by Mark Tiro
I didn’t have to wait long for him to text back.
“What? You quit?? Why??? And you’re writing a book? A real book—not law review crap?”
“It’s going to be called ‘Way of the Peaceful Lawyer’” I texted back.
“So you’re not going to change my grade Ms. Lee? You realize we keep this school alive, right?”
“I know who your family is Vance. Anyway, I already cut you a break. After all, I gave you a D and not the F that you’d earned all on your own. I thought I was being charitable.”
I had smiled. He hadn’t laughed.
Instead, he’d threatened to accuse me of giving him a bad grade only because I’d demanded sex from him in exchange for a good one—and that he’d been much too respectable for that sort of thing.
Huh, as if.
“I wouldn’t get too comfortable in that desk if I were you,” he’d said. “I don’t think you’ll be around to sit in it much longer.”
Maybe because it wasn’t the first time I’d considered the possibility—after all, I’d been dragging my feet at giving my notice for a while now—this didn’t seem like such a bad thing to me. Sure, his threat had been a big shock, and had taken me by surprise.
For about half a second!
This was perfect, like manna from heaven. I smiled at him. A big, wide toothy grin.
“Oh, I’m sorry—I guess you must not have heard then?” I answered, casual as a beach vacation and twice as cool.
He stuttered; he was thrown off balance.
Flustered, he didn’t say a word.
“Yep—this is my last week here,” I beamed. “I’m retiring. I’m just happy that I had the privilege of teaching the next generation of great law students. Like yourself, Vance.” Then I looked straight into his eyes—in a way that made most men, and some women, uncomfortable. “I was thinking maybe Florida—what do you think? That’d be the perfect place to retire. I’ve heard it’s great for single women… of a certain age.” For emphasis, I purred just under my breath, then gave him an over-the-top, exaggerated wink, before adding, “If you know what I mean.”
He turned red. Then he turned around and fled out the door. I never saw him again. And then—maybe sooner than I had planned, but not nearly soon enough—I walked out the door too.
I never saw that place again.
Truth is, I was just about done there anyway. I’d worked long enough; and I didn’t need the money. In any event, I’d had some ideas kicking around my head for a while now, and I figured now was as good a time as any to get to work on my magnum opus.
Some teenagers had walked in the door and were trying to decide what to get. They were loud and it snapped me out of my reverie. So I pulled open my laptop again. But then my phone buzzed. Another text from Larry.
“Glad you didn’t file lawsuit in the end. Congrats BTW on your… retirement! Lol. Leaving now. Be there soon.”
Writing the great American novel, drinking coffee and shooting the shit with an old friend on a Saturday night. Retirement didn’t seem half bad so far.
I texted him back: “K”.
I took another swig of coffee. Still—perfect temperature. Then I turned back to my laptop, again.
I re-read the last few sections I’d managed to write over the past few days. Then I outlined the next few sections. Once that was done, I began to write the next chapter. This must be what it’s like to be on a roll, I thought. But thinking of that word made me start thinking of different kinds of rolls I like. Pretzel rolls were my current favorite. Oh, but there were those rosemary garlic rolls I’d had the other day—those were really good too. And the best rolls were the ones from C&O, that little trattoria between the Marina and Venice.
What a dilemma.
Wait, why am I always thinking about food? Focus, Maya—focus. I might be able to get a few more sections done before Larry gets here. And so I started to type again.
“Sit down here while I change the baby’s diaper.”
I looked up to see a mom holding a baby scurrying off towards the bathroom. It was in the small hallway, not too far from me. Then I saw that she’d deposited a boy—presumably her son—in the chair at my table. It was facing the bathroom, so I guess I could see what she was thinking. I watched as the bathroom door closed behind her.
“And stay right there,” she shouted out towards the boy as the door closed behind her. “Don’t you go anywhere!”
Lovely, I thought.
I looked over and saw the boy sitting there. He couldn’t have been much older than seven, maybe eight. And he was trying his best to look cool. But it was obvious, despite his best efforts to hide it. Sitting there alone waiting for his mom, he was scared.
So I closed up my laptop. I pushed my pen and notes off to the side.
If he was going to sit here, I figured there was no reason he had to be alone and scared. I looked over and smiled.
“Hi. I’m Maya.”
And that was it. That little change of mind was it. My last forgiveness lesson.
I think I heard the faintest of sounds, the slightest change in air pressure. Or maybe I didn’t. In any event, it didn’t matter. It was impossible to describe in words. It wasn’t physical at all, but it was more obvious than anything in the world. There would—I could see, clear as day now—be no more lifetimes.
Maybe because of that, maybe to try to share the feeling with him, I smiled again. This time, it was a big, happy grin.
“I’m… I’m… Alex,” he said, tentatively. He didn’t smile back, and he clutched a tablet in his hands. I could faintly hear the video he’d been watching, but it was mostly drowned out by the noise around us.
“And how old are you Alex?”
“I’m nine.”
“Hmmmm, Alex who’s nine. I’d say you don’t look a day older than eight, maybe eight and a half.” I laughed, to make sure he’d realize I was joking.
“I am—I am nine!” he said, puffing out his chest to try to make himself look bigger. “My mom measured me, and I’m even tall enough to go on all the rides at Disney now,” he said with excitement. But then he drew back; he became quiet again. He added in a whisper that I could barely hear, “Well, maybe next year, mom says we’ll have enough money to go there.”
“Hmmmm,” I said, looking him in the eye seriously a second before I smiled again. “Well Alex—nine it is then! And now that we’re both sitting here, do you want to have a drink of coffee with me?” I said, looking down at my cup that was sitting on the table between us.
This made him laugh finally.
“Hey! No way—I’m just a kid!” He grinned. It was an untroubled, easy grin at last, though with a couple holes in it that he was still waiting for teeth to fill in. “My mom says I can only drink milk, but no coffee.”
“Well then, I have the perfect solution. How about we put some milk in it? We’ll call it flavored milk.”
“That’s silly,” he grinned. “It’s still coffee.”
I took the lid off the coffee, and made a big show out of taking the tiniest of sips out of the cup. Then I made the silliest face I could think of, like I’d just sucked on a lemon. “You know—I think you’re right Alex! It is still coffee! I don’t know what I was thinking.”
He giggled, and I smiled.
We were both happy.
“You don’t have to be afraid anymore,” I said looking him in the eye, still smiling but serious at the same time.
I glanced behind him towards the bathroom to check for his mom. There was no sign of movement from the door there, and I looked back at him. “Everything is okay. You’re not alone.”
And to him, for now—everything was okay. He relaxed down into the chair and turned to the video he’d been watching on his tablet. Then he pulled on his headphones and started giggling like only nine year-olds can.
2
Two
I could see the door open from where I was sitting. Alex couldn’t. He had his back to the door, and was looking do
wn at his tablet, and so he didn’t see.
But I did.
Two guys burst in. I watched them swing the door open. Without thinking, I looked down to take another drink of coffee. As I did, one of them threw a chair. People started to look up. I did, also. At least one of them that I could make out had a gun.
It was obvious they were there to rob the place.
I held these two men in my mind, just an instant.
This need not be. Everything is okay.
They continued on, apparently oblivious.
Nothing’s happened, I thought, then looked over at Alex sitting in the chair next to me. He was still unaware of what was happening. For now, I decided not to interrupt that.
A deep stillness washed over me. I closed my eyes an instant; I stepped aside and watched as it extended out and filled the space. I was now, only peace.
One of the men threw a chair. It crashed onto the floor, making a terrible noise. This brought all the other noise in the place to an immediate halt.
There was a long, startled silence.
My phone was sitting on the table next to my coffee. I grabbed at it, and quickly tapped out a text to Larry. “Don’t come in”.
I meant to add “robbery/call police”, but couldn’t because one of the guys had looked over just as I’d started on the next word. I quickly thrust the phone down. I didn’t want them to take notice of me—and more importantly, to take notice of Alex who still had his back turned and his headphones on. I quietly reached over to put my hand on his shoulder. The boy looked up at me. I gave him a gentle smile and a gentle thought.
Everything is okay.
A moment later, my phone—it was on vibrate—buzzed with a text. The whole table buzzed with it. The text was from Larry. “No worries, here already—walking in”.
When my phone buzzed, the guy who’d thrown the chair swung his head around looking to see where the sound had come from. It had come from my phone—of course—on the table in front of me. But for whatever reason, this didn’t register with him. Instead of my table here, his eyes lit upon the table next to me. At that table, there was a guy who’d pulled out his phone and was live streaming a video of the whole thing.
This enraged the gunman—I could see now he had a gun too. Both of them did. This one was storming over now, towards the guy’s table.
But a second later, he tripped and fell headfirst into the holiday display. The whole thing—cheery reds and ceramic greens, together with metal coffee mugs that had been stacked three high for the Christmas display—all collapsed on top of him.
Which of course enraged the other gunman.
Now he roared over too, stepping through the mess where his comrade had fallen.
And he didn’t stumble.
He didn’t fall.
Then he raised his hand towards the guy streaming the video, and he started shooting.
Pop, pop, pop.
The store filled with screams now; the sound of breaking glass echoed in all directions. And then came the sound of a thud.
The cell phone video guy.
It was the sound of his body crashing, cell phone camera-first, to the floor.
I looked around for a weapon of some sort—for anything. There was just the pen next to my laptop. I grabbed it off the table and clutched it tight in my hand.
Which is exactly when Larry walked in. I was looking towards the door and saw him right when he walked in.
I was looking—but he wasn’t.
He didn’t see any of this coming.
Larry had his head down, texting into his phone. He didn’t realize the gunman was there at all. And for a few seconds, I don’t think the gunman realized Larry was there either.
But then they both looked up. Larry looked up at the gunman. The gunman looked up at Larry.
The gunman turned his back to the guy he’d just shot. He turned his back to him, to face Larry.
When he did, he turned his back on me as well.
The gunman looked across the room towards Larry.
Larry looked straight towards him, but when he did, we caught each other’s eyes. It was just an instant of recognition, but for me, it was an instant that stretched into eternity.
I didn’t know the specifics of what Larry was about to do. But I think somewhere, I did know. Somewhere, I had always known.
What happened next was so out place, so unexpected, that it threw the gunman off, just a little.
Just enough.
Larry smiled broadly. It was the biggest, cockiest, most confident smile I had ever seen.
Then, looking the gunman straight in the eyes—and in as calm, clear, and loud a voice as I’d ever heard him use—Larry said, “Does anybody know where I can get a bloody drink around here?”
It was ridiculous.
It was an act of heroism.
The gunman hesitated, confused. Just an instant.
Then he fired three more rounds—directly into Larry’s chest.
But Larry had caused him to hesitate.
And it was enough.
It was enough, because this time—I didn’t hesitate.
I bounded up and took two quick steps towards the gunman. I reached up from behind, grabbed his forehead with my left hand and jerked it back sharply towards me.
Then I took the pen I’d been clutching in my right hand and I thrust it up with as much force as I had. It broke halfway through. But not until after it had pushed through the back of his neck, up and under the base of his skull and into his brainstem.
And then I twisted it, until it snapped off for good.
The man collapsed in a heap at my feet, dead before he hit the ground.
Larry had crashed through the glass after he’d been shot. That registered with me, but just barely. Because just then, the first gunman—the one who had fallen into the holiday display—staggered to his feet. He raised his gun and started shooting. Pop, pop. I don’t know how many rounds he fired off.
I was thrown back, onto the floor.
I turned my head and saw.
I saw the boy.
He wasn’t watching his tablet anymore. Now he was lying on his back on the floor, in a pool of his own blood.
“Alex,” I whispered.
His head was facing me, and I was able to look straight into his eyes. He was still alive.
I could still talk.
“Everything is okay,” I said. “I won’t leave you. You will never be alone.”
He was straining to breathe now. But his eyes were still clear. And they were smiling.
He wasn’t looking at me anymore. Now—he was looking over my shoulder.
“Dad? You came for me.”
Those were his last words.
And then he died.
I was choking on my own blood, straining to breathe now too.
I’d also been hit, and the blood that wasn’t gurgling up in my mouth was spilling out, onto the floor all around me.
With my last measure of strength, I pulled myself and sat up, against the plastic display tree. And that was it. Everything was quiet now. I leaned back against the tree and died one last time.
Underneath the Tree
At the time I took that breath and laid my body aside for the last time, I’d been enlightened already for thirteen minutes. Which, by the time it happened, meant exactly—nothing.
I walk on now, past an old movie canister strewn on the ground, tossed into a heap with other discarded old movies. My old movies. Long forgotten was the time when they’d been unspooled, run through a projector and experienced.
Now they all just lay there, disintegrating. The images would never be seen again.
The journey I’d only just imagined taking was over now, and I’d already forgotten all about it.
I brush aside the curtains, ready to walk through into the lights one last time.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Too soon?” I hear a voice ask. It’s coming from somewhere in the back.
Really? A heckler?
<
br /> “Who is that?” I answer, looking straight ahead into the footlights.
Then I see it. That grin!
“Because if you’re not ready,” he goes on, “I can just…”
“David!” I say, bounding over to him.
“I just thought you might want some company. But if you don’t…”
I throw my arms around him in a great bear hug.
“Of course I’d love some company!” I grin. “And yes—I’m ready!”
“Ready? I know you are. I’ve always known. I’m just glad you know it now too.”
“So are we just gonna stand around here chit-chatting for all eternity?” I ask, “Or…”
“Right, of course. Well let’s get going then, Maya.”
We jump down from the stage together, turn around, and begin to walk.
The End.
Author’s Note
“The essential,” as Antoine de Saint Exupéry wrote, “is invisible to the eyes.”
Or, to put it in another, more practical way, and to paraphrase Augustine of Hippo, ‘Forgive, and do as you will.’
Was there an old master who once taught philosophy to passersby and students alike, in a small, out of the way Greek city?
Yes. Epictetus.
In Rome, after he became a freedman, and later then, in Nicopolis, after he was exiled from Rome. Just like Xeno hundreds of years before him, Epictetus broke ranks with his contemporaries by teaching and lecturing to the public, men and women, free and slaves alike, from the stoa—the Greek word for porch—of his teaching academy.
Which, by the way, is where our word for the system of thinking he taught there—‘stoicism’— comes from.
And it’s also the word by which we’ve come to know those who lived it.
Stoics.
Do we know all this from his writings? Or maybe his wife or children after him?
Not at all.
Epictetus didn’t write down a word of his teachings—at least none that survives. He never married either, and had no children of his own to continue his legacy… though there was that small matter—at a time when he was already a very old man himself—of his friend’s child. History records that, together with a mystery woman, he took the child in and raised him. The name of the woman he lived with at the end of his life—but never married—is however, unknown to us… lost now to history.
