First Sign of the Badger

by Brock Rhodes

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  Their inheritance is the only gift they have left to give. Bill, who handles both estates, urgently gives it away.

  Two careful movers pass in front of him. One, showing a lot of jewelry for a man, is looking for a handout. “Are you sure you want to get rid of these mirrors? They’re really nice.”

  Bill is on the way to work. “You want ‘em, keep ‘em. I don’t care. Just keep ‘em away from my daughter!”

  For entertainment purposes, an unclean man, who wears his mother’s tiny raincoat to keep warm, stands outside the house as the movers empty it. He has nothing more pressing as he pays the tab on lost gambles.

  The movers disappear for another load and the derelict approaches the mirrors, leaning on the side of the truck. This is a real treat for him. He hasn’t seen what he looks like, outside of when he begs for a bite at a restaurant window, for quite some time. He’s careful not to get chased off while he gives himself a look.

  The bum thought he had huffed his sense of humor out, but easily finds reason to laugh. He pats his chest and face, as most without mirrors do. The reflection isn’t really him. He knows better.

  The man leaves the mirrors alone to live another question-mark day, feeling a little more fortunate.

  THE NITTY GRITTY