Sample of “Volunteer”

Volunteer

In this spiraling boulder we call a planet, there are certain times and places that intersect to create a situation in which every single person involved is absolutely miserable. Every instance of news, airport terminals, certainly, or hospital waiting rooms would apply. I recall the last day of fourth grade; there wasn’t a soul in those chipped yellow walls that actually desired to be there. Well a week ago I was fortunate enough to fall into one of those fissures in time and space: Tuesday morning, the bus stop on the corner where, to the left, the stoplight is spitefully ignorant of pedestrians, and when, as was the case this special day, the bus is late, an overlap of people will converge under the insipid daylight.

Now I could have used the unwanted time to take my papers from the folder in my purse and go over my presentation one more time, but not only would that crease the sheets, it was unnecessary; I was confident in my ability to communicate my proposal to my boss. This left me with the exhilarating task of eyeing the strangers around me. An enamored couple stood shoulder to shoulder, whispering to each other through the chill of early spring. It was no wonder the woman looked cold, with her ripped jeans and maroon vest, both entirely counter-productive articles of clothing. I scowled at her hair, though, which was up in a kind of ponytail that model’s wear, high with her bangs swept to one side of her black-rimmed glasses and somehow not looking like a middle-school mistake. My hair, which was cropped short by my shoulders, had taken twenty minutes to straighten, all so I could push it back with a headband. At least my coat covered my arms.

My gaze moved away when the man, in an obnoxious white polo, leaned down to lock lips. I was met with an unusual sight. Giggling down the sidewalk, came a kid, about seven by the looks of it, completely by himself. His red shirt and bright green pants (which seemed to be on backwards) made him look like the star of a Hallmark movie.  I’d recognize that pale hair anywhere; Peter.

I sighed, shifting my weight in preparation for his arrival, hoping I wouldn’t have to stop him from prancing straight into traffic. Figures it’d be him, of all the kids, that was wandering unattended. His mother, my neighbor Charlotte, isn’t all there. Their blonde hair matches, so bright I’d bet half my salary it’d glow in the dark. I don’t know if I’d call gorgeous, though I’ve heard it said before, she has more of an off-putting look about her. Eyes are too dark, lips too thin. She’s always in these long flowing dresses that must get stepped on if she ever leaves that house. She lent me iron once, though (it worked like magic), and she’s a single mom, so I mostly ignore whenever I hear those scary movies she likes to watch or that time her attic flooded.

I wasn’t losing my job over her kid though. I slipped out my phone to see if I had any of her contact info, wasn’t that something people had of their neighbors?

Across the street, a man in a long dark coat, with his hair up in a bun better than anything I could manage and a single hoop in his right ear, laid his eyes on our little group and pressed the cross button. I wanted to tell him it was broken, but I focused on Peter’s arrival.

He thankfully came to a stop, gawking at the couple, which were now looking away from each other. The woman’s right hand, which had been casually laying on her beau’s arm to show off the shiny ring to me, was now at her side. The man had his dull grey eyes glued to his phone. Not so enamored, it seemed. Peter turned towards the road, pouting, then looked to me, green eyes glimmering in the little sun we had. He was smiling before I even started speaking.

“Hi, Peter,” I said patiently, wincing as I broke the relatively peaceful silence we’d had, “Where’s your mom?” He continued to smile but didn’t respond. “Peter.” I repeated, glancing down the road uneasily, things would be complicated if the bus arrived now.

It didn’t, but before Peter could answer, two individuals helped crowd the corner as they finally crossed the street, hurrying as the countdown began immediately. The first was the shady man, but the second was worse; a jogger. Clad in shorts, sneakers and a shirt in highlighter shades of green, she made it all too easy for me to put her at the bottom of the pedestrian food pyramid. Jogging. You’re not even running, what’s the point? There’s a reason it’s always the jogger that gets murdered in the woods in those first two minutes of every show. They’re a neon x-marks the spot, and they’ve got those headphones so far jammed in their ears they wouldn’t notice gunshot (or, you know, insert preferred method of hypothetical murder here) until their playlist ended on the other side. Mostly, though, they’re too slow to get away. You don’t jog away from death.

I couldn’t contain my scoff when she began jogging in place to wait for the next cross. Peter, on the other hand, seemed fascinated by man, and I figured I should probably make sure he wasn’t snatched or something. I wouldn’t be able to look Charlotte in the eyes.

“Peter,” I started again, “We need to-” He abruptly shushed me, and I stopped, offended. There was no way he shushed Charlotte like that, she always kept a strict eye on him. What made him think he could do it to me? I’d have to give a little lecture once I found my tongue.

Before I could, the mystery man cleared his throat pointedly.

“You’re probably wondering why I’ve gathered you here today.” I knew what tone of voice meant; forced mystery, phony accent? Street performer. Peter was entranced. “I picked this corner, at this time,” A bus stop at seven in the morning? “…so I’d have the privilege of showing each of you that there is more to this world,” Sparks came from the sparkler concealed in his palm and I wondered if it burnt him. “Than meets the eye.” The jogger slowed, the guy with the phone looked up. He pointed at each of us, meeting eyes with the shivering girl before continuing, “The threads of your lives have met, and I plan on making it a worthwhile occasion.” I glanced down at Peter, then slipped out my phone to text my John Duncan, a retired NYC cop who lived in our neighborhood, to see if he knew Charlotte’s number. He would. “No day will ever be the same!” Alright, was man-bun only going to speak in horoscopes or was he going to make this unbearable wait entertaining?

Already he was losing the jogger, so he did a card trick, flipping an ace out of sight, getting some half-hearted applause. My eyebrows rose when he bent his arm a way that the human body was definitely not designed to bend. He pulled a scarf from his coat, wrapped it tightly round his neck, then jerked it forward. It seemingly passed right through his neck.

“Can I ask for a volunteer?” Sizing each of us up, his eyes hesitated on pretty ponytail.

“Can I? I wanna!” I jumped, looking beside me to see the little boy standing on his tip-toes, stretching his chubby hand way above his head, as if a couple of inches higher would increase his chances of getting picked, despite him being the only contender. “Pick me!” He now bounced on the balls of his feet like he had to go pee.