A TIMELY ENCOUNTER

Sticky plum juice trickled down my fingers and trailed down my chin.   My hunger was voracious, each bite of the sweet stone fruit followed immediately by another one.  Sitting on the steps of the synagogue, I listened to the melancholy banjo music drifting from the fall carnival,  accentuating the silence of the children.  For some reason, this made me think of the movie “Children of the Corn”, which I wasn’t sure if I’d ever seen or not.  Maybe this was the opposite of that movie, where the children were the only ones who could be loud…

This whole town felt like a Stephen King movie.  Why did every set of steps have to creak?  Every lamp have to flicker?  The shadows were always restless.  

I don’t know why I decided to call those airheaded reporters, anyway.  After spending so many months drifting, working odd jobs to buy the next plane ticket, the next bus fare, I wondered if it all would be worth it.  I never stopped to consider the fact that maybe my family would never take me in, I always thought my genetics were proof enough.

After finishing my lunch, getting some cash out of the ATM, and longingly eyeing the bagel shop, I chucked the plum pit as hard as I could into the sunflower field.

To my astonishment, it came straight back to me following a near perfect trajectory.  It landed on the ground at my feet.

“Get down, it’s an air raid!”  

Startled, I ducked on the sidewalk, out of the corner of my eye catching a glimpse of a man with silvery hair and very full eyebrows doing the same.  His voice sounded vaguely British, but I couldn’t pinpoint it.  He cautiously lifted his head up, and after assessing the danger was gone, jumped to his feet.  A few assorted items fell out of his pockets, a golden paintbrush, a blowfish in a water-filled bag, and a bottle of perfume labelled “Confidence Elixir,” that cracked on the pavement.  It splashed all over me, but strangely enough, did not smell like anything.

“I thought the war was over,” The mysterious man remarked to himself.  I noticed that he was wearing a rather embellished pair of green lederhosen.  This made me reevaluate my assessment that he was a Brit.

“Tsk tsk,” He said, as I made to help him pick up his items.  He regarded me suspiciously.

“What?” I asked, realizing that this guy was probably hallucinating or something.

“Oh,” He said, ignoring my question.  He had just noticed the plum pit at my feet.  “It’s just this.”  He picked it up, and put it close to his eye, inspecting it thoroughly.

“This,” He murmured, a twinge of excitement in his voice, “Oh, this is lucky.”  He pocketed it.

“I’m sorry,” I said, regaining my composure, “But, who are you?”

“My name’s Ezra,” Is all he said and began to walk away.  I could tell he was already preoccupied with his next train of thought.

“Wait,” I called, suddenly intrigued. “What is the costume for?”

He turned around and looked at me blankly.  Then, it dawned upon him what I was referencing.  

“I used to be a king once, you know?” And winked.  This didn’t lead me any closer to understanding.  

Just then, a most peculiar feeling overwhelmed me.  The “tutors wanted” sign at the Jewish preparatory school caught my eye.  I marched right up to the front steps, and in an instant, Ezra was gone.