Chicago--Part 12.

I spent that night in Lincoln Park.  There’s a shelter not too far north of Addison St.  It’s just off the lake and completely infested with raccoon.  Raccoon is the plural of raccoon, I thought as I saw at least five sets of eyes, glowing with the reflected light of Chicago.  So, one raccoon can eat ten raccoon, and the grammar police have no trouble with it.  The glow never left their eyes as they followed my faltering footsteps to the shelter. As I sat, the night’s darkness seemed absolute on the lake.  I looked out and could see the infinite nothing, or was it something?  Maybe it was both.  Maybe something is just the plural of nothing.  It sounds deep, I thought, but it’s probably just my brain waking up for the first time in a month.  Had it been a month?  Had it been a year? 

I felt my face flush as I get angry, but I try to temper it.  No one forced me to stay there.  No one told me I had to keep living my life that way.  I could have left at any time.  Without money and clothes, I guess.  But I could’ve left.  It’s not enough to stop my anger though.  I felt it flood over me, mixed with more than a little bit of shame. 

“I gave up.”  I said to any of the raccoon who may be close enough to hear. 

Spending a night in a park about thirty yards from a large metropolitan is probably not many people’s idea of roughing it in untamed nature, but that is as close as I’ve come to having to make due for myself in the wild.  I was lucky that no one, especially the police came around, because I’m pretty sure it’s discouraged for people to sleep in the park.  Not that I really got much sleep, shivering in the cool lake breeze.

            I watched the sun rise out of Lake Michigan, peering over the sandy mounts washing up against the metal barriers.  For a moment, I thought I could see land on the other side of lake.  That might have been the lack of sleep, but it seemed like time slowed down and the state of Michigan looked back at me beyond the blue waves. 

After I summoned myself back from whatever I saw, I began to move again.  The raccoon had disappeared in the night, as if they only existed in the reflected glow of Chicago’s lights and couldn’t stand the harsher sun.  I could hear the city summoning me with its din.  Cars and buses rumbled down Lake Shore Drive.  People walked down the streets in pairs chatting, or alone.  I walked past the Cubby Bear with the beer truck sitting out front. Rolling kegs rang against the pavement as the pavement rang against the kegs rolling.  A few people in blue hats were preparing themselves for another game day.  I took some pleasure in seeing a couple people in red, but I moved on quickly.

I walked quiet, sure of purpose.  Not many places would be open this early, but the grill would be. They would be starting to serve whoever showed up.

I walked past the little old shop I discovered yesterday. I walked under the bridge that asked “Why only see half?” as a train carrying suburbanites into the city for their work roared over my head. I stalked down to Roscoe and came to the grill.

I calmly opened the door and walked back to the griddle where she stood. She turned and I could tell everyone had expected me this morning. I felt my calm shatter.

“No one let me in last night.” It was all I could think to say.  Never let it be said I am not prepared for a big moment.

“Leopold.” Candice’s voice spoke hollowly. Her eyes darted over my shoulder, and I turned with a good guess who might be there.

“Leopold.” Solomon’s voice was crisp and clear. His hands stayed at his side. Paul and Stephen stood behind him, arms crossed.

“Solomon, quite the show of force you’ve got here.” I nodded at Paul and Stephen who did not react.

He turned to see Paul and Stephen and turning back to me said, “What is it you would like?”

 I lowered my head. “I told you I didn’t want to go. I knocked on the gate and doors for hours last night trying to get back in. But I’m not welcome?”

“You are welcome.  Everyone is welcome here, provided they abide by the rules.  And I can look at you now and see that you are not here to abide by the rules.” He stepped aside and gestured toward the door. “Let’s be civil about this.”

“Civil is not what I’m good at.” Sometimes I try to say something clever, and it’s just pure cheese. What can you do?

“Be that as it may.” He gestured again.

“See, what I’m wondering about is, when I came here. You took my clothes. You took my underwear and my shirt. I think I was wearing a hat, I can’t quite remember. But you took that too. You took everything from me.”

“You gave those items to us. They were a condition of your being here.”  He shot a glance over his shoulder to Paul, who left the room.

“You took my wallet.” Solomon’s arm fell just a little before he caught himself. The smile never faded from his face. “I want it back.  But I’m betting it’s gone.  I’m betting you’ve used all the cash, well, there wasn’t that much cash, but I’m betting it’s gone.  And I’m betting my credit cards have helped buy you the nice meals you have while we eat the crap you put in front of us.”

“Don’t you dare disrespect Solomon.”  Stephen grabbed my left arm, and I pivoted, pushed my hip into him and flipped him over my body and onto the floor with a thud. He groaned.

I stood up quickly to ready myself for Paul or Solomon or anyone else, but everyone seemed to take a step back.  Their faces all seemed taken aback.  Except for Candice.  Her face was unreadable to me.  I looked at her eyes, but they stared at the floor by my feet.

“There was no need for that Leopold.”  Solomon’s words seemed to wobble in the air for a second.

“Very rude gentlemen. Very rude.” I brushed myself off. “Now, we were talking about how you stole from me.” I took a deep breath. “My friend, the one in here yesterday is an attorney, and a good one. So, here’s what’s going to happen. You are going to give me money. I will use this money to put gas in my car, or more likely buy a bus ticket back to Des Moines when I find out you sold that too. You will let anyone and everyone else leave.”

“Or else what? You will sue us?” Solomon’s smile was steady and bemused.

“You don’t want my or else.” I said, very smoothly if I do say so myself.

At this point, Paul came back into the room and stopped short, seeing Stephen still lying on the floor.  Seeing Paul’s return, Solomon continued.  “I am certainly quaking with trepidation. Everyone here is free to leave. They always have been.” He stepped aside, gesturing toward the door again and spoke loudly. “Please, anyone who feels wronged or like they do not belong, know you can leave with my understanding and blessing.  But before you do, I would like to clear up one thing.”  Solomon motioned to Paul, who strode forward and handed a bag to Solomon.  Solomon opened the bag and turned it over.  Spilling out came my clothes, my hat, and lastly my wallet. 

I didn’t move.  I stared.

“These,” Solomon said with a sweep of his arm, “are your things.  You’ll find that nothing is gone.”

I stepped forward, leaned and picked up my things.

“Please count your money.  If you are missing even a penny I will make sure it is returned to you.”  His voice was beaming. 

I stood still for a second.

“He treats you like slave labor. Look how he’s dressed. Look how Paul’s dressed. They don’t eat gruel with us. They live a life of luxury, and they do it by over-charging for pancakes and stealing from you.” Still no one moved. I turned toward Candice.

“Come on. You’re not happy here are you?”  I put my hands on her shoulders, but she shrugged away from me.

Her voice was calm and clear. “I don’t need you to rescue me.”

“I’m not. I just.” I tried to smile calmly. “Someone needs to rescue you.”

“I don’t know about that. Maybe. But not you. And not now.”

“So you’re all just going to stay here? In this haze of semi-living? You’re done trying? You’ve all given up?” I started to back toward the kitchen door. “None of you?” I almost whispered.

“We will thank you to never cross our door step again.” Solomon said as I pushed the kitchen door open. I watched the door swoosh shut as I came into the service area.

“I quit.” I said loudly enough so that all eyes in the dining room were on me. “I cannot work around all those mice and roaches!”

I am petty, even when I am an idiot.

Chicago--Part 11

Clarence sat quietly in his chair, but I could see his mind chugging away.  He was weighing whether to yell and cajole me into agreeing with him against hearing my reasoning and taking them down point by point.  It’s not often a person is told their best friend has decided to stay with the cult they’ve just been rescued from.

            “Why?”  His voice was gruff.  He was trying to be nice, but he did not feel it. 

            “Big man,” I said, hoping the use of his nickname would buy me some good will.  “I should not have joined this cult.  I know that.  And I appreciate this rescue mission.  But I have to get myself out of whatever I stepped in.” I paused. “And there’s something I need to do before I go.”

            Clarence had no visible reaction and we sat quietly through most of the first inning. 

Matt Morris, long my favorite Cardinal pitcher, had a tough time in the first giving up four runs.  “They can’t afford to have him give a short outing,” Clarence said to me after Morris got the third out.  “The rest of the rotation has been struggling, and the bullpen has picked up the slack.”  His searching eyes turned to me.  “And Cubs are gonna knock him out by the third inning.” 

            I smiled slyly at him.  “I would not bet against Matty Mo.”

            “I don’t like you going back there.  But I understand if that’s what you want to do.”  He paused.  “If you’re not back in a month, though, I’m going to come at that place with any and all dirt I can dig up.  I mean it.  I will wipe it off the map.”

            “I think I’ll be back within a week.”  I said as people two rows over from us started yelling and heckling the big Cardinals slugger.  They shouted his name and talked about his wife, his mother, and everyone else. Typical day in the friendly confines of Wrigley field, I thought to myself.  Albert Pujols looked over at them and smiled before turning back to his practice swings. 

            “So.  You have something?” 

            I let the question hang in the air as the inning started and Pujols walked to the plate.  Finally, I said, “Yeah.  I definitely do.”

            “What?”  He asked as the first pitch sailed by Pujols. 

            “That would ruin the fun,” I said as the pitcher set himself for the second pitch.  As his arm came over his shoulder, the world slowed down and seconds before it happened, I knew.  I knew as the pitcher released the ball that this was going to be something amazing.  The ball sailed against its green backdrop for a minute and I turned my head to watch Albert Pujols begin his swing.  The bat came slowly and powerfully from behind his head toward the ball, which seemed to be bracing itself for the unavoidable.  With an ear-shattering, crispness, the bat announced contact and the ball suddenly changed direction.  It hung in the blue for ages before disappearing beyond the walls of the park onto Waveland Avenue.  When I looked down, Pujols had already rounded third base and was making his way home.  He crossed the plate and as he jogged toward the dugout, he looked back at the hecklers and put a lone finger to his mouth and smiled once again. 

            “Did you see that?” I whispered to Clarence. 

            “I definitely did.”  Clarence said with reverence.       

            Over the next seven innings, Morris set the Cubs down without much trouble.  He was a different pitcher than he had been in that one lost inning.  He would allow a hit or two here or there, but was always able to work around it.  As he strode off the mound at the end of the eighth, I stood and clapped. None of the people around me heckled me. They looked me over, dressed as I was, and thought it not worth the effort.

            Unfortunately, the Cardinals offense was not able to put together any other runs and Clarence left the game happy.  “That first inning sunk them.”  Clarence said trying to keep the smile out of his voice, but failing.  “Just could not get past it, magnificent homerun aside.”

            “I guess so.”  I said with an inward smile.  We shuffled out in the herd of thousands trying to get out of the park.  Many on their way to the nearby bars to continue the day of drinking they had begun inside.  As Clarence and I walked across Clark Street back toward Solomon’s, I smiled feeling the sun against my skin. We walked quietly for a block, until we saw a large, faded picture of Spiderman on the side of a one-story, plain building, nestled on busy Addison Street. The street was slowly becoming residential as we walked away from Clark. The street was filled with newly built condominiums surrounded by wrought-iron fences, shiny and black, guarding against the riff-raff that came to Wrigleyville.   And there in the middle of these expensive, new homes, with their small, but well-maintained lawns, stood this run-down monument. The paint was peeling from the siding, which was peeling from the building.  The dirty windows were filled with pictures of old movie stars and dusty books written decades ago.  Comic books stood in racks, looking as though they had been there, unopened and unread for at least twenty years. The man sitting behind the counter stared ahead, his glasses at the tip of his nose, his white beard unkempt and untamed. His cracked lips formed a smile, seemingly at nothing in particular.  Perhaps he was thinking of something that happened years ago—a happy memory that carried him through days where he sat in an empty store waiting for someone to come in and buy something. Or at least talk to him.

            “So…” Clarence’s voice sounded like it was coming from years ahead of me. “Are you sure you want to go back?”

            I looked into the building, and nodded.

            “Okay,” he looked at me, and then spoke pointedly. “Then I’ll see you soon.”

            “Yes. You will.” 

            He smiled and turned and began walking back toward Wrigleyville.  He sighed, and I swore I heard him say, “Always with the sense of duty.” But that was could have been my imagination.

            I walked back slowly, thinking, for the first time in a long time it seems. This didn’t have to take long. If I did it right, I could be done with all of this today, really. At least that’s what I thought before I came to the grill and tried the door.  Locked.  I knocked for what seemed like hours, but no one came. 

            It seemed this was suddenly going to take longer than I wanted.

Chicago--Part 10

Have you ever had a sudden realization about your life?  It’s hard to describe.  I could tell you that eating that food at the Four Moons Tavern was like eating beauty or some other overly ornate something.  I could tell you the music punched me in the balls or kissed the neck of my soul. But unless you’ve been confused and overwhelmed—unless you’ve been that way for a long time, and then had all the curvy lines made straight, then you won’t understand.  If you’ve won every battle or even most of the battles of your life, you don’t understand what it is to lose over and over again.  And you don’t quite understand what it does to you. After a while you stop coming to the next battle hungry and animated. After a while, every loss feels both routine and painful. Every loss trains you to move slowly, afraid that the next move will lead to more loss. You get used to the losing and you expect it, but you never really stop hating it.

            In that moment, I remembered myself before everything went wrong.  I was younger and more hopeful. I wasn’t scarred and afraid.  I wasn’t always happy, but I was moving.  I was someone I could never be now. I felt my stomach squeeze.

            “[Gumshoe]?”  I was startled to see Clarence sitting in front of me.  I had drifted away and let my mind wander in a way that I hadn’t in a long time.  “Are you alright?”

            “Yeah,” I spoke through a suddenly dry mouth.  “I hadn’t realized how much I missed music.” 

            He looked at me, showing me the same smile he shared with me for over two decades.  “I don’t think I could give music up.” 

            “Yeah.  I didn’t realize I had until now.” 

            “Alright.”  I could tell Clarence was trying to figure out what to do next.  “What do you want to do on your day out?”

            I smiled.  He had decided that he didn’t need to make his case anymore.  He had decided that I was going to decide to go with him.  He didn’t need to push me anymore.  “I don’t know.  What’s there to do in Chicago?”

            After breakfast, we walked along Roscoe until we got to came to Sheffield Avenue and made our way north to Clark Street.  As we walked through throngs of people, all dressed in blue, I realized where he was taking me. 

            “So, you’re giving me the Ferris Bueller treatment?”

            “They’re playing the Cards, you know.”  He said through.  “Matt Morris is pitching.” 

            “How are the Cardinals doing?” 

            “They’re doing well, battling for first place as usual.”

            “So your Cubs are?”

            “Be quiet.” 

            As we walked up Clark, the first thing I could see were the lights above the stadium.  Clarence had always thought putting them in was the worst thing the club had ever done.  The point of baseball wasn’t to be modern and accessible.  “The point of baseball,” I remember him saying, “was to get away from everything the world was turning into.  And there’s a price to getting away.”

            I watched as Clarence haggled for good seats, getting the price he wanted.  That was the thing about Clarence—he got what he wanted.  Always.  Sure, he lost cases and had adversities in his life, but from where I sat at his side, his trials and tribulations were always just setbacks.  He was always going to win in the end.  One way or another.  We sat down in seats about three rows from the field, just to the first base side of home plate.  I smiled at my friend.

            “These are the best seats I’ve ever had.”

            “Well, you know what they say.  When you’re trying to get your friend out of a cult…”  His smile was sly as it sat on the side of his face.  He was still measuring my reaction.  He was hoping I would tell him the good news. 

            “Clarence.  I’m staying.”  I said and watched his smile vanish.

Chicago--Part 9

“Solomon,” I said walking up behind him.  “I don’t want to go.  I would like to stay here and finish out my shift, if that’s alright.”

            He turned, looked up at me and gave me a smile.  His gray eyes took me in, making me feel comfortable.  “You have been a great addition to our community Leopold.  You are conscientious and caring.  I sometimes forget that you have not been with us all that long.”  He sighed.  “You are being confronted with your past and now it is up to you to decide what you want to do.  We are not forcing anyone to stay here, and it’s important for your friend to know that.  But it’s also important for you to know why you’re here.  Now go.” 

            I watched him walk away.  I turned and walked past Clarence without a word.  As I pushed to door open, I heard Roscoe roar to life as cars revved to life, joggers ran past chatting, and busses moaned as it pushed off from the curb, carrying people to the jobs they probably hated.

            The door clanked shut behind me and I turned to see Clarence looking at me, his face scrunched in what was either disgust or pity—not that there was much difference between the two when it came to Clarence.  “What?”  I said.

            “What?  That’s what you’ve got to say for yourself?”  He grunted.  “C’mon.”

            “Where are we going?”  I said.

            “This way.”  We walked in silence for a while going east past Damen Avenue.  We passed houses with small front yards.  Our silence held until we passed a few tables sitting outside a small bar and had come to the corner of Wolcott.  The blue and yellow sign hung to the side of the building, creaking beneath the caress of a gentle breeze, and said Four Moon Tavern.

            “We’ll eat here,” said Clarence.

            “You could have eaten at the Grill,” I said quietly.  “We make really good pancakes.”

            “I don’t want to give a cult like that any more money than I have to.  No offense.”

            “If all you want to do is fight, then why are we even bothering with this?”  I said, but I followed him into the bar anyway.

            We sat down at a table streaked with sunlight and the man standing behind the bar offered us menus and went to get us water. 

            “I’m not allowed to eat any of this,” I said looking at the menu. 

            “You’re not allowed.”  He repeated without surprise.  “That’s fine.  I figured you wouldn’t have money to pay for anything anyway.”   

            I patted my pants without thinking and said, “No.  I don’t have any money.” 

            “Yeah.”  He said still studying the menu.  The barman came back and set two glasses of water in front of us.

            “Know what you want?” he said casually.

            “I think we’ll have two Harolds and stick with water to drink.”  The barman made a couple marks and turned toward the bar.

            “I told you, I can’t eat that.”  The barman turned around with a questioning look.

            “Two Harolds,” Clarence repeated, shooing him away.  “I’m guessing you have not had a whole lot of square meals.  But if you don’t want it, I’ll have him box it and we’ll give it to a homeless person somewhere.  Alright?”

            “Fine.”  I said clenching my jaw.

            “So.”  Clarence took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes.  “The man with me this morning was a private detective I hired to track you down.”

            “I figured you weren’t there by coincidence.”

            “I don’t do coincidence, you know that.”  He smiled, but it drifted from his face as quickly as it appeared.  “Look.  I don’t know what you’re going through, but this isn’t the way to deal with it.”

            “You don’t know how I’m dealing with whatever it is I’m going through.”

            He paused, and gave me the smile he always used to give me.  The smile that told me he knew a lot more than I thought.  And in that moment I remembered that I had known Clarence since elementary school when I stopped some kids I didn’t like from taking his lunch money.  It was the smile he gave me so many times when he’d help me study for any of subjects I needed extra help to pass.  “So, why don’t you tell me what you’re going through?”  His voice was smooth and calm. 

            “I—Why—Master Solomon.”  I stammered, feeling my breath catch in my throat.  “Heaven is supposed to be this place where it’s calm and serene and you don’t have to deal with any bullshit.  So, I’m getting that now.”

            “You’re getting a calm and serene life?”  He asked as if trying to understand. 

            “Yes.  I’m happy.  I don’t have to deal with murders or people being completely shitty to each other.  I don’t have to deal with anything.  It’s great.”  I tried not to let my voice sound as defensive as I sound, but I knew my old friend had picked up on things.

            He pulled his glasses off his face and ran his hands over his nose.  The waiter brought out the food—two plates of biscuits and gravy with two fried eggs on top.  “Anything else?” the waiter asked.

            “No,” Clarence said.  “Thank you.”  He turned his attention to me.  “Can you really say no to that food?”

            “I’m being tested.”  I said quietly.  I felt my stomach gurgle and I silently cursed it.

            “I’m not testing you.  I’m offering you food.”  He said as he dug in.  He took a few bites before he began talking again.  “Look, it is not a sin to be glad you’re alive.  But this—whatever this is.  This isn’t living.  This is you giving up living.  This is you dying little by little, piece by piece.”

            My face flushed, but I stayed stubbornly silent. 

            “Look.  Your ex-girlfriend died.  She was killed by someone you thought you could catch.  Maybe someone you should have caught—I don’t know.  And instead of dealing with the fallout of that, you came here and what, joined a cult?”

            “It’s not a cult.”  I said.

            “Fine.  Let’s say for a moment it’s not a cult.  You still just abandoned your life.  You left without a word to anyone.  I didn’t even know you were fired.”

            “Yeah.  I’m sorry I didn’t check in with you.”  I said feeling my anger rise.  “I’m sorry I was dealing with all that alone.  But—“

            “I’m sorry too.  You—I should have checked in more.  I knew this case was eating at you.”  He was looking me right in the eye.  It wasn’t often that we had conversations that were this uncomfortable.  I remembered one time in high school when we were pursuing the same woman, but that was ages ago. 

            “Thanks.”  I said quietly, feeling the silence wash over the whole room drowning all the conversation and the clanging of the cooks in the kitchen.  After a few minutes music ebbed back into the room.  It took me a couple minutes to remember the song.  It started slow and familiar, transporting me back to my bedroom where I had listened to it for the first time so many years ago.  I listened and loved it in the way that only a fourteen year-old can love a piece of music they don’t quite understand.

            Everybody’s got a secret sonny, yeah, something they just can’t face.  Some folks spend their whole lives trying to keep it, they carry it with them every step that they take.  And the drums and guitar kicked in, tearing the room apart in front of my eyes.

            Till one day, they just cut it loose.  Cut it loose or let it drag ‘em down.  Where no one asks any questions or looks too long in your face…  Without thinking about it, I reached for the fork in front of me and started cutting into the egg, letting the yolk flow over the biscuits and gravy.  Yellow mixed with the gravy, overtaken until I couldn’t tell it had ever been there. 

            As I brought the fork to my mouth, I felt defeated.  I was failing.  Failing in a big way, and suddenly I felt as if everyone knew I was failing, except me.  I had not noticed when I drank myself silly, ran away from my home town, joined a cult, and clung to the idea that all this was normal.  And the warmth of shame flushed my face and clenched my chest.   I nodded in answer to an unasked question.  

Chicago--Part 8

The next day, I took my position at the grill next to Candice.  We quietly set about our work until she suddenly spoke.  “Last night.  That’s how Solomon is.  He tests everyone.”  I looked at her out of the side of my eyes, making sure to be attentive to my side of the grill.

            “Tests?”

            “If James hadn’t burned the picture, what do you think would have happened to him?”  She said quietly.

            “Solomon would’ve…counseled him?” 

            “Maybe,” she said not sounding too convinced.  “Look, I haven’t been here that long, but most the people who don’t pass their test don’t end up staying much longer.”

            “So I should be ready when my test comes, I guess.” 

            “Yeah,” she said staring at the grill. 

            “Have you been tested?”

            “I don’t think so.”

            Aside from that conversation, that day and the ones following became indistinguishable in every other way.  Every day started with us getting up and going immediately to work.  I worked the grill with Candice most days, but subbed for others who got sick from time to time.   Then came the cleaning, the offering, the meal and bed.  It was consistent, unchanging, and it filled every moment of the day, except the few moments when my head would hit the pillow before the weariness of the day pulled me into a deep, dreamless slumber. 

            I couldn’t keep track of the days of the week.  I couldn’t keep track of the seasons, except one day I would notice it was snowing and what seemed like a week later people were running around in shorts outside the windows in front of the grill.  This was the most peaceful time in my life.  I thought only about what was happening right in front of me.  I was flipping pancakes, doing an offering, cleaning, eating, or sleeping.  Everything else stopped at the windows.  There were no shocking surprises that I had to investigate.  There were no problems.  I never talked to anybody who might upset my day-to-day.  Living became simple, mundane, and utterly the same.  I knew when I got up exactly what was going to happen during the day from the moment I slipped out of bed until I crawled back in.  And I enjoyed that so much.

            But of course my happiness meant that something had to change.  So as I stood next to Candice, flipping pancakes and turning sausage, Calvin tapped me on the shoulder.  “Arthur has the flu, so we’re gonna need you up front.”

            “Taking orders?” I replied.  “Never done that.”

“Yup.  It’s not hard.  You just ask them what they want to drink.  Get that.  Then you ask them what they want to eat.  Then you get that.”  He said as he grabbed me by the elbow and started pulling me forward.  “Look, I know this is different, so we’re giving you a small section, just a few tables.” 

“But,” I started as we reached the doors to that separated the kitchen from the rest of the restaurant.  “I liked…I don’t…”  I took a breath.  “They’re outsiders.”

“Leopold, don’t talk to them about anything other than the menu.  Be friendly, but don’t talk to them about anything other than the menu,” Calvin said handing me a blank notepad.  “You’re responsible for those four tables.  Don’t mess up.”

I stood there for a second.  It felt like Solomon was testing me.  For the first time in however long I had been there, I was going to deal with people who weren’t like the rest of us.  I took another breath and walked over to the only table in my section that had anyone seated at it.  I approached a man who appeared to be looking around the room, despite the newspaper he held in his hands.

“Welcome to Victory’s Griddle, may I take your order?”  I said, thinking this sounded like what I was supposed to say.  When he looked up at me, the man’s eyes widened for a split second before he smiled and ran one hand through the thinning gray hair that crowned his round head.  He quickly folded the newspaper he was reading and smiled up at me. 

“There’s going to be two of us, so why don’t we start out with coffee.  Both black.  Then bring we’ll look at the menu and see what we want.”

I felt the blood rush to my face.  “I’m sorry.  It’s my first day taking orders.  I’ll get you the menus and bring you the coffee.”

“Not a problem.”  He said with a smile. 

As I turned away, I had the feeling he was still looking at me.  As I walked to the coffee machine, I snuck a peak over my shoulder in time to see him unfolding his newspaper again. 

            I poured out two steaming cups of coffee, taking one cup in each hand, hoping I could walk the twenty feet from the machine back to the table without spilling all of the black liquid on the floor—or myself.  As I headed back to the table, I saw there were two people at the table.   Concentrating on keeping the cups level and not spilling, I set the cups down in front of the two men and looked up at them both with a smile.

            “Hello [Gumshoe],” said a voice I had not heard in a long time. 

            My face burned with embarrassment.  “Clarence.”  I stood up quickly, feeling the blood rush from my head and feeling suddenly light-headed.  “I forgot the menus.”  My voice felt distant, as if someone behind me was speaking and their voice was two octaves higher than mine.  “I’ll be right back.”  I crept a stumbling walk toward the stand by the front door where the menus were kept.  I took a deep breath trying not to think about everything seeing Clarence made me think about.  In my old life, Clarence had been my best friend since elementary school.  He was a criminal attorney with a reputation for striking with power and precision, like lightning, which, despite his diminutive stature led to him being referred to as the Big Man.  It was a nickname Clarence pretended to hate.  “Des Moines is my old life,” I mumbled, hoping the more I repeated it the truer it would become. 

            I returned to the table feeling my resolve returning to me.  With as much poise as I could muster, I set the menus in front of the two gentlemen and remaining silent for a minute.  Clarence took this moment to speak.  “You can grab your things, I’ve come to take you home.”

            “I am home.  And my name is Leopold.”  I said.  “Now we have a special—“

            “I don’t want to know about the special [Gumshoe],”

            “Leopold.”

            “Whatever,” Clarence said giving me a look that told me he was trying to determine if I was crazy or stupid.  “They caught the guy.  It’s over.  It’s been over for a while, so please.  Get your stuff and we can—“

            “It’s a sausage sandwich made with gruyere cheese, fresh basil, and—“

            He raised his voice.  “[Gumshoe], I don’t know why you decided to hide in this cult instead of coming to me for help, but I’m—“

            “Clarence,” I said now feeling all the eyes in the half-empty restaurant on me, “I’m here because I want to be and I don’t need—“

            “[Gumshoe]—“  His voice was approaching a full-throated yell.

            “My name is Leopold.”

            I jumped feeling a strong hand on my shoulder.  Turning, I saw Solomon and Calvin, red-faced and huffing.  Solomon spoke calmly.  “Is there a problem Leopold?”

            “No,” I said trying to convince myself too.  “I know—knew this man in—when I was—back then.”

            “I see.”  He smiled at me and turned his attention to Clarence.  “Sir, I don’t know what enmity exists between you two, but Leopold has come here to start a new life.  Part of that means he takes no part in any conflict that he used to be a part of.  This is a place of peace.”

            “I know what this is.  It’s a cult.  And I don’t know what you’ve done to [Gumshoe], but he is coming home with me.”

            “I see.  So it is your belief that Leopold is being brainwashed or taken advantage of?”  Seeing a definitive nod from Clarence, Solomon continued.  “Then he is yours for the day.  Take him out of here.  Talk to him.  And listen to what he tells you.”

            “Fine.”  Clarence started to stand.

            “One condition,” Solomon said through a smile.  “If he decides to come back here, you will let him.”

            “That’s fine with me.”  He unfolded his wallet and removed a couple bills, setting them down on the table.

            “Well, you two enjoy your day.”  Solomon said turning away from me. 

            After a second of standing looking from one to the other, Clarence looked at me.  “Are you coming?”

            Standing there I felt tugged in both directions.  It’s funny how life knows the perfect spot in which to punch you to make you feel small and inadequate.  

Apologies

Sorry for the delay in getting up the next couple of episodes.  Life has intervened and made working on this difficult.  I hope to get back on schedule soon.  Thanks.

Chicago--Part 7

I slowly stood, suddenly feeling every eye on me.  Paul chose this moment to creep forward and pull the trashcan out of the center. 

            “In Leopold’s old life, he was a police officer.”  Solomon spoke to the group, but turned toward me.  “Would you like to tell us more about why you left that life to join us, Leopold?” 

            “I.  Uh.  Sure.”  I said feeling the blood race into my face.  Had I told him about being a cop?  “I joined the force a little bit after high school.  And everything seemed to be going great, until a little bit ago.  Someone killed an ex-girlfriend of mine.  Really brutally.  I mean, they tortured and…”  A couple people groaned, and someone gasped.  “Sorry.  I forget that others aren’t used to that kind of thing.”  I took a breath and tried to figure out where I was going with this.  “I don’t know.  I really wanted to catch that person.  I wanted to set things right.  And I couldn’t.” 

            I felt my hands clench and my body begin to sweat.  I hadn’t really talked about it, but I felt like I was about to let everything out.  I was suddenly back at the crime scene.  I could see her body wrenched apart.  Her body torn and broken, left lifeless.  The stomach that I had laid my head on as we talked about the future, was bruised and burnt.  The neck I kissed and tickled was swollen and scraped.  Her once-beautiful face was unrecognizable.  And the person who did this was out there still.

            “It made me feel so helpless that I could not help her.  That this woman I loved died and I was not there.  I mean, we had our problems.  I was not good for her.  We weren’t good for each other.  But that’s beside the point—“

            “Leopold.”  Solomon cut me off softly, and paused for a second.  “None of that matters.  As you will learn, that was you last life.  As we’ve all seen with James, that life is tough to give up.  But the first step is realizing, intellectually, that you are not your brother’s keeper.  You have years of training and instinct telling you otherwise, so this may be hard for you to accept.  But the truth of the situation is that the person who committed these regrettable acts, he is a symptom of the problems.  He is someone who has lost in the system of competition, and he is someone that could be saved if everyone would accept our teachings.”

            He looked knowingly in my eyes, as if he was waiting for my reaction.  I opened my mouth to speak, but could only stutter.  “I-I.  Mindy.”  Suddenly my throat clenched as if it would not allow any sound to get out.

            “You cared deeply for her.  But look at you now.  Look where your caring has brought you.  Look where your quest to catch this man has brought you.  It has brought you to misery.  It made you run from the city you called your home into a city with which you have no connection.”  He paused.  “But luckily it brought you here.  Where you can be healed.  Where you can be accepted.  Where you do not have to continue to compete.  Where you can lay that burden down.” 

            Standing there with everyone looking at me, I suddenly smiled. 

            Solomon returned my smile graciously.  “Freedom isn’t playing their rigged game, it’s accepting that you cannot win and therefore should not play.  Freedom is accepting your bondage, the role you can play here.  By accepting yourself as a member of this community, you are giving up all connections to the outside world.  You are a member of this group and nothing more.  You aren’t responsible for anyone else.  You don’t have to continually strive for more and lose.  The feelings of helplessness will subside, because here you are not trying to be anything other than a member of our community.  You can just relax and be.  Just be.” 

            I felt a flush in my cheeks.  I felt heat in my face and then it radiated down my spine and throughout my body.  My throat opened and I felt a sudden cooling sensation on my neck.  I looked around and saw every face smiling up at me. 

            “Can you accept that?”  Solomon asked.

            “I think I can,” I said quietly.

            “Good,” he said with a smile.

            That night, following a meal of an oatmeal-type sludge mixed with prunes (apparently staying regular is very important part of the group), we all went to bed silently.  There had been some idle chit chat, but no one spoke about what we saw at the offering.  It was hard for me to tell if this was a normal part of things or if this was different from the normal pace of things. 

            As I crawled into bed, I laid my head down still seeing James’s face as he watched his wife’s smiling face burn in the trash can.  I turned on my side and closed my eyes.  I took a deep breath and let it out, feeling happy to be in a place where I could forget about everything that had happened in Des Moines.  A new start, I thought as I drifted into the first deep sleep I could remember having in a long time. 

            Sometimes I am extremely stupid.  I’ve learned to accept that about myself, but I cannot say how it pops up will still surprise me.

Chicago--Part 6

The crowd thinned out at 11:30 AM, which seemed ungodly late for breakfast.  But young kids, had to be just out of college, were still sitting there playing with their pancakes and French toast.  They all wore sweat pants, the men had their baseball caps turned backward, covering their hair which had not been combed.  They wore jerseys, sweatshirts, and t-shirts, most of which were smudged with crusted ketchup and mustard.  The women all wore make-up, their hair done in pony-tails that tried to look casual.  I was pretty sure it was only Thursday, but these young people lounged like they had nowhere to be. 

            After the last of them left, we cleaned.  We cleaned the tables and walls with soapy wet rags.  We cleaned the floors with mops dosed with bleach.  We cleaned griddle with water and spatulas.  We cleaned the sidewalk outside with brooms and rakes, shoveling “unnecessary debris” into black trash bags.  We pulled the weeds that were barely budding from cracks in the sidewalks.  We cleaned the bathrooms.  We cleaned the simple table linens.  We cleaned the sparkling windows.  We cleaned and cleaned until every surface, sparkled, shined or shimmered.  All the work was done without any conversation, except for Stephen coming over to tell me to use more cleaning solvent and to work harder, quieter and faster. 

            And eventually, everyone came to a stop at pretty much the same time, except me.  I was still hauling garbage outside, when a couple more men came up to help me and we finished up.  Heading back from the dumpster behind the building, I said, “I’m famished, what’s for lunch?”

            The man next to me smiled, looked at my face and said, “Meditation,” without breaking his stride.  I rubbed my belly and followed the crowd as they lined up and headed downstairs into the basement.  Leaving the day’s sun, we filed past a thick door, down a set of stairs and into a room that was lit only by candles.  Already sitting in the front of the room was Solomon, who by the looks of things had been meditating for a while already.  He sat on a wooden chair, his arms rigidly bracing the rest of his body as it seemed to crumble against those arms.  I would’ve thought he was a corpse if not for the ropes of muscles that strained under his robe.  But hearing us approach, he seemed to stir.  His eyes slowly opened and his body seemed to come back to life. 

            “Apostles come to me.”  He said almost lazily.

            “We come thirsty for knowledge.  Thirsty for life.”  The rest of the group said united as I looked on.  I shifted again. 

            “Then sit and accept what the world willingly offers.”  Solomon shifted in his seat, and opened his arms to the room as if offering them the chairs that sat in a circle around the room.  I sat with everyone else, Candice took the seat to my right.  “Who has an offering?”

            The room sat silent for a moment until an older man began.  His quiet voice suddenly filled the room.  “I don’t really know how to say this.  Master Solomon, you have been so kind to me.  And I have been trying so hard.”

            “James,” Solomon started.  “You have no need to preface your offering.  You can say whatever you want here.  You know that.”

            “It’s just that I don’t think I’m doing very well here.  I don’t miss my life.  Ever since my wife died, I just.  Well, you know, sir.  You’ve been with me almost every day since then.  And most days have been great.  I love our work.  I love my place in this community.  I love not being a part of that painful, cruel world.  But today is the two year anniversary.  And I know I should have left all of that behind.  I know that her death is not a part of my life anymore.  I know our life, the life we were building was wrong.  It was based on competition and I’m not aching to go back to that.  But still, sir.  I ache.  I ache to feel her hand on my chest and to hear her soft snores when  I sleep.  I ache to hold her again, or to argue with her.  Or anything.  I just ache.” 

            There was a moment of silence as Solomon took in James’s words.  The moment stretched uncomfortably until Solomon rose.  He walked over to James, slowly, placing a hand on his shoulder.  He leaned in, wrapped his other arm around James and put his lips next to James’s ear.  Solomon stayed in that position closely and, from where I was, it was impossible to know whether Solomon was whispering or not.  But after a very long moment the two came apart.  James was wearing a contented smile on his face and mouthing appreciative words.

            As Solomon turned, James left the room quickly.  “The words I shared with James were for him alone.  But his predicament is like what many of you are dealing with, I believe.  James is dealing with problems that continue to follow him from his former life.  He has tried to detach from that world, but has found that harder than he expected.”  Solomon strode slowly back to his chair at the front of the room, but continued to stand.  After taking a couple deep breathes, he spoke again, his back still toward us. 

            “We all had lives before we came here.  None of us are free of the baggage the world heaps on all of us as we progress from youth into adulthood, and as we try to become that elusive something.  That something that  will give us everything we want.  Whether it’s becoming a great husband, or getting that great job.  Of finding the perfect house in the perfect neighborhood.  There’s always that something you’re supposed to get.  And what happens when you get that elusive something?  You start to concentrate on getting the thing that comes after it.  You’ve got a spouse?  Now you need a house.  Then a baby.  Then another baby.  But first you need a good job, which will lead you to another job, and then another.  You’re on the treadmill, being pushed through life.  You can’t choose the next job, because you bought the bigger house, so you need to take the one that pays the most.  Not to mention that being paid more is a big stroke to your ego.  But you’re all here because you know how hard—cruel in fact—that life is.”

            He fell silent again as footsteps could be heard coming down the steps.  James came back inside holding something in his hand.  “What we seek to teach, to instill in you, is the ability to choose to get off.  You all have the ability to make that choice.  It is hard, no doubt.  It requires a great deal of discipline.  It requires learning how to live, and part of that learning process is sacrifice.  To fulfill his offering, James has decided to show us all about sacrifice.”  

            James came to the center of the circle and held out his hand.  Solomon turned around and signaled with his left hand.  Paul came forward with a metal trashcan.  “James, tell us all what it is you’ve brought before us.”

            “I brought,” James started with a huff of energy, “a photograph.  My last photograph of my wife.”

            Two chairs away, a woman gasped, but Solomon held up his hand to calm her. 

            “I know Rebecca.  You were all told when you joined that you had to give up all your connections to the outside world.  This includes photographs of loved ones.  James and I have talked about it, and I have known for a while that he harbored this picture.  And I allowed it, hoping that James would soon become ready to give it up.  And tonight, I believe James is ready to take that step here with all of us.” 

              While Solomon spoke, Paul set the trashcan beside James and handed him a box of matches. 

            “Is that right James,” Solomon continued.  “Are you ready tonight to leave your last connection to the world behind?”

            “I am, sir.”  James said with a small crack in his voice.  He had retracted his left hand to his chest, holding the picture close to him.  He looked down at it and ran his the index finger of his right hand over the surface, the box of matches held in by his remaining fingers.  His eyes began to well up, but James bent at his knees and gently laid the picture in the bottom of the basket.  His shaking hands pulled out a match and struck the match once, then twice, then a third time before fire jumped from the end with crack.  His hand fumbled with the matchstick for a couple seconds before the ignited match seemed to fall.  Smoke almost immediately rose from the trashcan as a tear fell from James’s face onto the cement floor below.

            “James, you may sit now.  Thank you for giving to this community.  Thank you for completely embracing your new start.  It is not easy to accept.  After a lifetime of being told to compete, to accumulate friends and other things, but the truth is that life only brings misery.”  The room sat quietly, as most watched as the smoke slowly ebbed and then stopped.  Finally Solomon spoke again.  “Most of you know we have a new member.  Leopold, please stand.”  

This had to be good.

Chicago--Part 5

“Excuse me?” I said to Candice as she continued flipping pancakes.  She stacked three large golden discs and put them on a plate behind her.  The plate was taken away almost as quickly as she put it down. 

            “Come on Leopold, no one’s here because their other life was happy.”  She gave me a quick look.  “It’s a woman, am I right?”  She paused as if to let me answer, but continued, “It’s always a woman with guys your age.”

            “It’s not a woman,” I said half-heartedly, shifting my weight.

            She smiled.  “I see.  Very believable.”  She poured a couple more batter into discs on the hot surface.  “Well, if you’re not going to tell me what it is you’re running from, I won’t tell you what I’m running from.”  She flipped a couple more pancakes.  “Pour some batter over there.  That’s your side, over here is mine.”

            I followed her directions, not sure of what to say.  After a long pause, I decided to say, “I mean, it’s not just a woman.”

            “Ahh,” she said.  “You’re a complicated guy, then.”

            “Not complicated, just not simple.”

            “I see.”  Her voice gave nothing away, and silence settled again over us as we each worked our side of the griddle.  I flipped over a couple cakes, seeing their golden-brown side signaling that they were almost perfectly done.  “Nice,” she said taking note of my work. 

            “So how does this work?  Do you always do this, or do you move after a while?”

            “Move up?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Like promoted?”

            “I guess.”

            “You -are- new,” she said with a smile.  “Be glad I heard you say that and not Stephen, because he would give you a 20 minute lecture on everyone’s place in society and how this isn’t society, only he wouldn’t say it that nicely.  See Leopold, there is nothing to be promoted to.  There is no up.  There is no down.  There is just the job you do.  We’re all part of the system here and we all fit in.  If you’re not good at this, then they’ll find you something else you can be good at.”

            “But don’t you get tired of doing the same thing all the time?”

            “Why would I?”  She said glancing over my shoulder, before turning back to the griddle with the faint hint of something running across her face.

            “Hey there,” I heard a second before feeling a solid hand on my shoulder.  Turning I saw the perfect, broad, white grin that would become so familiar to me.  I stepped back instinctively, but felt his other hand grab my other shoulder. “My name is Solomon.  I heard Paul brought in a new guy and I wanted to welcome here myself.”

            “Hi.  I guess I’m Leopold,” I said extending my right hand.  His hands stayed on my shoulder, as if he didn’t notice my extended hand.  I shifted the weight in my legs, but his hands held me firmly in place.  His smile grew even broader.

            “It is an adjustment being here.  We know that.  You’re still a child of the outside world, but you’ve taken a good first step by being here.  You have accepted help and by accepting help, you have started on your journey toward enlightenment and freedom.” 

            “Thanks?”  I meant it to come out with more sureness, but I couldn’t keep myself from staring into the deep blue eyes of this man as he stood there, holding me still and looking me over as if he understood me already.

            “I know in your time of introduction, you will feel pressure to introduce yourself by talking about what you’ve done in the past.  Who you were.  What you did.  That sort of thing.  And if that’s what you want to do, that’s fine—as long as you understand that what you’re telling everyone is the life you are leaving behind.  The skin you’re shedding on your path to becoming you anew.”

            “Okay.”  I said, unable to lower my eyes from his seemingly unblinking eyes.  I was sure his eyes went on forever, with wisdom and power undulating underneath the deep blue.    

            “Great.”  He turned his head to Candice, but held my shoulders in place.  “Candice, how are you today?”

            “I am good Master Solomon.”  She didn’t turn from the griddle, staring intently at the pancakes for any sign that they needed to be turned or taken and served.  “Thank you for asking.”  Her voice seemed different, like it could break off as it was coming out of her mouth and shatter as it hit the clean, tiled floor beneath our feet.

            Turning back to me, Solomon smiled again, his face giving no clue how he felt about their interaction.  “I hope you enjoy your time here.  If you have any questions, please feel free to ask me.  Or anyone.  We’re all equal here.”  His hands left my shoulders and I suddenly noticed my back straighten, leaving Solomon about three inches shorter than me.  He walked away slowly, making his way to others throughout the restaurant.  I watched him as he greeted everyone in the restaurant, slowly talking to anyone he came across—the smile never leaving his face.

            “You gonna faint or something?” Candice’s voice called me back from wherever my mind had swum to. 

            “That guy is…” I just trailed away, not finding the word I wanted. 

            “He definitely is.”  Candice let out a breath of air that sounded like she had been holding in for a long time.  “Are you gonna jump in here?”

            “Yeah,” I said, stepping back to the griddle and flipping a couple pancakes that now looked a little browner than would be considered ideal.  “Sorry about that.”  I let a couple beats pass trying to form the question.  Eventually, I just settled on, “so what’s his deal?”

            Candice looked at me out of the sides of her eyes, not turning her head fully to me.  She spoke carefully, “Master Solomon is the head of this order.  He teaches us and guides us.  He’s the reason most of us are here.”

            “I see.”  I said trying to digest the change in her mood.  “And you…think he’s all right?”

            She smacked her spatula down on the griddle and turned fully to look at me.  Her cheeks were flushed.  “That sausage is burned.  I told you to watch the sausage.”  She put her hands at her sides and bent her head forward murmuring something.

            “I’m sorry, I—“  Her hand shot up, ending an inch from my lips.  Her palm was callused and strong.  I got the message and shut my mouth. 

            “I am sorry for my reaction.”  She said in a stiff, quiet voice.  “I know the competitive impulse pushed me to that place.  I am still working on controlling that part of me.  I did not mean for you to feel looked down on or out of place.”  She looked up, her mouth pulled tight.  “I have been here so long, but there are still those things I have trouble controlling.”  A beat passed. 

            I stepped back to the griddle and pushed the sausage over, so the links turned.   Their charred sides faced up, hiding the tender, uncooked parts.

Chapter 4--Chicago

It was late, so I was shown into a large room on the second floor of the place.  There were drapes drawn across the windows to drown out the little remnants of daylight that remained after this long day.  As I went in, I could not see where I was headed.

            “The bunk in the far right corner is open.”  I heard him whisper.  “See you in the morning, when the work starts.”  And with that I heard his footsteps as he headed downstairs.  I stood for a minute as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, before I stepped toward the corner.  My foot landed on something soft, but nothing yelled, so I continued to the corner.  As I got closer to the corner, I could see the wooden frames of two bunks, with three beds each, standing perpendicular to each other.  There were lumps in all but the top-most bunk on the one farthest from me, so I quietly slipped out of all of my clothes except my boxers and slipped under the coarse sheet.  The mattress was, if I’m going to be nice about it, firm.  If I weren’t going to be nice, I’d say “concrete”.  There was no pillow and I struggled all night to get comfortable.  My body tossed and turned all night trying to pound some comfort either out of or into the mattress.  Finally, I think the battling numbed me enough that I could fool myself into thinking I was comfortable and I nodded off. 

            What seemed like twenty minutes later, I was awoken by the loud thudding of people jumping off their bunks and the clatter of people piling out of the room.  The door shut with a finality as the last person made their way out.  The drapes covering the windows barely held out the light of what seemed to me to be an early morning sun.  I opened my eyes and watched as about thirty people filed out of the room, and I was left alone.  I sat still for a minute considering whether I should get up and follow them, but I nodded off to sleep before I could make up my mind. 

            I had just resumed the recurring dream I’d had since the death of Mindy James when I heard the door creak open slowly.  I turned and saw two men standing there looking directly at me. 

            “Well, come on,” said a man who reminded me of an old dog who had been out on the street to long—rough around the edges, fierce, not to be messed with.  As I was thinking this, he approached the bed and reached up.  Instinctively I sat up, putting my legs between him and me.  “It’s time to work,” he growled up at me. 

            I threw off the sheet and jumped down.  The second man, who had remained at the door, howled and spun around.  Shocked, I started to walk toward him, but the first man grabbed my shoulder and spun me around.  “What the hell are you wearing?”  He spoke averting his eyes from me.

            “Boxers,” I said with a shake of my head.

            “Not allowed,” he said.

            “Not allowed?”

            “Not allowed,” he repeated. 

            “I heard you, I just don’t understand.”

            “What’s not to understand?  If you’re going to be here, you can’t wear those.”

            “Okay.  Well, I’m not just gonna let my junk hang loose.”

            His head snapped to mine quickly.  “And you cannot be this crass.  Honestly, I don’t know where Paul found you, but if you can’t conform, you won’t stay here long.”  He stared at me a second, and I couldn’t decide whether he wanted a reply or not.  Finally he said, “Calvin, go get a pair of shorts for Leopold, here.  And the rest of what he’ll need.”

            “Yes, Stephen,” said the now less-shocked man, who I guess is Calvin.

            “Why did you call me Leopold?  My name is [gumshoe].”  I said, feeling a trickle of sweat run down my back.  I was starting to think I had made a mistake. 

            “That may have been your name, but now it’s Leopold.  I don’t know why they don’t put all of this stuff in the intro tour, but this is basic stuff here.”  He took a deep breath and let it out as Calvin came back with a stack of clothes, on top of which were a pair of underwear.  They would be called “tighty-whities”, except they were a deep shade of brown.

            “I don’t think these will be very flattering to my body-type,” I said holding them in my hand.

            “Humor.  That’s good.  Put them on and we can make with the laughy-laughy.”  I pulled off my boxers and tossed them on the floor.  It was then that I noticed my clothes from yesterday had been taken.

            “My clothes are gone.”

            “The clothes of the outside world have been taken.  You’re here now and you’ll dress appropriately.”  I was starting to see that Stephen was kind of a dick, but I put on the clothes without saying anything else.  “Fine,” he said after I had finished.  “We’re going to start you on the griddle.  Can you handle that?”

            “Uh.  Sure.”  I said, following him as he started walking out of the room.  We went down a different staircase than the one I had climbed the night before.  It led down to the kitchen where the people I had presumably slept next to last night were running around like a well-oiled machine.  There were people who were chopping, stirring, mixing, and shredding; eggs were being beaten and fried; pancakes were being poured and flipped; bacon was being grilled and turned; and omelets were being folded and plated.  Waiters, walking in small, quick steps, were taking plates out to customers.  There was some conversation, but it was in hushed tones.

            I stood on the last step for a second, before I realized Stephen had continued forward, and was still giving me instructions.  I hopped down and caught up.  “Our mornings are pretty regimented, but that’s how we like it.  No time for shenanigans.  No time for trouble.  We make breakfast.  We close.  We spend our time considering the world around us.”  He stopped and turned as we reached the griddle.  “This is Candice,” he said pointing to the woman who monitoring the pancakes.  “She will show you what you need to know.”  He looked me over, shook his head and walked away without another word. 

            I turned to Candice, “So…” I trailed off.

            “You probably know how to make pancakes.  You pour from this thingy over here.  You wait until you see bubbles coming through, then you flip it over.  And then you wait for a second or two, and then you take it off.”  She said, without looking up at me.  “The sausage over there, you just have to turn it every once in a while and don’t let it burn.  No one likes burnt sausage.”

            “My name is [gumshoe],” I said as I picked up a spatula.

            “I was told to call you Leopold,” she said glancing at me out of the side of her eye.  “So, what are you running away from?”