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Sunday, July 29, 2012

Chapter 12

The twelvth pen belonged to the lawyer who helped the old man draw up his will. It was a white feather quill pen he remembered using to sign away all he owned to the only family he had left–his sister and nephew upon his death. He pulled up to his attorney's office and walked thru the door painted with the red words "Hendricks Law Firm:Divorce and Wills"


Because  divorce can be killer, thought the old man wishing he had a red bucket of paint and brush to add the slogan.


As he walked in, the receptionist was gone but a couple seated in the lobby, greeted him.


"It's about time,"said the plump fifty-something Italian,"I'm Mr. Fretti, and this is my...soon to be ex-wife, Wilma Lousy Lou. Now can we get this boat outta da harbor?"

"You see? So rude!" scolded the gum smacking slender broad,"this is why I can't go on any-"


"I'm sorry I was just-"interrupted the old man about reveal his true identity. Then different words than he had planned on saying came out to finish his sentence,"just running late-please, step into my office." 


And the next minute he found himself seated behind  Mr. Hendricks desk in front of two feuding Fretti's..

"OK, calm down,"said the old man.


"We can't-that's why we're getting a divorce. He has-"began Mrs. Fretti


"She has,"pointed Mr. Fretti.


"Anger issues!" the both said angrily.


The old man took advantage of the pause while they caught their breathe,"This won't take long...provided you have your postnuptials,"he said.

"You mean prenupts?"said the Italian," No, we never wrote 'em anyway-but I woulda had a list a mile long 

if I could go back in time."


"Mine woulda been two,"said the woman.


"No, I meant post-nuptials, actually,"corrected the old man. Then he got out some paper and his quill pen, and dipped it in ink,"I require them at every divorce settlement. No matter–they're usually written up by a attorney anyway.."


"Well what the heck are they?"asked Mrs. Fretti.


"What you agree to never do again, of course. And the only way to know what you must never do again is to know what you have done together, your history; so Mr. Fretti, you are about to get your wish. Let's go back in time to the beginning, please, tell me how you met."


"We met on the beach,"said Mr. Fretti,"Crescendo Beach. She picked me up."


"I saved your life!"said Mrs. Fretti,"I sware you can never get a story straight!"


"And you can never stop with the insults."


When they calmed down again, Mrs. Fretti proceeded to tell how she had been walking her dog during a beautiful sunset when pooky came upon what she thought was a beached whale, but was Mario, unconscious from a heart attack.

"I tried mouth to mouth but it didn't work," said Mrs. Fretti.



"My heart was still beating,"said Mr. Fretti.


"But you'd have been washed out to sea with the tide if I hadn't found you when I did."


"Ok,"said the old man writing,"First, you agree that you will never save the life of your spouse, particularly on sunsetting beaches."


"At high tide,"added Mrs. Fretti.


"Then she visits me at the hospital and brings me flowers. Do you know what that means to the son of a mobster?! Here's a boquet for your funeral."


"No flowers shall be exchanged between you, in perpetuity,"wrote the old man.


"Then he called me a week later and took me to a broadway show. What was it, Mario?"

"Serengeti Summer. Your favorite. You're always singin' it-'Lions roar and monkey's laugh, but our love's taller than a giraffe!' "

 
"Please!" complained Mrs. Fretti plugging her ears.


"Neither party shall accompany the other to a broadway musical, nor sing it's compositions in one another's presence.."


"And dinner at Little Florence Italian place the next week. I never saw a moon that big."


"Or a stomach that large."added Mario patting his gut.


" That's when he gave me mouth to mouth."


"I was much better at it than you."


Mrs. Fretti blushed,"Brought me back from the dead, I'll admit."


"No dinner, no romantic lunar-enhanced encounters shall heretofore be permitted,"wrote the old man.

"You know he proposed to me at the same beach, in the same spot I found him. And when I said yes, he threw me in the water,"said Mrs. Fretti.


"Laughin' almost drowned us both. Marriage is like a baptism. By fire, I tell ya...And then-"


"No laughing, jokes, jesting, gaffawing, chuckling, and any iteration thereof..."


"Mr. Hendricks, will you stop interrupting?"asked Mr. Fretti,"we're tryin' to tell a story here?"


"Then we went to Africa for our honeymoon,"said Mrs. Fretti,"I don't know what was more breathetaking to watch, the sunrise over Kilimanjaro or-"


"Me,"finished Mr. Fretti acting out his next statement,"an elephant ridin' another elephant."


The both of them burst into a fit of laughter as the old man continued writing and mumbling,"No elephant rides, we already have sunsets covered..."


When the couple were done laughing it took only another story to get them giddy once again. They went on and on until the old man could only stop them by handing them the paper he had written..


"Here are your postnuptials: Read over them, sign, and send it to my address noted,"said the old man,"and when you've completed counseling I will grant the divorce."

"Counseling?"said Mr. Fretti,"we never-how long does that take?"



"Depends on how long you live."


"What kind of counselor?–"began Mr. Fretti.


"My God!"swore Mrs. Fretti.


"Correct, ma'am-yours and mine,"said the old man,"And His name is The Counselor."


And with that the old man put the quill pen back on the desk, bid them good day, and went on his way.

Monday, July 23, 2012

Chapter 11

The old man felt the cheap ball point pen in his coat as he walked thru the streets of Breinhardt on his way to the Breinhardt Antiques and Collectibles Shoppe. He observed the time, it would be closing soon. Must hurry. He turned onto Dresden Avenue lined with busy shops and fashionably dressed patrons leaving them, full bags in hand–a sharp contrast to the scraggily looking man sitting beside the entrance to the antique shop holding a cardboard sign: Looking for work.

"Good afternoon, sir,"said the vagrant.


But the old man passed without giving a second look, what caught his eye and nose even more was the choripan stand across the street. There was nothing like chorizo on a bun anywhere else in North America, except in the melting pot that was Breinhardt. He grabbed two, and fumbling to stash his wallet, ran back across the street, passing the bum
once again and was about to go into the store when he saw the no food or drink sign. Right below were the store hours-10am-4pm. It was 3:50 pm.



His first thought was to give a sandwich to the bum, but a voice inside restrained him which seemed odd, for the man appeared very hungry. Still, he obeyed the voice and shoved the two sandwiches into his mouth as fast as he could, as the beggar, who had not eaten all day, sat by, his mouth salivating at the sight. 


And then the old man walked into the store.

It was a crowded shop. Every square inch of space utilized, selling a trinket here, a lamp or piece of wooden furniture there, leaving a narrow maze for customers to wander. The old man saw an old lady's hand shake as she passed a bill to the store clerk–it reminded him of his wife's hand when the Parkinsons disease took over.


"Will you come down at all on the price of that chair?" a customer asked the clerk at the register.



"Ma'am, that chair has been sitting there for one hundred years, it can sit for another hundred waiting for a proper owner,"answered the rather snooty-looking man clerk,"and please keep your child's fingers off the merchandise."


The clerk then handed $1.25 to the old lady buying a bracelet.


"I thought I gave you a twenty?"she said.


"Just a minute,"said the clerk walking out from behind the register,"I thought I told you to stay out of here."


The old man thought the clerk was talking to him when he felt an arm on his shoulder and voice from behind that said,"Sir, just returning this man's wallet."


The old man turned to see the beggar handing him his wallet. "I believe this is yours,"he said to the old man.


The old man glanced instinctively at the contents, which were all still there and said,"Thank you-"

"You've done your good deed, now go, scat," interrupted the clerk walking back to the register.


"I think I gave you a twenty, sir,"said the old lady again when the clerk had returned.



"No, Mrs. Henderson," he replied,"it was a ten, I'm sure of it."


"I'd like to speak to your manager,"she said.


"He's not here,"said the clerk,"You'll have to come back tomorrow." Then he said to the old man, "Can I help you sir-we'll be closing soon?"

The old lady gave up and walked toward the door with her bag.



"Wait,"said the old man to the old woman,"I'll get your money back."


And with that the old man walked right thru the door that said "Employees Only" and knocked on the manager's office door before the clerk could stop him.


"Can I help you?"said the manager, Mr. Treadwell.


"I'm sorry, Mr. Treadwell,"said the clerk having caught up,"This man has no business barging-"


"You're the one that has no business being here,"said the old man.


"I hope this is good, sir,"said Mr. Treadwell,"I run my store like I captained my submarine back in the Navy. I know my crew and this clerk is very competent at his job."


The old man pulled out the ball point pen, "I came here to return this pen as I have a compulsive habit of forgetting to hand them back, and here it is by the way-"


"A pen,"shrugged the Mr. Treadwell," is that all?"


"No. While I awaiting my turn at the checkout desk, this clerk insulted two customers, and cheated another out of her money." And then he turned to the clerk,"You told her she gave you a ten yet I saw the twenty the old woman passed you in her trembling hands."

"Are you accusing 
me of lying?"said the clerk.



"Did you not also tell the old woman the manager was gone and here he is?"


"Is she still here?" asked the manager to which the old man nodded,"I'll handle this."


The manager then apologized to the old woman and restored the proper change to her, and then fired the clerk.


"You'll never find someone who knows this business like I do, I'm irreplaceable!" said the clerk as he grabbed his coat.


Then the old man unexpectedly opened his mouth and said,"There is only one who is Irreplaceable. For that is His name."


"And besides, I'd rather have an honest idiot run my store than a expert thief," said the manager.


Once the begrudged clerk left the manager took the ball point pen out of his pocket and said, throwing it in the trash can,"You're obviously an honest man. How would you like a job?"


"No thank you. But I'd like to recommend a person more honest than I ever was who is in desperate need of work. I'll send him in the morning."


"I'll be waiting at 8 am,"said the manager.
Then, the old man he went outside and asked to the beggar,"Are you still interested in work?"


"Absolutely, sir!"said the beggar.


"Then you shall have it here at the Breinhardt Antiques and Collectibles Shoppe."


"Oh, no that's too fancy a place for me. I am merely a beggar."


"As am I,"said the old man looking heavenward,"As are all of us."


Then the old man fed the beggar, clothed him with two suits, put him up in a hotel for two weeks, and wrote a letter of recommendation for him which read:


Dear Mr. Treadwell,


As you know from your previous career, a submarine's integrity can only be determined when exposed to the extreme pressure of the deep ocean. So was the integrity of this man when he not only extended great courtesy as I blindly passed him by, but also, having gone without food for two days, saw me drop my wallet full of cash while eating in front of him and immediately returned it. This man has impeccable integrity and I highly recommend him for employment.


"Thank you,"said the beggar as he walked up the steps of the shoppe at 8am the next morning.


"I am only doing my job," said the old man.


"Who employs you?"


"He whose pay exceeds all earthly wealth."


"I should like to work for him."


"You already do. The Employer is his name."

And the old man went on his way...






Monday, July 16, 2012

Chapter 10

Following his visit to the Upside Down Pyramid, the old man drove the 800 miles to the Destiny Museum to return a white souvenir pen that was more like a brush.

It was on his 798th mile that he saw a stranded vehicle on the side of the road, and although he had about as many automotive skills as he did plane mechanic expertise to offer he felt impressed to pull over.


When he walked up to the vehicle, he immediately noticed it was a repair he could handle and that their appeared to be a driver still in the car.


"You have a flat tire on the rear passenger side,"said old man at the closed driver's side window.


"What?"said the middle aged black female, clenching the steering wheel with both hands.


The old man made a gesture for her to roll down her window, for the freeway noise was far too loud for him to compete with.

The woman reluctantly released one hand from the steering wheel just long enough to inch the window down a crack and then she grabbed it again.


"Are you OK?"asked the old man.


"Not really,"she responded,"my car started shaking uncontrollably and so I pulled over."

"That is what a flat tire will do, ma'am,"said the old man.


Judging that if the woman was naive enough to not suspect a wobbly vehicle meant flat tire, she probably would not have the slightest clue on how to fix it, he offered to change it for her to which she agreed.


"Can you pop the trunk?"said the old man.


"But that means I'll have to let go."


"Yes. It is the only way to open it."


After the tire was changed the man came back to the window where the woman was still holding the steering wheel tight.


"You're ready to go,"said the old man.


"Thank you. I'm sorry, you must think I'm a little strange, but losing control is not something I deal with too well." she said,"I hope I did not inconvenience you too much."


"Not at all-just on my way to visit the museum."


"Really? Me, too. Perhaps I'll see you there."


"Perhaps."


The prophecy was fulfilled, for after the old man tried to return the pen-for they told him to keep it–he spent the next hour with the middle aged woman viewing the latest exhibit of Merlou, an avante guarde abstract painter.

"How is he so creative?"


Where does the inspiration come from?" were among the questions the woman asked while on the tour.

"This has been an amazing exhibit,"she said at the last painting,"I wish I could paint as beautifully as him."


"Have you ever tried?"asked the old man.


"Well yes. For many years I was an aspiring artist. I spent hours and hours trying to  control a brush, but failed miserably. Now I'm in the business of control."


"Controlling what?"


"The future-I work in the insurance business. Every possibly future scenario is calculated by actuaries, priced, and risk managed. Speaking of which, I have to get back to work. How can I thank you for fixing my tire and the enjoyable afternoon?"


The old man hesitated, for he felt the impression again.

"Well, there is one thing. I would like a painting."


"OK,"said the woman caught off guard,"What kind, which artist?"


"You."


"Oh, I don't know, it's been years since-"


"This will be an easy one. Are you right or left-handed?"


"Right."


The old man put the souvenier brush from the museum into the woman's left hand,"This time I want you to use your left hand. Close your eyes and paint what comes into your heart."


"But I'll have to let go."


"Yes. It is the only way to open it. And once your heart is open, God can paint a masterpiece for your life as well, for His name is The Master Artist."


Then the man wrote down his address, handed it to her, and said,"Good day." and went on his way.

Sunday, July 8, 2012

Chapter 9


 The Great Upside-Down Pyramid in the Hamove Desert, a rather remarkable wonder of the world–for not only did the ancients have to build it without the use of modern technology, they presumably did so standing on their heads–was the next journey the old man took to return the small peg-like pen he had stolen. For reasons not his own, he felt impressed to travel straight by plane from Currina, in leui of the bus ride around the desert to Fatin and then by camel to the landmark. The small rickety plane he chartered had an even smaller pilot named, Hiro, who had very big dreams.

"It is a rather turbulent ride,"commented the old man as the plane repeatedly rose and fell.


"No extra charge, boss," said Hiro.



"How long have you been a pilot?"asked the old man.


"Too long, boss,"said Hiro,"But once I find the lost Golden City in the Hamove desert, I will be only one thing."


"And what is that?"


"Content. For I will have everything I want, and no longer just enough, boss."


"Perhaps you should start with a new plane."


Perhaps the plane was offended at this comment, for it's engine sputtered to a stop forcing Hiro to crash land into a sand dune.


"Where are we?"asked the old man as they got out of the plane and surveyed their circumstance.

"According to my map, nowhere, boss, and we are smack dab in the middle,"said Hiro.



He then proceeded to assess the plane's condition.


"Can you fix it?"asked the old man when Hiro came out from under the hood.


"Yes, boss. It's an easy fix, once we have the part for it."

"And where is the part?"



"In the airport garage, where we were supposed to land, boss. We shall have to walk the rest of the way, I'm afraid."


"What?"


"No extra charge, boss."


And so the two walked for miles across the endless Homave Desert under a blazing sun, conquering one mountain of sand only to find another until they were so parched from thirst and fatigue that they collapsed and tumbled down the other side of an enormous dune into a blinding sandstorm. 


After the sandstorm cleared, the small pilot with very big dreams shook the old man."Boss-wake up, we're here!"


"The Great Upside-Down Pyramid?"


"No-the Lost Golden City!" said Hiro running toward the sparkling oasis of towering buildings of gold.

"I'm rich! RICH!" he cried.



But the closer he came to the golden city, the more blurry it became until the towers of gold dissolved into sand dunes and Hiro fell to his knees sobbing.


"I have crossed this desert many times but I have  never seen a mirage of this magnitude," cried Hiro,"There is none quite like it."


Then the old man felt the now familiar urge to respond with whatever came out of his mouth, "There is one greater,"he said,"It is one that deceives and robs much of humanity of contentment."

"And what is that, boss?"



"The mirage of contentment from worldly wealth. For having everything one wants does not bring real contentment."


"But where then is true contentment?"


"Only in the Lord, for His name is Contentment."


"Perhaps you are right,"said Hiro,"let's continue on, for we are still missing the part to fix the plane."


"What kind of part is it?" asked the old man.

"It's a small peg-like pin that fits into the-"



And before he could finish the old man held out the pen he was to return and said,"Would this do?"


"Perhaps."


Then Hiro tried it and the engine cranked up,"It is just enough, boss," he said contentedly.


"No extra charge,"said the old man.

And the plane was fixed, the pen returned (the pen being swapped out with the real pin, of  course) and the old man went on his way.




Sunday, July 1, 2012

Chapter 8

The next pen to return was a royal blue monogrammed pen belonging to the Royal Blue Royale Hotel and Casino-a place for the highest of rollers with enough neon light to keep the very sun from setting. For winners, anyway.


The old man was not much of a gambler, but something intrigued him about watching chance turn destiny on a dime, or a quarter to be more exact. 


The return seemed rather uneventful. He walked past the busy rows of men and women feeding hungry slots and say one vomiting it's lucre into an unflinching patron's bucket. Then he pulled out his pen and paused for a few moments to watch a bearded man lose big at a poker table. Having returned the pen to the counter where it came from, and made his way to the exit, he stepped outside, right into a punch that knocked the wind out of him until he passed out.


The next thing he knew he was on a couch in a smokey and dim hotel room.


"Who are you working for?"demanded the bearded man seated opposite him, smoking and trying to douse the flames inside him with whiskey,"Bartlett?"

"I work for no one,"answered the sore old man,"That's what happens when one gets old and retires. What kind of man punches a senior citizen in the gut?"

After another puff and swig the bearded man answered,"An angry man. A desperate man. A man with nothing left, not even enough to pay this room, and certainly never retire."


"And what did I have to do with your loss?"asked the old man.


"I bet it all tonight. Everything I had..."
The old man then recognized the bearded man as the one he had seen lose at the poker table earlier.


"I paid good money for that cheat,"he continued,"Watch for the blue pen, they said. The sign I had the better hand. Now everything is gone."


The old man was about to claim his innocence when once again, words came that he did not expect. "Perhaps instead punching me, you should be thanking me," he said.


"Thanking you?! Your signal made me lose everything. I'm at rock bottom!"

"I know. Your welcome."


"I oughta punch you again. What're you talking about?"


"When you're at the bottom of a pit, what's the only direction you can look?"



The drunken man stared at the ceiling.


"He is The Way Out,"said the old man,"of the pit of addictions."


"God,"cried the bearded man falling to his knees,"Oh God, please help me!"


Then, the old man quietly left the room as the bearded man continued praying. He paid the man's room tab at the receptionist desk, leaving a note as well. "Make sure he gets this," he told the receptionist,"Oh and here's your pen back-I can't afford to run off with it again."


And with that the old man went on his way.