked to his Honda parked a few rows from where he worked. He drove a couple of miles before pulling into a McDonalds near the main highway. No one followed him.
Stan leaned over, opened the glove compartment, and pushed twice on the upper inside edge. A click sounded as the hidden section opened. He pulled out a modified cell phone and its battery. Clicking the battery into place, he powered the phone on and dialed the number.
“Section four. ID, please.” The voice carried all the enthusiasm of someone reading baseball statistics.
“Six, one, six, four, six. Pink cotton candy ice cream.” He laughed. He was told he could pick any passphrase he wanted.
“Confirmed. Nice password, by the way. Report, please.” Even less enthusiasm. Secret covert government organizations hired nothing but the most boring people to staff the operations that maintained them.
“Contact acquired. Expect secondary contact within twelve hours.”
There was a pause. “First contact already? It’s only been five days.”
“You’re paying me an exorbitant salary that could easily allow me to retire in ninety years. I saw no need to overthink the situation.” Stan smiled, knowing unseen functionaries would later review each word spoken during his call-in report.
“Report in by 1 p.m. Otherwise, the assumption of failure will occur.”
Stan thought those few words were an interesting way to express that he might be dead within those twelve hours.
“See you for supper, then. Out.” He didn’t wait for a response. He removed the battery from the cell phone and returned to its hidden compartment. Lucky for him, the McDonalds was open twenty-hours a day. He went through the drive-thru and ordered a basket of fries with thirty packets of ketchup. He amused himself by attempting to elicit the greatest number of condiments each time he ordered food.
Tomorrow would be a long day. He almost regretted the idea that he would soon leave his cover job, one way or another. If he got shot, at least his burnt-out coworkers would have something to brighten their day. Nothing invigorates office work like tragedy or drama.
He who possesses an unused passport has no advantage over he who has none.
He who forgoes pleasure in place of the mundane might as well be incapable.
He who has intelligence but fails to be introspective can’t claim superiority over a lesser intellect.
He who stresses regarding what might be invites dissatisfaction.
He who ignores the clock finds himself with no more sand in the hourglass.
He who can’t enjoy beauty might as well be blind.
We all possess intellect and souls. We run on the treadmill of obligation and ego. Some wait for the promise of the afterlife; others substitute tomorrow for today.
I sat at my computer, composing an amusing anecdote about my day.
A gentle knock at my door startled me. I checked my outside cameras and saw no one.
A few moments later, another knock, this time a little more pronounced.
I got up to see who might be there, assuming it was a friend ducking away from my camera’s view.
I opened the door to see a man of about forty standing there. He was dressed in a suit and tie.
“May I come in?” he asked, laughing.
“Uh, no. I don’t let strangers inside, at least until they show me a gun or amuse me.”
“Hmmm. No one ever declines my request. Do you know who I am?” He smiled, awaiting an answer.
“No. Insurance salesman? Bail bond agent?”
The man laughed.
“Close. I’m The Gatherer. It’s your time, X.”
He pulled a white business card out of his back pocket. He handed it to me. The only words written on it were “The Gatherer.”
“Well, that is mysterious!” I replied.
“Look closely at my eyes, X” He stepped one step closer. Instead of backing away, I stepped one step closer to him, a trick my dad taught me. The man flinched slightly. I saw a brief surprise ripple through his shoulders.
I stared intensely. His blue eyes shifted, and I saw a blue sky with a burning field in both. It was as vivid as anything I’d ever witnessed. To my surprise, it didn’t alarm me.
“Care to guess now? I think you know. Your time is up.” He grinned.
“Well, I was promised that I would live until at least 2034, so could you come back at a more convenient time?” I laughed.
The man took a step back, a look of confusion on his face.
“That’s just twelve more years, a mere drop in the bucket.”
“I’ve had a good life. I’ve loved and been loved. But I must see how the next few years play out, Mr. Gatherer.”
“In that case, we can work something out, X. But you must invite me in where we can talk like civilized men.”
I laughed. “I don’t know how to talk like a man. And I won’t invite you in. I’ll leave the door open and if you choose to enter, you do so of your own free will. We can have a cup of coffee if you’d like.”
I turned and went to the kitchen and began preparing two cups of Keurig coffee. When I turned, Mr. Gatherer was seated in my computer chair, his hands on his lap. I handed him a cup of coffee and sat on my soft couch. My cat Güino rubbed up against the stranger’s legs. I noted that the cat’s fur stood on end each time he made contact.
“Get to it,” I said as if such conversations were a part of my daily routine.
“Perhaps I can delay my duties until 2034, but there is a catch. But you knew that.”
I nodded. He continued.
“To concede you these extra years, you must both save a life and let a life willingly go. Not cause it. Just let it happen.” I could see a hint of fire in his eyes.
“I accept.”
“What? You don’t want to know the terms?” He was definitely confused.
“No. You and I both know there is a hidden catch and a deeper context. I’m not smart enough to know what that might be. I’ll take my chances and let it ride.”
He laughed. “Would you believe me if I told you that it is much harder to save a life than to allow one to pass? You’re the first person in eighteen years who managed to get me to avoid my gathering as soon as we met.” He shook his head. I’m sure he was remembering the last person who had done so.
“I didn’t know for sure. But I like creativity, and I love good stories. I was waiting on aliens, but the reaper has a nice touch to it, too. I’m not dumb. I know my hourglass is tipping over. What happens next?”
He took a sip of coffee. “I’m going to finish this cup of coffee and tell you some secrets. In full disclosure, the truths are something you think you want to know, but they will plague you until your time to meet me again comes.”
“I survived the last president and Covid. And a Love Boat remake, so I think I’ll be okay.” I snorted a little.
“First, you will be blessed with good fortune. Not necessarily monetarily. Death pings worst when you have a good life. Second, the person you’ll have to allow to pass will surprise you. Every ounce of your body will fight it.” He smiled and his mouth curved into a cruel crescent moon.
“They will have died anyway,” I said, certain I was right.
He hesitated. “Yes, that’s true. But everyone feels like they could have done something. And in your case, you could have.”
I stood up and walked toward him. “Look into my eyes and you’ll see what’s there.”
The Gatherer peered directly at my face. I let him delve into my memories. His eyes widened in shock. I knew he found that hardness left from my childhood, the same hardness that allowed me to survive it. Few people knew that it was a tangible thing sitting in my heart. He saw that I had been convinced more than once that I was already seeing my own death. And that I had witnessed death that convinced me I might not make it out alive afterward.
“Hmmm. Interesting. They didn’t tell me you were one of those people. But everyone breaks under the deal I’m making.” He patted Güino’s head. I could hear my cat purr. He finished his cup of coffee in one gulp.
“Before I go, I must share another truth with you, X. In another version of your life, you should have been wildly successful, traveling the world and helping people. That life was glorious.” He smiled with his teeth this time.
I reached out my hand to shake his. “I assume when we shake hands, I’m agreeing to the terms and conditions, whatever they might be.”
He nodded and took my hand. His hand was cold but shockingly hard and firm.
“Before you go,” I told him, “look into my eyes one more time. I already see the loophole.”
He shook his head. “No, you don’t. No one does.”
“Look, then.”
And he did, drawing in a powerful breath and holding it.
I let him peer into the future, the future I was choosing.
He saw it, the loophole closing in my head.
“That IS interesting! No one ever sees it.”
“It’s simple. As long as I am ready to go, the deal dies with me. I still have free will to make my choice. It will have given me the choice of a few more years. I will save a life and give my own. That’s the way it’s always been, hasn’t it?”
He laughed. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”
“You as well.”
As he walked out, he turned and said, “I will meet you again, X”
“Yes, but when I’m ready. That’s the deal. And lose the suit and tie. Wear something casual and enjoy yourself.”
He closed the door behind him.
I sat back down at the computer. Güino jumped into my lap as I began to write again.
It was 7:30 a.m. The sunrise was supposed to happen five minutes earlier. Clouds had rolled in to obscure it. Rain and storms arrived the night before. The early morning Sunday October sky was dark and beautiful. Without thinking about it, I found that I was headed to a part of the trail I rarely walked. About a quarter of a mile in, I noted the three abandoned antique vehicles in the brush. The broken, ancient barbed wire fence appeared, its length sporadically still intact.
Over the last year, the wild brush and trees on the other side called to me as I walked by them. I had no idea who owned it. The apparent neglect signaled to me that such a careless owner did not own it at all. The serpentine topography hid all clues about precisely where I was, as did the dense canopy of trees. When I approached the creek bed that flowed under the presumptive fence, I saw that the fence there was gone. Though my shoes were inappropriate for anything except pavement, I stepped through the gap.
With the second step, the air brightened, and the scent of fall decay receded. I took a dozen more steps and pushed against the gnarled branches.
Though the valley should have been shadowy and dark, I could feel the sun’s rays touching my neck. I looked behind me to see that the neglected bushes and trees were gone. In its place was an ankle-high expanse of grass and flowers. I felt like I was experiencing a hybrid dream, one combining Narnia and early-morning half-slumber.
I turned back to look. Instead of foliage, I saw a large red barn with its doors wide open. A hammer clanged rhythmically inside it. A mule stood nearby, untethered.
The hammer continued its work.
“Come on in, I’ve been waiting.” The voice was baritone and melodic.
I didn’t hesitate to walk forward. As I passed it, I rubbed the mule’s neck. It turned slightly to welcome it.
Though the voice did not match my memory, I already knew who would be standing there. I could feel the surety of it.
He appeared to be about forty-five. I never knew him as anything other than old, with a brutal life already behind him.
He wore an old pair of work pants and an oddly green shirt.
“Grandpa? It is you, isn’t it? Your voice is different.” I hesitated.
“I have the voice that belongs to the ideal me. Can I call you Little Bobby, the name I used when we sat on the porch swing together?”
I nodded. Without answering, I walked up to him and hugged him like I learned to do as an adult. He smelled of Old Spice, sawdust, and Cannonball chewing tobacco.
“Little Bobby, I’m most proud that you leaned away from hardness. It could have gone either way for you. I’ve waited forty-four years and three hundred and sixty-two days to tell you that.”
“Yes, but I feel like a failure, Grandpa.”
He smiled.
“I know. None of that is real, son. None of it.” Grandpa put his hand on my shoulder.
He laughed. “I can’t tell you any secrets that you can share. My words are for you only. That’s how it is done. One hour with you is all we get. Help me with this horseshoe, and we’ll talk. Agreed?”
“Yes. Let me help you mess this shoe up. I’m no good at this sort of thing.”
“You were almost a carpenter Little Bobby. And a farmer. Now you’re a writer. Because your job is to find a way to communicate the truth I’m going to share with you without violating the rules here.”
I stood next to Grandpa as he hammered the upper edges of the old horseshoe. The clang of metal was constant and comforting.
Grandpa began to talk, his voice even and confident. I felt like the little boy who sat next to him on the porch swing in Monroe County. Grandpa wasn’t a talkative man nor expressive. Wherever I was, I wanted to stand there forever as he talked. As his voice trailed to a whisper, I realized that the hour was over.
I hugged Grandpa. Instead of sadness, I felt joyous.
“Remember what I’ve told you, Little Bobby. Go live the rest of your life and find a way to share it. We’ll meet again one day and not in the way you expect. You’ll see.”
He turned back to finish another horseshoe, the heavy metal hammer rising and falling.
I walked through the barn doors and ran my hand along the mule’s neck again. Expecting reluctance, I found myself consumed by haste. Not to leave this place but to return to my life, one that would never be the same. In moments I was standing on the trail again, the gap between the creek and fence behind me. Light rain spattered my head and shoulders.
I know you want to know what Grandpa said to me.
I haven’t had enough time to process it, disguise it, and repeat it back. It’s likely that most people wouldn’t accept it. That’s how truth works. It’s obvious after-the-fact but a difficult pill at first.
I’ll give you a hint:
Go outside and look up at the dark sky. Feel the rain lingering in the air. Get a cup of coffee. Find a loved one and put your hand on their arm or run your fingers through their hair. Silence troubled words, worry, or distress that you have no control over your life or the world. Look inside and toward rather than away from.
Hidden inside those words is a world of truth. It’s a zen puzzle that’s not a puzzle at all.
Somewhere, the hammer still rises and falls.
Shadows turn to sunlight.
Voices echo with resonance and truth.
If you’re not sharing your voice and your love, you’re missing the point of everything.
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 