The Stranger
The bacon on his sandwich was overdone. It reminded Cyrus of
his mother. She used to burn everything.
As he sat, slowly chewing his BLT, he contemplated how he was going to
handle the next few days, alone. Why did
he let Alice Alice
kept asking to go see her daughter in Tulsa
A fly buzzed around his head and landed on his plate where
he had left a few tomato seeds and some toast crumbs. He swatted at the invader but missed by a
mile. Across the room, he heard the jingling of the bells on the door and the
hostess squeaked "Hello! Welcome to Benny's!"
Cyrus glanced up to see a middle-aged man, limping as he
pushed his way through the door. A patch covered the stranger’s left eye and
his hair was slick with oil and slightly disheveled as though he just got out
of bed. His unshaven face was weary. Cyrus was sure it had been quite some time
since the man had touched a bar of soap and warm water.
Cyrus picked up his coffee cup and threw back his head to
get the last of the cold liquid from the bottom. He wiped his upper lip on his sleeve and
started to stand. The cloud of stench
that surrounded the stranger reached Cyrus before the old man made it to his
table. He smelled like perspiration,
campfire and stale beer. Cyrus connected
with one piercing blue eye.
“Sit down. We’ve got
to talk.” The stranger growled.
“Do I know you?”
Cyrus eyed him suspiciously.
“No.” he said flatly.
“But I know your mother.”
“My mother?” Cyrus lowered himself onto the bench. “She’s been dead for 10 years!”
“Dead?” the man raised one bushy, grey eyebrow.
“Yes. Who are you?”
Cyrus challenged.
“My name is Martin.”
The stranger mumbled. “I worked
for your mother in New Orleans
“New Orleans
He leaned over Cyrus’s shoulder. Hot, stale breath assaulted Cyrus’s nostrils.
The old man whispered, “Your mother is very much alive. I can take you to her. . .but first? I need food.”
and an elf princess!
