Chapter Two - A Truckload of Questions

She closed the door behind them. The foyer that they entered was relatively large for a building of this size; it seemed to almost take up the whole first floor. There were four doors along the right wall, hardwood floors, high ceilings, and a short hallway almost directly in front of them that led out the back of the building. An older man, with an electrical socket hairdo of long white hair coming down the stairs to their left, from the second floor, gasped when he saw them. The man’s face grew a rather wide-eyed expression, and he quickened his pace down the remaining steps, moving with such grace that he almost appeared to float. He seemed excited.

“My old friend!” he said warmly, with apparent relief, as he looked the messenger over.

With a lingering eye contact that seemed to speak on its own, he started talking before turning to address the girl: “How’s he coping?”

“He’s doing remarkably well under the circumstances” she replied, with a hint of what seemed like pride. “He’s in shock, and hasn’t been able to say much, though.” She continued, through her magical smile.

He felt like a deer caught in headlights. She still had his hand in hers, and he was glad, as it was the only shred of comfort that he had right now. Her hand was too small to quite fit properly in his, but proper is how it felt in this moment. From her grip seemed to flow comforting, replenishing warmth.

He struggled for the words; “..whas?!…” he stammered. “What’s going…?!” The words he found were starting to bring frustration and anger. “Where the FFFfff…!!!” He remembered he was in front of an eight year old girl.

She looked at him and giggled again.

“What…?!! Where am…?? Who…!” A truckload of questions all fought each other to get out of his mouth at the same time. The one that won the battle barely escaped, and tripped, and fell on the way out: “Why the hell did I get up this morning?!!” It seemed to him to be the only one he could wrap his head around. This is what a breakdown must feel like, he thought. He was getting a headache.

“Oh yes!! Yes, quite splendid indeed! You ARE doing remarkable!” the older man almost sang with excitement. Without looking away, he asked the girl “does he remember anything yet?”

“I don’t think so. He said he doesn’t remember getting here”

“No? Yes, well that will come soon enough, I suppose.” His excitement faded only slightly. “Right now I don’t think we should push him any more than we need to. He’s in a very fragile state, and we could still loose him, although, he does appear to be holding up very well. Spectacular!” The excitement had regenerated itself. To the messenger, he spoke with a soft, compassionate familiarity, “My old friend, it is good to see you. It has been a long time!”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t believe I know you from a god damn hole in the ground!!” His frustration had popped. “Would someone fill me in on what the hell you guys are talking about! What have you guys done to me?” His blood was boiling. “Where the fuck am I? And who the fuck are you guys?” The heat from his anger started vaporizing the words in his mind, as he once again became speechless. While forming numerous separate silent sounds, and rapidly opening and closing mouth, he gestured by shaking his open right hand stiffly in front of himself a couple of times. Then put it back down, restlessly grabbed his forehead with it, rubbed that a few times, then put it aggressively back by his side again, and blinked. He squinted at the other two, each in turn, back and forth repeatedly, then blinked again, and shut down. He found himself daydreaming about his childhood. Searching his memory for nothing he could think of.

The old man clapped his hands together, wrapped his fingers around each other, and spoke with apparent glee “Wonderful! Simply stupendous! Your anger is a good sign! You’re coming along nicely! Yes, I do believe we chose very well indeed!” The man’s sky blue eyes beamed at both of them as he stood facing them.

With a face lit up like a welcome sign he looked the messenger in the eye, took a deep breath, and paused as if to highlight the backside of this particular moment. Then, like he was restarting time itself, the man stepped towards him, peacefully raised his left hand and patted him on the shoulder. “Come” he said with a soft, compassionate friendliness as his warm hand directed the messenger’s balance back towards the stairs. “There must be much you wish to discuss.”

The man looked around the messenger at the little girl, and asked her if she would possibly find his pipe, and some food, and meet them on the roof. Oh, and something to drink too, if she could manage.

She said that she could indeed do just that, filled herself with one last look at the messenger, and in an explosion of energy took off out the back door of the apartment building.

The messenger’s heart felt like an egg dropped off the top of Calgary’s tallest skyscraper. Falling. Falling. Seeing the ground rushing up to greet it in a most unfriendly fashion. The messy greeting happened the moment the door closed behind her.

The old man led him patiently up the stairs as his eyes lingered longingly down on the door.