Interview, Leather, Bulge, Superhero, Newspaper, Movie
DAVID 367
(Inspired by a movie I once saw.)
"Boss," I whispered.
"Hmm," he grunted, and his jaw clenched tighter around the cigar he held with his side teeth. He didn't look up. He just kept sorting through his mail.
"I need the Aurora to myself tomorrow night."
"See Miss Pomeroy in the building office. She does special occasions."
"No," I said. I had to word this carefully. I had to let him know that it was urgent, but I had to do it without making him so curious that he would crash my party. I wasn't planning a real party for a crowd at the famous nightclub at the top of our building. I was planning for a party of two. Me...and him.
"Remember you said she owed you a favor? And that the Aurora is closed on Tuesday nights?"
"Yeah,"
"I need it to be open tomorrow night. For me."
"Why?"
"I'm meeting somebody."
"Who?"
He was so aggravating sometimes. Every day he brought dozens of the city's stories together into a dynamic, world-famous newspaper. But sometimes trying to get two sentences into his brain through his ears was an exhausting ordeal. He still hadn't looked up at me. He flipped through his junk mail, and tossed each piece onto a corner of his desk. I tried to get his attention. It was no use. "It's not for a date," I said. "It's for an interview."
"I'm gonna kill these people!" he said, holding an envelope at eye level. "I called them with my own voice last month and told them to cancel this credit card that I didn't even ask for! What does it take to--"
"Boss," I said again, this time with more urgency. "It's important."
"What is?"
"The interview."
"Why the hell do you have to meet there?"
"Privacy," I said. "Boss, it's an exclusive. You will not be sorry. Trust me."
"Who is it?"
"I can't say. You gotta tell Miss Pomeroy to have the Aurora open for me tomorrow. No maintenance. No Staff."
"Privacy huh? You tell me how some guy is gonna get to the seventy fifth floor of this building without anybody seeing him."
I bit my lip. I rolled my eyes. This guy could. I held my breath. I was sure that at any moment he would realize who it was...the only person it could be. And then I realized that waiting to see if he caught on was a mistake. "It's not my choice," I blurted. "He won't meet any other place."
Now he looked at me. "Aren't you supposed to be getting me that story on the museum opening in Miami? That's important."
"This is more important."
"Aren't you supposed to be getting everything you can out of those construction workers at the Lux Tower site?"
"I talked to them already."
"Where's your story?"
"I got it. I got it. Trust me."
"That goes on the front page! We're doing a banner headline. I got a killer photo of the wreckage that's gonna knock the socks off the Chronicle and the Herald."
"It's on its way," I said. "But I...Listen...I need the Aurora."
"Goddamn sons of bitches," he said as he examined another envelope. "Look a this. I swear I'm gonna do a story about illegal mailing lists. Look at this! Edible underwear. How in the world did I get on their mailing list?"
"Boss!" I grabbed his shoulders and pushed him back against the wall and held him there. The impact caused the ashes of his cigar to flutter onto the stack of mail he was holding. I couldn't believe what I'd just done.
"What the hell's wrong with you?" he barked.
"I need...the Aurora!"
"Well why the hell didn't you just say so?"
Six weeks ago, the Golden Arrow, the first levitating train that could fly as fast as an airliner had embarked on its maiden voyage cross country. "Breakfast on the West Coast," the posters announced, with a silhouette of the Golden Gate Bridge in the background, "Supper on the East Coast." and the majestic outline of the almost completed Lux Tower shone in the background. All the networks pre-empted their regular programming to watch the glistening, golden train, like a metallic cobra floating two feet off the ground, pull out of the station across the bay from San Francisco amidst the cheers of almost half a million onlookers. Three thousand miles away, on the East Coast, vintage trains from all over the world had been assembled in Titan Terminal Station to greet its arrival. With seven minutes left in its journey, the Golden Arrow, filled with dignitaries, girl scouts, the media, passengers from all over the world, and a full crew, not only lost its braking system and all input from the helm, but inexplicably increased its speed to five hundred and eighty miles per hour. Titan Terminal Station was filled. It was host to tons of iron...the cars from the Orient Express, the 20th Century Limited, the California Zephyr, India's Palace On Wheels, the Trans-Siberian railway, and engines from the Flying Scotsman, and Canada's Super Continental, and others, destined to become colossal pieces of shrapnel in a matter of minutes.
Along with half a million people.
The Golden Arrow could not be rerouted because it ran on its own special tracks. With five minutes to go, the sirens at Titan Terminal Station went off and hundreds of thousands of screaming people tried to clear four city blocks in the space of 300 seconds. With thousands still trying to flee the main platform, the abandoned cameras were still rolling as the headlight of the Golden Arrow illuminated the engine of the Orient Express and the hapless dozens who had fallen onto the tracks during the stampede.
And then there was a blue flash, and a monstrous, thunder-like rumble as the Golden Arrow, preceded by a huge cloud of dirt and rubble, slowly and inexplicably ground to a halt, finally coming to rest with its nose sticking into the terminal. The momentum carried most of the cloud further, and there, pushing against the headlight of the Golden Arrow, was a huge, muscular man in a blue cape. With a boom, the train fell two feet to the ground. There was a flash of blue light, and the man was gone.
The world went wild. Who was he? Two days later, fifty seven mine workers in China walked out of a collapsed tunnel, cleared they say by a giant man of muscle in a blue cape who cleared the way by pushing a mine car through the rubble. Five days later, over a hundred children in India fled to safety from a burning orphanage when the man in the blue cape tore down a stone wall and then disappeared in a flash of blue light. Nine days later, in Lisbon, a massively muscular man in black tights and a blue cape handed terrorists aboard a grounded airliner the crushed ignition switch from the bomb they'd placed in the luggage compartment of the plane. A gun was held to a passenger's head. The big man, angry and disgusted, disappeared in a blue flash and moments later reappeared behind the terrorist, who was knocked unconscious by his own rifle after it was ripped from his hands by the mystery man. One week later, in West Virginia, eighteen Ku Klux Klan members were found naked, hoodless, and cursing, with their arms bound by their own sheets to the steeple of the church they were about to burn. The elderly pastor said that Saint Michael, God's warrior and commander of the Heavenly Hosts, had appeared in a flash of light, and "with a furious vengeance" chased all of them down within the church, whose doors they themselves had jammed shut. Two days later, in the Philippines, after the massive man ripped a vault-like door from its hinges, thirty five people were saved from poisonous gas when emergency escape systems failed at a chemical plant. And two days ago, while topping out the Lux Tower, which was just days away from becoming the tallest building in the world, the crane on the summit began to collapse. The construction workers were able to flee to safety in time because of a man who had appeared in a blue flash and, like Samson between the pillars of the temple, held two massive, bending, creaking girders apart long enough for the men to escape and the crowd below to scatter before he let the mountain of metal go crashing to the street.
Mexico City's Reforma called him "El Guapon" (The Handsome One). Rome's Il Manifesto called him "Hercules". Madrid's El Pais called him "El Angel de Fuerza" (The Angel of Strength). The Chicago Tribune called him "The Bolt (from the blue)". The London Times called him "The Mighty Mystery". Paris' Le Figaro called him "Le Corp" (The Body).
That body, and the few photos of his face, caused an uproar, with millions berating millions as to whether it was proper to lust after so noble a creature. But to deny the effects that the size and development and symmetry of his body had on one's psyche, and libido, were ludicrous. Passengers aboard the airliner at the Lisbon airport said that the rest of the terrorists were paralyzed, more in awe than with fear, at the sight of him. And now there I stood pacing, staring at a great space on my notepad, a great empty space that I'd underlined. What would the Percipient call him? What did he call himself? I'd interviewed countless politicians and celebrities, but I'd never been so nervous in my life. I didn't know how to act around him. Since the Aurora was closed today, the night club's terrace had been cleared and cleaned the night before. Thinking that I'd set a casual setting to put him (and myself) at ease, I'd moved one of the outdoor tables back out onto the terrace and set napkins, place settings, a bud vase, and all the staples of normalcy as though we were there on a regular evening out. I found some bread and butter. I poured a pitcher of water. I took off my jacket and draped it over a chair. I loosened my tie. But then I thought I might look like a slob, as though he was less than any dignitary I'd encountered. I quickly straightened my tie and donned my jacket. I sighed. How would I act? Would I let him know how devastatingly erotic he was to others? Would I let him know how devastatingly erotic he was to me? Would he be offended?
Underneath the pages of the pad, I had his note, which he had mailed to me from the city's main post office.
Could we meet Tuesday night at the Aurora? Just you and me? I think I can trust you.
--The Blue Light Special
Was he being humorous in referring to himself as something so mundane that it was put on sale to make it more attractive to the public, or was he knowledgeable of law enforcement's nickname? And now, here I was, about to meet him, wondering why he chose me, wondering what it was he wanted to say. I was swallowing a big gulp of water when the brilliant blue flare erupted behind me. I turned around to find him standing there. There was no way I could feign anything but awe. He was huge. Towering. Masculine. Handsome. His eyes were such a pale, light blue...they seemed like flares against the black of his hair. I understood now why people were so paralyzed by the sight of him. Every aspect about him was so perfect that it demanded your attention at the same time. His face was composed of straight, hard lines with a jaw that looked as though it was hewn from granite. Like a series of gigantic waterfalls, his muscles flowed into one another and yet each stood out proudly. His arms must have been as big as my thighs. His mighty chest was covered in fine but dark, black hair. The palms of my hands tingled at the thought of touching it. His thighs were pillars of dense, rippling muscles and I imagined myself caught between them and the erotic thrill of not being able to save myself from him. Even from the front, I could see from the roundness of his hips that his buttocks were high and round and jutting, and I shivered at the unimaginable thrusting power they could produce. I was so overwhelmed that the pad and pencil fell from my hands, and his note fluttered out and landed at his feet. He picked it up and strode toward me, smiling. I felt like a mouse being approached by a tiger. I actually felt my knees go weak and I was aware of my eyes being wide open and my mouth hanging open, but there was nothing I could do. Somehow, I took the note from him, and without taking my eyes from his face, I put it in my pocket. I don't remember when I picked up the pad and pencil, but I remember seeing him standing there, with his hand still extended.
"Pleased to meet you," he said. His voice was like a gentle growl.
"P-pleased to m-meet you," I said as I took his hand. I remember thinking I touched him. Whatever else happens tonight, I would be able to say that I touched him. "Uh......would, would you like to sit down?" I motioned toward the table.
"Thank you," he said.
I was an absolute utter failure at keeping my eyes off him. His pants were a tissue thin, semi-transparent cloth that clung to him like a tight leotard. Only the front of his crotch was opaque. He wore an X-shaped harness with an oval shield in the center. Several large stones, like diamonds, were set within it and yet the marvelous twinkling of his blue eyes stole your attention. I sat down. I was grinning like an idiot. My cock was out of control. At the moment, I wanted to give in to the primal urge to run my hands and lips all over him, yet somehow I managed to listen to the voice within me that told me that again, whatever else happened tonight, I could say tomorrow that I conducted myself with dignity.
"So," I said, as I tried to keep my eyes on his, "to what do I owe the pleasure? You obviously know who I am."
"I've admired your work."
"You read the Percipient?"
He nodded. "You don't use a tape recorder, and yet you still manage to convey your subject without any bias. And I just felt it was...I don't know, kind of impolite to go around unintroduced."
"Well then, let's start with the basics. What's your name?" I managed to avert my eyes, took a deep breath, grabbed my pencil and put it to the paper.
"Well," he began, "I know this sounds odd, but I don't really know."
"You don't know your name," I said matter of factly.
He shook his head, looking a little embarrassed.
"Uh...where are you from?"
He sighed. "I'm not really sure about that either."
I looked up at him. Normally I would have been annoyed, but he couldn't meet my gaze. He stared at the table, and then down at his huge hands. "You don't know where you came from," I repeated.
He shook his head. "Uh...you see...I just woke up about five years ago. I don't even know how old I am."
"You just woke up five years ago," I muttered. My instincts told me to write all this down, but it was so bizarre I knew I'd remember it, and it felt strangely condescending to record ignorance from him.
"I...I...." He fidgeted with his fingers and then stared at the tablecloth. "You see...I...I woke up about five years ago...in a spaceship."
"A spaceship."
He nodded. "I know it sounds crazy."
I raised my eyebrows. "Hah! Yep. It would coming from anyone except you. Nothing sounds impossible since your arrival."
"Well that's one of the other reasons I wanted to say hello. I've been reading some pretty crazy rumors about me, and I want people to know that I mean no one any harm."
"That's quite admirable of you, especially when you can't tell where you came from, except that it was a spaceship. Do you know where the spaceship was from?"
He shook his head. "I woke up, you see, from a clear...like a glass...uh...kind of a crystal...container. It was a machine of some kind. It was kind of beautiful actually. More like a work of art than a coffin. But my first thought was that I didn't remember going to sleep. Or anything at all for that matter."
"No memories?"
He shook his head.
"At all?"
He met my gaze for a second, averted his eyes, and then shook his head.
"Amnesia?"
"I don't know," he said quietly.
I was stunned.
"I stepped out of the crystalline...coffin, and it was so quiet. Bright. Warm. But totally silent. Nothing but glass...and...like sheets of ice. And rows and rows of empty coffins. Thousands of them. I went looking for someone. I walked for hours...and hours. And hours. But there was no one there."
"How long had you been asleep?"
"I don't know."
"Were you hungry? Were you thirsty?"
"No. I was numb. I was confused. I think I spent days wandering, trying to remember...anything. Trying to figure out what had happened. But nothing came. My best guess is that I stayed awake for about three days. I was terrified of going to sleep. I tried my hardest not to. But eventually...well...I woke up, and realized that I'd succumbed to exhaustion, that I'd fallen asleep, and then realized that nothing had changed. I spent weeks searching the ship. I didn't want to admit to myself that there was nothing to find until I was sure I'd searched everywhere. There were living quarters for a couple of hundred people on board. Food in storage...even food ready to be prepared. I chose one room for myself, one that looked as though no one had been using it. But all the rooms were empty. There were no...I don't know what to call...them. Artifacts. Remains. Belongings. No sign that anyone had ever been there. And then I set about learning how to read the ship's logs and how to operate its systems. I remembered how to read and speak the language, and the concepts of all the technology, but I don't remember where I learned them. The ship's logs had been wiped clean except for the last five seconds."
"What did that show?"
"Nothing," he said. "Nothing but five seconds of a flashing warning and an order to abandon the ship."
I was spellbound.
"I listened to that warning for hours, until I couldn't stand it anymore. After a day or so, I longed to listen to it...to hear a voice again. And so I did...until I couldn't take it anymore. And then the same cycle happened over and over again. I found myself sitting there for hours and hours, thinking that if I listened to it long enough, I might remember something. And finally...weeks later...I came to peace with the fact that...that I never would. But there were people on that ship. It's so strange. Everything was put away just so, as though they'd planned to move out for weeks, but every so often I'd find a chair that had been left away from its station, or a drawer left open, or a monitor still on, showing nothing but the snow of an empty signal."
Not once did he look me in the eye. His beautiful blue eyes darted back and forth the whole time he was telling his story...searching and searching...and I could see how hours and weeks and months could be lost to a bottomless pit of a trancelike state, a struggling to remember. And finally, I too thought of the horrible question that he must have asked himself a trillion times. He looked into my eyes finally and asked:
"I wonder why they abandoned me?"
For all his size, he somehow seemed childlike at that moment. And then a more terrible "question", one just as endless and unforgiving, was uttered quietly, carefully from his lips:
"Maybe I did something...bad."
At that moment, I wanted to leap across the table, take him in my arms, put his head on my chest, and sing him to sleep. And at the same time, I was filled with utter rage at whomever had erased his memory, or forgotten him, or abandoned him. Without thinking, my hand reached out and covered his fist. "Oh, no," I said gently. "No, no, no. I'm sure that's not what happened." He didn't pull his hand away. He just looked off into the distance, and again, I could see his concentration unraveling as the questions went around and around and around in his head, again and again. Endless rumination. "You're too beautiful to abandon. I--" My voice caught in my throat. I'd called him beautiful. His eyes met mine. "Something obviously went wrong. Maybe they lost you and didn't realize it until it was too late. Maybe they're looking for you right now." Again, his eyes wandered, but I realized that I'd sent him on another journey of the mind that had no point of arrival. "I'm a good judge of character," I said. His eyes met mine again. I nodded confidently, pretending to be the wise sage. "I know people. I get a feel for them. You didn't do anything bad."
He said nothing.
I know he would have sat there for hours, wondering, questioning, and searching. I decided to break the spell and pull more of the story from him. "And then what happened?"
"Well," he began. "I programmed the ship to look for a suitable world and after a few days it found this one. In another week or so I arrived here. Seeing as how the arrival of such a ship would probably cause a panic, I decided to keep it somewhere remote, where no one would find it."
"Where is it?
"Well," he said with a little smile. "I think it's better if that isn't known. I'm sure I'd have more than a few visitors, and I wouldn't want to be rude, but I just couldn't accommodate everyone, time-wise that is."
"You'd be mobbed."
"That's another way of putting it."
"People are like that," I said.
"Aren't they though?"
"Especially if you have the space. And you said there was room for several hundred people on the ship."
He nodded. "That's just the living quarters. There are huge empty spaces in it. I don't know what was in them."
"How big is it?"
"It's about three miles across."
"THREE MILES?"
He nodded, seemingly unimpressed. "But I don't know. Maybe that's a small ship, relatively speaking."
"Okay," I said, struggling to regain my concentration. "Let me see. Why'd you make your debut? What's your motivation?"
"Well," he said, looking off into the distance, this time without the haunted look on his handsome face, "I want to do good things. I want to right things that are wrong. I want to help those who feel that all hope has abandoned them."
I wrote that down.
He watched me.
"And..." I began. "Let's talk about your...clothing. It's not west coast, east coast, European, tropical..." I waved my pencil around in circles searching for the words I wanted. "So tell me about your um....your...pants, or......your, uh.......tight................tights."
"Oh just utilitarian really. Just plain black. They don't fall down."
"But they're kind of thin...mostly."
"Uh huh," he said, nodding, waiting for me to continue.
"Some people would say they're a little revealing."
"Oh." He looked genuinely confused. "But...well they're the only ones I have."
"Well then! They'll just have to do won't they? Moving on--"
"And my boots...well I just liked the look of them."
I nodded. "They're great." I tell you, I bet I could put both my feet and both my lower legs in one of his boots. "And..." my voice trailed off as my eyes traveled all over his chest and his cobblestone like abs. Those mountainous shoulders. That neck! "Why n-n-no shhhhhirt?"
"Oh. Well sometimes I find that I get a little warm with all my activities. They are strenuous you know. Even for me."
"Are they."
"Oh yes."
"Most people would say "sweat"," I said casually. "In polite society, and at the Percipient, we say "perspire"." I smiled at him, hoping he'd appreciate my cleverness.
"Oh I don't sweat," he said, quite seriously. "I don't know why."
"You don't?"
"No."
"And the cape?" I asked.
He looked at me as though the answer should be obvious. "Well, sometimes I get cold."
"Of course."
"You know," he began. "I find that hardly any people wear capes here."
"Oh it's...it's just that...it's kind of a coat century. But uh...you know...in the big scheme of things, it's just a fad. You look good in a cape. I'd keep it."
"Okay. Oh! You might want to write this down. I found that my normal body temperature is a little higher than the average human's. Mine is a hundred and one point one degrees. Fahrenheit."
"Really?"
He nodded. "I don't know why."
"How interes..." I put my pencil to the paper. "...a hundred and one..."
"Point one."
"...point one."
"You can probably feel the difference." He leaned all the way across the table. He bent his arm. His massive bicep bulged. "Here," he said. "Feel."
My knee jerked up and rammed the table. The tableware clattered. The bud vase fell over. The pepper shaker fell to the floor.
"Oops," he said. His smile was brilliant.
My brain locked up. Part of me wanted to say that wrapping my hands around his arm wasn't necessary and part of me screamed for me to touch it. While the hemispheres of my brain argued, my hands went of their own accord and, trembling, caressed his arm. I swear to you, I forgot to breathe. I nearly drooled. I fell back in my chair feeling light headed. It makes sense that some one with a body temperature of a hundred and one degrees would feel a tad warmer than normal, but the only thing I could think of after my reeling mind settled down was a cold winter's night, and how good it would feel to assume the fetal position and snuggle up next to him. He sat back in his chair with a devilish grin. Suddenly, I wondered about his true motives. Without anyone even nearly his equal, did he have control of his ego? Was he just a giant prick tease? But I really do have a sense with people, and I didn't sense that from him. I did sense that there was something he wasn't telling me, but he seemed more understanding of my swooning, and even happy to indulge it, rather than a tease.
"Wow," I said, panting. "Sorry. I didn't mean to--"
"Oh that's perfectly all right. I don't mind."
My next impulse was to ask to feel his chest. The interview would have been over then. I would have become a blithering idiot, begging for him to take me. "Well!" I exclaimed with a little giggle. "So! Yes! Uh.....well w-w-w-hat do you do to keep in shape? You have a phenomenal build. Of course. As we can see. Right now. Plainly."
"Oh nothing really."
"You don't work out?"
He shook his head.
"At all?"
"Just comes naturally I guess."
"Wow."
"Maybe I was made this way."
"What do you mean?"
"There were symbols on all the containers. Like this." He pointed to the diamonds on his harness. "Most were the same. Just one diamond. There were a few like mine. And only a handful that were rarer. As though we were all supposed to be soldiers with a rank. So maybe I'm like a captain or something."
"An officer."
"Yes."
"Interesting. And what about your diet? You must have some special...extra...requirements."
"Not that I can tell."
"So you just eat anything you want?"
He nodded.
"What's your favorite food?"
"Oh gosh. I don't think I could pick one."
I put the pencil to the pad. "Name some."
"Uh.....oh I know! Those donuts that have all the little moist crumbs on them? Hmm let's see....fried chicken. Apple pie. Those vegetables that look like little baby cabbages?"
"Brussel sprouts?"
"Yes. Papayas. Oh and those potato chips that all look the same? Same shape, same--"
"Ruffles?"
"No."
"Doritos?"
"No."
"Oh!" he exclaimed. "Borsht! And Kim chi. Peanuts."
"That's quite an array."
"I suppose," he said with a smile.
"What about...weaknesses? Is there anything that your body just can't take? Anything that will just lay you low?"
"Bell peppers."
"Bell peppers?"
"Yes."
"You can be subdued with bell peppers?"
"Huh?"
"In what way?"
"Oh they give me real bad heartburn. Real bad."
I was confused.
"Oh!" he said. "You mean...." With both hands, he pointed to himself. "You mean like...weaken me? My strength?"
"Yeah."
"Ohhhhh. No. Well, very few."
"You must have some limits, no? Can you fly?"
He laughed.
"How fast can you go from one place to another?"
"Uh, it's complicated. But it depends. And you're right. It's not limitless."
"And how exactly do you do that? What's the blue flare?"
He smiled as though I'd asked a question I should have known would not be answered. "I think that would be best kept a secret too."
"Riiiiight," I said. "Let's see...." I took a deep breath and steeled myself. I cleared my throat. I looked very serious. I set the pencil to the pad and asked,
"And uh...so um....could you tell me if........."
"Yes?"
"Well...would you say....do you consider yourself...uh...."
"Uh huh?"
"In your opinion...or....how would you describe your present...that is to say...is there....."
He leaned forward.
"Are you romantically involved?" I froze. I didn't dare look at him.
"Uh no. Not yet."
"Not yet?" I looked up at him. "What does that mean?"
He smiled. He looked right at me, but gave no answer.
"What...what's attractive to you...uh what sort of....attributes--"
"Blonds."
I looked up at him again. "Blondes?"
"Uh huh." The smile was still there.
"Really." My hand was shaking. "Blondes." I looked down at my pad. "Blondes." I began to write. "Bee, el, oh, en...."
"Oh. No "E"," he said.
"No "E"?"
"No "E"."
"But...but spelling it without an "E" usually denotes a......."
He smiled.
"......a man."
He nodded. And oh did he smile.
"You mean...you mean....you...."
"Um," he suddenly pretended to be serious. "You know, I was thinking. Maybe you shouldn't put the thing about the bell peppers in."
"Huh?"
"Well I wouldn't want to make anyone feel that what I like or don't like is right or wrong. I don't want judgment to be passed."
"Oh."
He just stared at me.
"Oh!"I said in a moment of revelation.
"What do you think?"
"I think...actually I think that's a good idea. Until which time the uh, bell pepper lovers of the world...um...take no offense."
The smile returned.
"And uh...are there any blonds..." I gulped. "Are there any blonds that you have your eye on?"
"One."
"One. One." I had to struggle to remember how to spell "one". "Oh...en...eeeeeeee...eeeeee."
"One "E"."
"No eeeeee. I mean one eeeee does he know?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Does he know?"
"I think he suspects."
"Are you g-g-g-gonna tell him?"
He nodded.
"And what exactly...what are you gonna say?"
He thought for moment. "Pringles!"
"What?"
"Pringles. I remembered. You know. The potato chips. They're all the same shape."
"Oh. Oh! Ha ha!"
He laughed, and then we coasted to wide grins, which faded to warm smiles.
"I just have to make sure he understands one thing," he said.
"What's that?"
"Well, I don't know if I can be hurt. But there's one way that everyone can be hurt."
"Which is?"
"Sometimes the worst way to hurt someone is to hurt someone they love."
As a witness to some of the atrocities man has committed against man, I nodded in agreement.
"He'd have to treat our relationship very carefully, with a solemn promise. The most solemn promise he's ever made. You know, like the sacred oath between a....say, a doctor and patient, or priest with a confessor, or a lawyer with his client. Or...."
"Or...."
"Or a reporter. And his source."
My heart skipped a beat. My throat was so dry I could hardly speak. "You know, I-I went to jail...."
"I know."
"For three months."
"I know."
"Because they wanted me to--"
"I know."
"And I...I..." I shook my head.
"I know," he said gently.
I still had my hand on his. As long as I live, I will never forget the feeling of how wonderful it was at that moment just to hold his hand. Sometimes the bravest thing one can do is to say, "I love you". Sometimes the most brilliant light is the inner one you finally see, and tenuous as it may seem, the power it has, eventually, outside of everything we think we know as life.
"You know," I said nervously. "We never quite established whether there was anything that made you powerless."
"That's right. We didn't."
"Is there?"
"Uh huh."
I waited.
"Green eyes."
My heart fluttered. "And...and...w-what do you do when you see green eyes?" I struggled not to blink.
He turned his hand over and took mine.
"Anything," he said.
2008