I turn toward it. A smile tugs the corners of my mouth as a man approaches. A shock of white hair waves wildly around the bald spot on his head. Fluorescent green suspenders hold up drab brown pants, standing out against the white of his button down shirt. Surprisingly shorter than me, he reaches up one gnarled hand to show me a tiny bottle with an amber liquid glowing inside.
“I see all. I know all. I cure all.” He smiles as he shakes the bottle before my eyes.
“Uh-huh.” I offer noncommittally as I turn away from him.
He moves to block my path. “You don’t know what you need until you find it.”
“I have everything I need.” I find myself reflexively clutching my purse closer to my chest.
“I don’t steal, miss.” His eyes narrow as he looks up and lowers his arm. “Maybe you don’t want the cure for your loneliness after all.”
My eyes widen. “How do…?”
He smiles at my confusion. “The cure to loneliness is in this bottle. I promise.”
My mystification over his ability to peer into my soul wavers and I step away.
“Come now. Come now. It costs you nothing.” He coaxes as he holds out the bottle to me.
Without conscious thought, I find myself touching the bottle with one finger. Where my skin warms the glass, the amber liquid bubbles up into a nugget of gold. I gasp, enthralled.
“It’s all yours.” He grins and places the vial into my hand.
With my whole hand warming it, the liquid morphs to liquid gold. “But I…” I can’t find the words to deny this gift, so I wrap my fingers around it.
I swear it dances inside my palm. The man smiles at me as he runs a hand through thinning grey hair. He produces a card with the other. “Just in case you have any other ails that need cured.”
I take the card, watching him walk away before I open my palm again. Gold gleams back at me, promising the end to lonely days and nights. I look up again, but the man has disappeared. I wonder if he has a potion for that, too.
I stare at the bottle. The golden glow becomes more inviting the more I observe it. I lick my lips. I try hiding it in my hand but still feel it calling from behind my fingers.
At last, I open the bottle. I hold it under my nose. Hints of honey and lime rise from the narrow opening. I put it to my lips and a warm feeling follows the liquid down into my stomach. Traces of sweet honey lime revisit my tongue as a prodigious number of burps well up from inside me.
The burping subsides. I take in a deep breath. As I do so, a hand takes mine. I look down to find a little girl smiling up at me.
“Want to hear a joke?”
I blink, wondering briefly where she came from before replying. “Of course.”
She smiles and proceeds to tell jokes for fifteen minutes before I realize I have an appointment. “Sorry, honey, I have to go.”
At the conclusion of my appointment, I resign myself to another lonely ride on the bus. As I fish around in my bag for the cheap novel I bough to keep me company, an older woman takes the seat beside.
“Hello, dear.” She smiles. “Do you mind if I talk to you? Sometimes I get so lonely.”
I incline my head, pondering the efficacy of the golden potion as I reply. “I know the feeling.”
With pleasant conversation slowly coming to a close, I bid her adieu, echoing her hope that we will be on the same bus again soon.
As I open the door to my house, I switch on every light in my path. The light always dispels the loneliness. I grab a soda from the fridge and step into the hall. A photograph hanging there catches my eye. I stop to stare. My mouth drops open.
“I don’t believe it.”
Staring back at me from a photo of four generations of my family is my own childish grin, which I now recognize as the same one my joke-telling friend flashed at me so many times right after I drank the potion. On the other side of my mother, with a wrinkled hand affectionately resting on her shoulder is my grandmother. Her face looks a lot like my new friend from the bus.
“Is it possible?” I wonder aloud, looking down to find the mad scientist’s card in my hand.
I glance at it, but shake my head. It can’t be possible.
Happy Halloween! 'Tis the Season to be a little disturbed. Did it work?
No comments:
Post a Comment