Todd Wright Here

A New Review for The Self-Improvement Book Club Murder on Amazon

2012-01-13T16:32:00.000-08:00

Shopper writes:

From the first page of The Self-Improvement Book Club Murder I was hooked. I took the book on vacation to have something to read while I was gone but I couldn't put it down and finished it before reaching Greensboro, NC. Mr. Wright takes the theories behind self help books and brings them all together to develop an excellent murder mystery. I enjoyed the evolvement of the characters, how the detectives develop a tie between the individual books and the murder. Wright's knowledge of the self help books he uses as a basis for the novel is extremely detailed and intriguing. I find myself compelled to pick up a self help book. A must ready for anyone who has doubt of how to live in the here and now or if you just want to enjoy a good book.

Thanks, Shopper!

Me at the Kentucky Book Fair Nov 2011

2011-11-13T17:06:00.001-08:00

This was the scene at the writers' reception, held Friday night, 11/11/11, at the Grand Theater in downtown Frankfort. From the reception to the event itself, the Kentucky Book Fair is a well-run affair. Congratulations to Connie Crowe and her team!

Authors Cynthia Ellingsen (and her husband Ryan), L.E. Modesitt, Jr. (and vest) and I chatting at the reception. This will no doubt become one of those iconic photos, like one of Hemingway, Fitzgerald and Joyce chatting in a Paris cafe in the 1920s.

Another future iconic photo, this one of authors Cathy Sheets, Melissa Newman and I poised to greet one our youngest fans at the fair on Saturday. We really bonded that day, like three soldiers in a foxhole.

Pharmaceutical Company Produces Miracle Cure

2011-09-13T08:27:00.000-07:00

The FDA is scheduled today to issue final approval for a new drug widely touted as a miracle cure, quite literally for everything--from anxiety and depression to heart disease and all forms of cancer. Xanoxidoo will be available to the public as soon as the ruling is issued.

Though the pill received "fast track" consideration by the agency, it has been under development for more than 12 years by the merger its highly successful early testing spawned between pharmaceutical giants Eli Silly and Smerck.

According to its proposed warning label, Xanoxidoo has but one side effect: it puts patients into a total coma. Consequently, the first dose may be administered orally, while all subsequent doses must be given by IV.

When asked about the seeming seriousness of the lone side effect, Peter Head, spokesperson for Silly-Smirk said, "A cure's a cure," adding that the company's decade-long study indicates that patients who took the drug lived an average of 9.2 years longer than the control group, and that people in comas cost taxpayers on average 11% less than those same patients would have cost if treated under standard practice.

"That's almost a decade in longevity at a lower cost," Head concluded. "We think we've knocked this one out of the park."

You might also like: Medicare pays for $93,000 Drug That Extends life 4 Months?

One More Review of The Self-Improvement Book Club Murder

2011-08-28T20:09:00.000-07:00

My request to you is this: If you've read The Self-Improvement Book Club Murder, please go to its page on Amazon and write a review. If you haven't read it, please get a copy and do so as soon as possible! Everybody's talking, you don't want to be left out!

Scott gave it 5 stars and wrote:

The Self-Improvement Book Club Murder was a recommendation to me from a colleague, and I ended up reading and enjoying it in just three sittings. The personalities that were developed really spoke to me -- they became as famailar as friends by the end of the read. Even the injected references to well-known and respected volumes in the "self-help" genre -- Covey, Hill, Nirenberg, Persig and others -- provided me with additional insights that I had never considered before. What a rare combination -- a fictional work that provided a 'value-added' quantity for everyday events through the teachings of the self-help masters. And, as with any respectable mystery novel....I certainly did NOT see the ending coming....

Thanks, Scott!

New Reviews for the Self-Improvement Book Club Murder

2011-08-20T10:18:00.000-07:00

If you've read The Self-Improvement Book Club Murder, please go to its page on Amazon and write a review. If you haven't read it, please get a copy and do so as soon as possible! Everybody's talking, you don't want to be left out! Keith gave it 5 stars and wrote:

"The Bible is the first self-help book" was my favorite idea that came from this well written concise, little nugget of a book. Getting all of the ideas from all of the most popular self-help books rolled into one exciting murder mystery was a great idea and Mr. Wright has an uncanny way of explaining all of the different concepts that I have had trouble understanding. I highly recommend that everyone read this book to enjoy a happier, more satisfied life. A little bit of sugar helps the medicine go down.

Angie gave it 5 stars and wrote:

I love a good "who done it" and have found great solace in many of the writings highlighted in The Self-Improvement Book Club Murder. Wright's thoughtful book brings both genres together in an enlightening and entertaining page turner. I was happily intrigued by the unique character development and thought provoking exerpts which lead me to consider the possibility that, we are what we read. 5 Stars and I can't wait for the next one!

Thanks Keith and Angie!

New Review from Author Neil Chethik

2011-05-19T13:49:00.000-07:00

My friend, Neil Chethik, author of Fatherloss: How Sons of All Ages Come to Terms with the Deaths of Their Dads and Writer in Residence at the Lexington Carnegie Center for Literacy and Learning read The Self-Improvement Book Club Murder over the weekend and submitted the following 5-star review to Amazon:

"I love self-improvement books (so much that I wrote one called FatherLoss), so I was particularly fascinated by Wright's descriptions and selections of the most important self-improvement books. Wright's book is fun, too, with a moody yet brilliant detective who puts together a complex trail of clues to figure out the murderer in his book club. A delightful book!"

I met Neil a couple of weeks ago at Mayfest arts festival, where he was kind enough to buy one of my books.

Thanks, Neil!

First Three Chapters of The Self-Improvement Book Club Murder by Todd Wright

2011-04-18T13:26:00.000-07:00

Get hooked! Then order The Self-Improvement Book Club Murder from Amazon. It's also available through any bookstore.

(Click on each page to enlarge.)

Hooked yet? Leave a comment letting me know. And order The Self-Improvement Book Club Murder today on Amazon or though you local bookstore.

Interview with Readers of The Self-Improvement Book Club Murder

2011-03-11T20:57:00.000-08:00

I interviewed a couple of local readers about my book, The Self-Improvement Book Club Murder. See what they had to say:

The Reviews Keep Coming on Amazon!

2011-03-11T19:37:00.000-08:00

Jeana of Lexington writes:

"Beautifully spun web of "self-improvement" book synopses, theology, mystery and murder. A creative, well-written and engaging concept. Mr. Wright's story telling ability makes it unnecessary to have read each of the "self-improvement" books....but he leaves the reader with a desire to add each to their reading list. A+++"

Thanks, Jeana!

Another Review on Amazon!

2011-03-10T15:29:00.000-08:00

From Delia C. of Lexington, Kentucky:

I loved the book...couldn't put it down! Wright's description of a 'self-improvement book thinly disguised as a murder mystery' is totally spot-on! The characters were perfect vehicles for presenting the foremost points in each self-improvement book for the reader to agree with or argue (as the characters did so well with one another), from either a philosophical, a religious, or merely a personal standpoint. This book not only makes me curious to read more of Wright's future publications, but also makes me want to completely read each of the 'self-improvement' books so cleverly outlined in this novel as well. It actually IS an easy, and interesting read, and in turn may make the novels mentioned in it more interesting and easy to read for me in the future. Enjoy!

Thanks, Delia!

Reviews are coming in on Amazon!

2011-03-10T15:24:00.000-08:00

From Darla O. of Baton Rouge, LA:

Do you enjoy reading? Do you enjoy a murder mystery? Do you enjoy knowing what makes different people tick? Would you enjoy an intelligent read that is 100% non-offensive in language or actions? Do you struggle with finding new, fresh reading material that is worth spending your time reading? Do you want to read a book that is truly a joy to read? If you answered yes to any of those questions the good news is this is the perfect book for you! It is a page turner and you will wrongly guess time and time again who is the guilty party. In our hectic, fast paced world, time is at a premium ... But you will be glad you took the time to read this book. It is hard to believe this is a debut novel ... There are many veteran writers who will never produce a product near this captivating. There are certain authors whom I will buy simply because it is their work ... John Grisham, James Patterson, Patricia Cornwell, Maggie Lamond Simone and now I gladly add Todd Wright to that list. Thank you Mr. Wright for such an immensely enjoyable read!

Thanks, Darla!

Book Club Murder Now Available at Joseph-Beth Booksellers

2011-03-10T15:17:00.000-08:00

Joseph Beth Booksellers in Lexington, Kentucky, is now carrying The Self-Improvement Book Club Murder.

It's also available for order from any book store across the country through Ingram Book Wholesalers. I would be grateful if you would ask your local shop to carry it. That would give you an opportunity to take a look at it before you buy.

My Conversation with a University of Kentucky Writing Class Part 3

2011-03-06T19:16:00.000-08:00

This is part 3 of my conversation with my friend Rhonda Reeves' University of Kentucky writing class.

My Conversation with a University of Kentucky Writing Class Part 2

2011-03-02T22:18:00.000-08:00

This is part 2 of my conversation with my friend Rhonda Reeves' University of Kentucky writing class.

My Conversation with a University of Kentucky Writing Class Part 1

2011-03-01T19:55:00.000-08:00

This is part 1 of my conversation with my friend Rhonda Reeves' University of Kentucky writing class.

The Self-Improvement Book Club Murder Available Now!

2011-02-27T10:00:00.000-08:00

Update 2/27/11 - Amazon has put The Self-Improvement Book Club Murder on sale for $9.35 ($8.88 for Kindle). Don't know how long this will last. Thanks, Amazon!

Update 2/23/11 - The Facebook launch is official:

E-Launch of The Self-Improvement Book Club Murder

It's official! My book, The Self-Improvement Book Club Murder, is available in both Kindle and paperback on Amazon. Just waiting on Amazon to correct the book description for the paperback before sending out an electronic launch FB event tomorrow.

I'd be honored if you'd buy my book.

Launch Date for Self-Improvement Book Club Murder

2011-02-08T08:14:00.000-08:00

UPDATE: Due to user error (me being the user) the launch date for for The Self-Improvement Book Club Murder has been moved back to the 23rd of February. It will be worth the wait!

* * *

The launch date for The Self-Improvement Book Club Murder will be 16 February. That's the date I anticipate that the softcover version will be available on Amazon. It's already available in Kindle e-book format.

I must say that early "test market" results are very positive. Thanks, everyone, for your interest and encouragement!

The Self-Improvement Book Club Murder

2011-01-22T22:15:00.000-08:00

A Mystery by Todd Wright.

Praise for The Self-Improvement Book Club Murder from Tom Butler-Bowdon, Author of 50 Self-Help Classics, 50 Psychology Classics (www.Butler-Bowdon.com):

"Major ideas in self-development and spirituality wrapped in a murder mystery? This weird combination actually works, providing a perfect entree to the field in an entertaining way. Wright has thought deeply about his material and it shows. This book gives self-development a new dimension."

Description

John Bookman is the greatest detective the city of Plimpton has ever known. When socialite Sue Ellen Pinkus is murdered, she uses her dying breath to implicate a self-improvement book club in the crime. Bookman and his partner, Alec Berg, pay a visit to the club. Fresh off a divorce, Detective Berg has a hunch that the solution to the case lies in the content of the various books championed by the eccentric club members. As the interviews progress, Bookman begins to believe that his partner just might be right.

The Self-Improvement Book Club Murder bundles in one slim volume some of the best ideas from some of the greatest minds of our day. A New Earth; The Power of Now; Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance; The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People; The Secret; How to Win Friends and Influence People; Rich Dad, Poor Dad; Think and Grow Rich; Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus and others are explained and synthesized, enticing readers to explore these life-changing books for themselves.

The Self-Improvement Book Club Murder is a must-read for anyone even remotely interested in personal development, particularly as it relates to spirituality, religion and philosophy.

It's also a darn good potboiler.

Stories and Articles about Writing

2010-04-19T00:01:00.000-07:00

What's New: The Platonist and the Aristotelian

iStories The iStory is a 150-word story format developed by Narrative Magazine specifically for iPhones

The Platonist and the Aristotelian

Is it all just a dream?

About a guy in a bar

About prayer

About knowing

About government intervention

Meta-iStory

About constraints of the format

A Brief History of the Modern World

My philosophy in 150 words or less

Blogging

About voice

Articles about Writing

Vonnegut's 8 Rules of Writing

A great writer with 8 pity rules

A Book Every Writer Should Own

If you've never heard of David Lodge, it's a pity. His text on the craft of writing should be on your shelf

John Gardner and Mannered Prose
A great post on writing from Bill Vallicella (link is to his blog Maverick Philosopher; if you don't know it, you should)
See also S/CREED for a post on Gardner's lit crit

HTML Code Improves Your Writing

Advice from a Kentucky author

10 Rules for Writers

(link is to a beautiful blog Jackets Off)

Author Barry Hannah dies at 67 in Mississippi

(link is to Yahoo! News)

Publishing: The Revolutionary Future

"This future is a predictable inference from digitization in its current stage of development . . . its details widely discussed in the blogosphere by partisans of various outcomes, including the utopian fantasy that in the digital future content will be free of charge and authors will not have to eat." (link is to New York Review of Books)

Larry Brooks' Best Writing Advice. Ever.

Thriller author Larry Brooks gives us his best shot at basic writing advice

Then. Now. In BookLand.

A typically charming post by my friend Rhonda Reeves on putting together her second book (link is to her blog Reality Truck)

Write, Don't Tell

Writing advice from a country lawyer

Publishing in the Digital Age

A short audio clip of author Rick Bass talking about publishing a serial novel online (link is to narrativemagazine.com)

Publisher Simon & Schuster Says Authors Should Blog and Social Network

Jam-packed with info on blogging and social networking for writers (link is to The Creative Penn by Joanna Penn)

The Platonist and the Aristotelian

2010-04-18T15:28:00.000-07:00

by Todd Wright

"What's that?"

Randy skwunched his newspaper to look at his watch. "That's my alarm clock. There, that gives me nine minutes."

"I know this guy, Easy Ed. He don't need no awake time at all hardly."

"Some people are lucky. Me, I gotta have my sixteen hours. What are you doing?"

"Do you realize this doughnut's been levitating over this breakroom table ever since I can remember?"

"What do you want to go around measuring all these . . . phenomena for? Don't you realize this is a dream?"

"If that's so, then why is everything so consistent?"

"It's not. You're just conditioned to think it is. You discard all that's inconsistent. Everybody knows that."

"All right, then why is it collective?"

"It's a complex dream, stupid. We're all in it. Together."

"There's that noise again."

"That's it, I'm bushed. I've had enough of you chumps for one night."

Blogging

2010-03-28T12:53:00.000-07:00

by Todd Wright

Excuse me, folks, phone's ringing.

"What is it? I'm blogging."

"That's what I wanted to talk about, Mr. Hawthorn. Name's Carmichael, Sandusky Post. I've seen your work. Want you to take over my online operation."

"I'll think about it."

"Pays well."

"Can I keep my blog?"

"Don't see why not."

"I'll do it."

"Hawthorn, a word."

"What is it, Mr. Carmichael?"

"I'm afraid it's about your blog. Does it have to be so . . . incendiary?"

"My blog is my voice. That's not something I can change."

"Yes . . . yes . . . "

"Mr. Hawthorn, is it?"

"Who are you?"

"I'm Bartlett, your new boss. Now about that blog."

"Mr. Carmichael said--"

"Mr. Carmichael was fired because of that blog and I'm not going to let that happen to me. So what's it going to be, son?"

Well, folks, I got canned again.

Bridging the Gap - An Original Story

2010-03-27T15:19:00.000-07:00

by Todd Wright

"Counting cards?"

"Nope."

Louis watched for a moment. The man took a hit on a seventeen with the dealer showing a five of diamonds.

"He's definitely not counting cards," Louis said.

"Nope."

The player got a two of clubs, just enough to win.

"Do you recognize him?"

"Nope."

"What about the computer?"

"Nope."

Louis studied the video feed. He stood behind the man whose job it was to monitor the monitors. This man called him over when the player at the blackjack table started winning a little too consistently. Louis wore a suit, the man whose job it was to monitor the monitors did not. He was older than Louis, fatter, whiter.

"I think we might have one," Louis said. "I'm going down to the floor."

Louis stood behind the action facing the dealer. His presence there made her nervous and Louis did nothing to dispel her fears. There appeared to be nothing special about the man with the large pile of chips in front of him. Thinning hair. Mid-forties. Clothes like he'd stopped into the casino on his way to the grocery or the gas station.

Louis moved decisively around the table and took the shoe from the dealer. When a couple of the players complained, Louis looked at the man who had taken a small heap of the casino's money and said with a smile, "Sorry, folks."

The pit boss came over and helped the dealer put another shoe into service as quickly as possible.

Louis took the shoe to a room near the cash cages, opened it and spread its contents face up on the table. Analyzing, searching. Too many twos. He found them. He had them. This was too easy.

Louis took out his cell phone and pressed a button. "We have one," he said. "Let management know, and make the necessary arrangements."

He went back out to the blackjack table and tapped the man on the shoulder. "Sir, could I have a word with you?"

"Have I done something wrong?" the man asked.

"If you would just come with me, please," Louis said.

"What about my chips?"

"Don't worry about those, sir," Louis said, gesturing to the pit boss. "I'll have someone collect them for you."

"All right," the man said uneasily.

Louis led the man out into the mall and into the nearest restaurant. The maitre d' came over and himself put them into a secluded booth.

"If I did something wrong," the man began.

"No, no, Mr...." Louis said, taking the menu offered by the girl.

"Jerry Culkin."

"Culkin," Louis repeated. "Any relation?"

"Macaulay?" The question put him at ease and he smiled for the first time. "No, not that I know of."

"Are you hungry, Mr. Culkin? If I may say so, you look like you haven't been eating well. Or sleeping."

Looking at his menu, Jerry Caulkin said, "Well, I..." He caught himself relaxing. "Do you mind telling me what this is all about? I know I was winning a lot of money, but--"

"In due time," Louis said, holding up his hand. "For now, let's just eat a good meal and have a little chat."

Louis meant to calm the man, but his words and his gentle tone were not having that effect. They almost never did.

"Have whatever you like," he said. "It's on the house."

Jerry looked at him long and hard, adjusting his glasses, before looking in earnest at the menu.

Louis ordered chicken, and when it came time for Jerry to order, he said, "I'll have the same."

"Everything the same?" the waitress asked.

"Yes," Jerry said.

"Are you sure?" Louis said. "Sure you don't want a steak? Maybe the prime rib?" When Jerry tipped his head a little, Louis told the waitress to bring him prime rib, medium, with redskin potatoes and asparagus. "Do you like asparagus?" Jerry nodded. "A glass of pinot for him and a Cab for me."

When the waitress was gone, Louis said, "So how are things going?"

"Actually, I have to say that things are going well." Jerry was a little looser now. "Under the circumstances."

"Tell me what you mean by that," Louis said.

"All right. Well. I just won some money at the blackjack table. But I don't mean that. It hardly seems to matter, to tell you the truth. And for some reason you're being very nice to me. I don't mean that either."

Just then a young man brought a small tray of chips to the table, reduced to their highest possible denominations.

"Oh, thank you very much," Jerry said. The young man handed a couple of credit cards to Louis before he left. Louis put them in his jacket pocket.

And then came the glasses of wine. Louis raised his and said cheers. They clinked their glasses.

"I have to tell you," Jerry said. "Nothing quite like this has ever happened to me."

"So what brought you to the casino tonight?"

"It's a long story," Jerry said. But Louis had seen it before. Jerry was starting to open up and he wouldn't be able to stop it now. "My wife left me several months ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Louis said.

"No, it was my own fault," Jerry said. "I wasn't the kind of husband I should have been."

"Any kids?"

"One daughter."

"Ouch."

"Yeah. She's taking it pretty hard too. But there's nothing that can be done. Gena's moved on. There's someone else now."

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay." Jerry took a sip of water. "And," he drew out the word with a cathartic breath, "all that was going on when I lost my job."

"That's happening to a lot of people these days."

"Yes, it was because of the downturn, but that didn't make it feel any better."

"No."

"So I was at the lowest point in my life. I talked to my doctor, he gave me some pills and told me to go talk to a psychiatrist, which I did. And it was on the way to one of these appointments that the strangest thing happened. It was like I was wearing this old, matted sweater, heavy with dirt. And it was like it had a seam up the front and back and the seam just split and that old sweater fell away. That's the only way I can describe it. I was light after that and calm. Peaceful."

"Wow."

"Yeah. All of a sudden I was glad that I didn't have a job because I wanted time to feel like I was feeling, you know? It was something I hadn't felt since I was a kid, but I had forgotten I'd ever felt that way, if that makes sense."

"Yes, it does," Louis said.

"To make a long story short, I spent a pretty good amount of time after that just hanging around the city--I live in L.A.--doing nothing but feeling good. Feeling better anyway. It was the best time of my life, really. Then the next thing I knew, it seemed like, I looked up and the divorce was final, my credit cards were maxed out, unemployment insurance ran out and I had three hundred dollars to my name."

"Wow," Louis said.

"Tell me about it," Jerry said.

Just then the salads came. Jerry used his knife and fork to cut his into sections.

"So I had three hundred dollars in the bank and it sort of hit me all at once, you know? And I started to feel bad again. So I got in my car and just drove around without really any place in mind. After a while, I found myself on I-15 heading north toward Barstow. Are you familiar with the L.A. area?"

"Yes," Louis said.

"Ok, so you know where I'm talking about. I found myself heading north toward Barstow and from somewhere deep inside I started calculating how much it would cost in gas to get to Las Vegas, and how much I would have left to gamble with. And the more I pondered that thought--that inspiration, really--the better I felt. Not so much because I thought I was going to win, but more because I wanted to have absolutely nothing left. I wanted to get rid of everything once and for all. I know that sounds crazy--"

"Well," Louis said in sympathetic agreement.

"--but that's how I felt."

"So, you pulled up in front of the casino and headed for the blackjack tables."

"That's the interesting thing. When I was driving, I figured I would head straight for the roulette wheel and put it all on a number and be done with it that way, quick. But then I sort of started to think a little more about it and I decided I would put it on either red or black. At that point, I turned off the radio and pondered red or black, red or black, red or black. This went on for a couple of hours. I just started feeling better and better."

"But?"

"Well, when I got inside I kind of began to calculate the odds, I guess, and I figured I better try blackjack since I'd played that before. But still not because I was thinking I would win or because I was hoping to win, but more because I wanted to keep this feeling alive. I kind of wanted to make a ritual out of it."

"But then you started winning."

"That's right."

Louis knew not to press, so they talked small for a few minutes until the main course arrived. Jerry was going to need a level of trust to accept what Louis had to tell him.

"How is it?" he asked.

"Fantastic," Jerry said, his mouth full of prime rib. When he had swallowed, he said, "I usually try to watch what I eat, you know, low fat, that sort of thing. But under the circumstances..."

"What if I told you, Mr. Culkin, that you don't need to worry about that sort of thing ever again?"

Jerry paused his fork in front of his open mouth.

"Come again?"

"What if I told you that the world isn't as you think it is?"

Jerry smiled and continued eating. "I'm sorry, I thought you meant something else. You scared me for a minute."

"I'm serious, Mr. Culkin. This is very serious business. You--that is, people like you--are the very reason these casinos exist. You are our reason for being."

Jerry put down his fork and his knife, wiped his mouth, put his napkin on the table. "All right, what's this all about? Who are you?"

"Something significant has happened to you," Louis said. "And it's my role to try and explain it to you as best I can. You no longer need to worry about what you eat or money or success. You no longer need to worry about anything at all."

"Really?"

"And as often as you come to this or any other casino," Louis said, "you will win."

"I'll win, huh? And why is that?"

"I took the shoe from your table and analyzed it's contents," Louis said. "I found that the deck had too many twos in it. Which was just the card you needed to win your biggest take. Do you remember that hand, Mr. Culkin?"

"Now wait a minute," Jerry said. "I had nothing to do with the cards in that shoe. Like I told you, I was more surprised than anybody to win all this money. I'd given it up. I didn't want anything anymore." He held up the tray of chips. "This only complicates things for me."

"That's just the point," Louis said. "I can't tell you how it happens, but I've seen this many times before. Somehow you've managed to bridge the gap."

"Bridge the gap? What does that mean?"

"That's the phrase we use in the business," Louis said. "I'm not really sure where it comes from or even what it means. But it's happened to you."

Jerry didn't say anything for a minute, pondering.

"So you're not accusing me of wrongdoing."

"Not in anyway, Mr. Culkin. Far from it."

Jerry went back to eating and so did Louis. After some time, Jerry said, "You know, I kind of get what you're saying, but..."

"Don't try to understand it with your mind," Louis said. "It's deeper than that."

"So you're saying that I'll win as often as I play?"

"With one caveat," Louis said. "You will win so long as you keep one principle in mind. That you only win so much as you need. When someone is in your position, accumulation of wealth is completely unnecessary. So winning more than you need would simply be a form of greed, and this is not compatible with one who has bridged the gap."

"Is this something that's happened to you?" Jerry asked. "I mean personally?"

Louis smiled. "I'm a simple man, Mr. Culkin. "When I'm hungry, I eat. When I'm tired, I sleep. But it's impossible for those who have not bridged the gap to understand these things, let alone explain them."

"So in that case," Jerry said. "Why don't you go to the blackjack table or the roulette wheel or the slot machines and win all you need? Why don't you do what you're advising me to do? This doesn't add up."

"What kind of a life would that be?" Louis said.

"What do you mean, what kind of a life would that be? A pretty good one, I would imagine."

"But what would your workday consist of?" Louis asked. "You would get up in the morning, come down to the casino, sit down at the table. Play a few simple games of chance. After a few hours you would win money for the day. You would pay the rent with it, buy gasoline. Go out and eat, do whatever you wanted to do with it, and then you'd go home, watch TV and get ready for the next day. That would be your life."

"I guess, but..."

"These casinos will always be here for you," Louis said. "But in a way, they're kind of like cheating at life."

"Cheating?" Jerry said. "Why is that?"

"Because you don't need them."

"I don't need them, huh?"

"No. You don't."

"Maybe you just sort of glossed over the part where I said my credit cards are maxed out and I had three hundred dollars to my name," Jerry said. "Life wasn't working out too well for me before I came here."

"But you never missed a meal, did you?"

"Well, no."

"And you always had a place to live?"

"Yes."

"And a car to drive?"

"Yes."

"And you said yourself you were trying to get to absolute zero. You've never been there in your life and you wanted to know what it felt like. Isn't that what you said?"

"Yes, but--"

"But you never made it." With a smile, Louis added, "So you've been a complete failure at complete failure, basically all of your life. Isn't that true, Mr. Culkin?"

And there was the dawning. Louis looked down at Jerry's arm. There was the goose flesh.

"This casino is not your source," he said. "Ours is not to waste time and energy with senseless games of chance, but rather to be, and to do that which arises in us to do. There is no more than this."

"Now, wait a minute," Jerry said. "This all sounds great, but there are plenty of people who starve to death in this world, people that are homeless. What about them?"

Louis smiled. "There is no death, Mr. Culkin."

"No death?"

"And that's simply not your reality. It need not be theirs. All the more reason to waste little time in the casino."

When Jerry had neither answer nor follow-on question, Louis said, "There was a time when you sought answers, true?"

"Yes," Jerry agreed.

"Convince others to seek."

Louis slid out from the booth and stood beside the table. There was so much he wanted to impart, but he was well aware that Jerry could only absorb so much.

"This is a gift card for any of the shops in this complex. It's unlimited. If there's anything you need that you can't find here, ask the concierge and he'll get it for you." Louis handed him the card and then presented a second card. "And this is a key to one of our best suites. Use it as long as you need."

Jerry took the cards and looked at them in his hands. "I don't know what to say."

He looked up.

"Did I die back there on the road? Did I fall asleep at the wheel?"

Louis smiled.

"Is this heaven?"

"In a way, yes," Louis said. "Enjoy your stay, Mr. Culkin. And when you've had enough, go back into the world."

"I will," Jerry said. "I will."

The Dialogue

2010-03-27T15:14:00.000-07:00

by Todd Wright

"Socrates," Phaedus said. "Where you headed, dog?"

"I likes to get outside the city every once in a while," Socrates responded. "Cross the bridge into Kentucky. I've been sitting down home all morning. I likes to get out in nature and see what it has to tell me. Whatchu up to, dog?"

"I close up shop most days for lunch," Phaedrus said. "Don't go nowhere in particular. Mind if I join you?"

"Let's walk by the river," Socrates said. "We'll sit on a bench in the park."

"That do sound lovely," Phaedrus said. "I didn't wear my good walking shoes today and you don't have any good shoes a' tall. Bes' to take a seat somewhere. Supposed to be warm this afternoon. Feel good up under the trees."

"Do you see that tall tree over dere?"

"I see it."

"It's shady and breezy up in there," Socrates said. "Got a nice bench in a grassy spot. You could have a picnic there if you wanted to."

"That's what I'm talkin' 'bout," Phaedrus said.

"Me too," Socrates said, his hand to his belly.

On a hill nearby a monument of three crosses had been erected. Phaedrus crossed himself and then watched to see if Socrates would also, which he did presently.

"Do you believe in the resurrection, Socrates?"

"It don't matter if I believe or don't believe because it don't matter if it's true or not true. This is the story, see what I'm sayin'? It's da myf. It don't mean nothing to the mind. It's there to get people to seek. And if you seek, you gonna find. You understand what I'm tellin' you, dog?"

"No, not really," Phaedrus said.

"Good," Socrates said. "Understandin' wicho mind wouldn't do you any good no how."

"Ain't this the tree you was talkin' bout?"

"This is it," Socrates said. "Goodness me, a good place to rest your head, full of the sounds and smells of summer. Here is this beautiful way up walnut tree, and the honeysuckle high on the vine. Nothin' ever did smell so sweet. And the mighty, brown Ohio brings the temp-a-ture down jus' enough. Oh, but dat's a nice breeze, doh. And listen to that sound in the air: all the bugs a hummin' and the birds a chirpin'. But you know the bes' thing about it?"

"What's that, dog?"

"This here Kentucky bluegrass. It's like a pillow under yo' head. Think I'll take off my jacket, loosen my tie and lay myself down a spell."

"You do pick the bes' spots, Socrates."

"Book learning and city life can teach you only so much, dog. I get out here as often as I can to hear what the universe has to tell me."

"To begin the inquiry," Socrates said, "let's consider whether a person's job is his source of income. Or on the other hand, does it flow directly from the largesse of the gods?"

"Do your thing, Socrates."

"We all know certain people who do nothing while at work and yet they get paid the full amount of they wages."

"Yes, I have known many people like that in my life."

"We have also known people who are underpaid given the amount of work that they accomplish."

"That's true too," Phaedrus agreed. "I'm one of those people. But since I pay myself, I shouldn't really complain."

"We also are aware of situations in which work is accomplished and yet no wages are ever paid, aren't we?"

"Now, hold on a minute, Socrates. I don't know about anything like that."

"Let me give you an example then. Let's take for instance the case of bankruptcy. Let's say the company runs out of money before the wages for the previous week have been paid. What happens then?"

"I never thought about that," Phaedrus said. "I don't know what happens. You da lawyer, Socrates. You tell me."

"I'll tell you what happens," Socrates said. "The employees become the creditors of the defunct company, that's what happens. The court sells everything the company owns and from that pile of money the employees get paid they wages. But lotsa times companies got nothing to sell, see. The employees get nothing."

"That's messed up, dog."

"True," Socrates agreed. "That's messed up. But it goes to show you that money people receive bears no relation whatsoever to the work they perform."

Phaedrus thought for a moment. "Why do they get paid, then?"

"Simply because the gods will it," Socrates said, turning out his hand.

"So you're telling me that all those people with those nasty jobs out there can wave bye-bye to they bosses, go home and just sit back on easy street and collect they paycheck?"

"Now, I didn't say that, now," Socrates said. "I was specifically referring to those monies that have changed hands from one person to another in the past, up to and including this present moment. What happens in the future is according to what the gods will."

"Spoken like a true lawyer," Phaedrus said. "I see what you're doing, Socrates."

"What am I doing?"

"You're trying to twist things all around so you can win your argument without actually saying anything at all. That's what you doing."

Socrates, leaning up on an elbow, hung his head and laughed.

"I'm not falling for your lawyer tricks," Phaedrus said. "Belie'e dat."

"I don't expect to be able to slip one pas' you, homes," Socrates said. "Withhold judgment till the end, doh, at which point I'll recommend a experiment that will prove I'm telling you da troof."

"A' 'ight," Phaedrus said. "Go on wicho story."

"So going forward," Socrates said, resuming his argument, "wages will be paid to people in all cases in which the gods will that they be paid, regardless of work that is accomplished or not accomplished as the case may be, as has been proven."

"If that's so," Phaedrus countered, "then why do so many people work in the jobs they do? Won't nobody do most of the jobs I know about, less they have to fo' da money."

"My man," said Socrates, "this is a question that leaves even the gods theyselves scratching they heads."

"You mean to tell me the gods don't even know? They the gods. They supposed to know. That's they job."

Socrates shrugged. "I don't know. But you have phrased the question wisely, homes, because lotsa other people are engaged in activity which they thoroughly enjoy, and would continue to do so even if they were not paid, which we have already proven bears no correlation to work that is done or not done. So without realizing it, they too actually do work without getting paid for it. This is the birthright of all free men and women, to be engaged in activity which they love without regard to pay. This is a sayin' you can take to da bank: free men and women work for free."

"So you're saying e'r'body out there should work for free?"

"I'm not sayin' they should," Socrates said. "I'm saying that all free men and women out there in the world are working for free."

"Here you go again with your lawyerly word tricks. Then what about all those jobs that require doing that no one could ever say with a straight face that he's doin' it because he wants to?"

"This is a wise question, dog," Socrates said. "A wise question indeed. There's only a handful of occupations, which I will detail for you in a moment, which are fit for the participation of free men and women. All the rest should be filled with slave labor."

"Now wait just a minute," Phaedrus said. "Our people were enslaved for centuries. You know how that was. I wouldn't wish that on nobody, dog."

"I'm not talking about the type of slavery that went on right here in Kentucky and all over the souf," Socrates said. "I'm talking 'bout slavery with it's roots, not in some physical characteristic like the color of a person's skin, but rather due to a enslaved condition of the soul. Our prisons are full of people, black, white, brown, yalla, all of 'em worthy of slave-hood and at present they are contributing nothing to society."

"And lots o' those are unjustly there," Phaedrus said.

"True, so true," Socrates agreed. "But that's a discussion for another day. As for the present topic, allow me to finish my train of thought. Now the occupations that free men and women should fill are these: the arts--and anyone who is actively involved in beautifying the world is an artist--the supply of basic human needs--"

"That would be me," Phaedrus interjected. "You cain't get no more basic that fruits and vegetables."

"--and any kind of leadership position in any field--what I would call an overseer. The last must have a calling to see that the slaves are treated humanely. See what I'm sayin'? All the rest of the jobs in the world should be filled with slaves."

Phaedrus thought for a moment. "Now I'm no economist, but I do know that if you put slave labor to work from the prisons or what have you, you gonna put a lot of law abiding citizens out of work, dog. You gonna take those jobs away from law abiding citizens and fill 'em with prisoners."

"How so?" Socrates asked, inviting Phaedrus into his trap.

"Because the law abiding citizen would never be able to compete with a dude who ain't gettin' paid for his work, that's how. E'rbody know that, dog."

"Well, my man, if the law abiding wish to do the work of a slave, that's his choice, but as a free man, he got to do the job for free. As for my theory on wages, the slave is the special case. Slaves gots to be fully paid for they labor."

"Here we go again," Phaedrus said. "More lawyer-isms. Next thing you be tellin' me is they drive nice rides and wear gold chains around they necks. I see where you're goin' with this, dog."

"You is bright," Socrates said with a chuckle. "As a matter of fac', it will be da slaves duty to purchase costly items from the law abiding, like fancy cars and expensive houses. Nice clothes and jew'ry. And all these he gots to pay for out o' his wages."

"While the free man has to do his work for free."

"We already work for free. We've already covered that ground, dog."

"So you saying we pay the slaves and free people work for free?"

"That's right."

"Won't nobody be able to pay they bills after a day or two of your system, Socrates."

"I lu' ya, dog, but this is where you're wrong," Socrates said. "The world functions according to laws that few people understand. You get whate'er you get in this world because of yo' expectation. It's not the paycheck, it's the expectation, see what I'm sayin', dog?"

"No, not really," Phaedrus said.

"A' 'ight," Socrates said. "Let me give you an example using the physical body."

"A' 'ight," Phaedrus agreed.

"Now we all know people who eat whate'er they want to and they don't gain no weight, no way no how. Am I right?"

"Sure, you right," Phaedrus said. "They's lots a people like that."

"And we also know people who are bigger den me, don't we? And some of dose people claim that they don't eat nothin', and they cain't understand why they keep gainin' so much weight. They say things like, "All I e'er eat is such and such. I cain't understand why I'm so big."

Phaedrus laughed at Socrates' pantomime. "Yeah, dog, you right about that too. I got a couple aunties like that, as a matter of fac'."

"And I bet in the back o' yo mind, and maybe in the front, you didn't belie'e what that person said. You thought to yo'self: 'Uh huh. Sure, that's all you ate.'"

"That's true," Phaedrus admitted.

"But you don't really know what that person eats, do you?"

"No, but I have a pretty good idea it must have been more than that person was sayin'."

"But you have no proof of that whatsoever, do you?"

"Experience."

"You're own experience? That you get big when you eat too much food and that when you eat as little as that person claims, you don't get big?"

"Well, no, not really. I'm more of that other type of person. I don't get big no matter what I eat."

"So then, you are a person of great faith."

"I believe in the resurrection, if that's what you mean."

"Spoken like the true Baptist that you are, homes. No, that's not what I mean at all. All your life you been taught in school--and even in the Baptist church--that reality is one way. That when you eat too much you get big. Yet even when your own experience is the opposite of that, you're willing to hold to your belief that when you eat too much you get big, to the point that in your mind, when someone tells you that they experience is similar to your own, namely that the human body does not respond in a consistent fashion to the amount of food a person eats, you're going to hold to your beliefs and not your experience and in yo' mind call that person a liar. Is that not so?"

"But I work out, dog. That's why I don't gain weight like that other person."

"Is it?" Socrates said. "Let me give you another example then. Supposed I told you that you don't have that manly physique of yours because you work out at the gym. Supposed I told you that the weights you lift only give you the expectation that your muscles will be big. And that's what makes them so."

"You're just talking crazy now," Phaedrus said.

"Am I? How do you know? How do you really know? You've been taught your way all your life and this has become your faith. It's what you believe in the absence of proof."

"Maybe," Phaedrus said. "Look, Socrates, this has been fun and everything but I gots to get back to the stand. The fruits and vegetables ain't gonna sell theyselves."

A' 'ight, dog, a' 'ight," Socrates said, standing up. "I'll let you up off da mat." He sat down on the bench in front of Phaedrus. "Now what about that experiment, now?"

"What's that, dog?" Phaedrus said.

"What do you say we use that stand o' yours to put my theories into practice?"

Phaedrus laughed. "You crazy, you know dat? First of all, I don't pay wages and nobody pays me. I'm what they call a sole proprietor, dog."

"This ain't jus' about wages, dog. It's about freedom. It's about givin' e'r'thing away?"

"You want me to give e'r'thying away?"

"Sho' do."

"Socrates, you crazy," Phaedrus said. "I wouldn't last a day if I did that."

"Not jus' one day," Socrates said. "You gots to give it at leas' a week."

"A week and I'll be comin' to you, dog. And we both know you ain't got no money."

"Is that your only concern?" Socrates asked.

"That I'll go broke?" Phaedrus said. "Yes. What other concern is they?"

"Tell me, homes, how much money do you make in a week. Roun' figgers."

"I makes me a thousand dollars a week," Phaedrus said.

Socrates fished in his pocket and pulled out a fold of bills, clasped with a paper clip. He dropped it on the park bench.

"What's that?" Phaedrus said.

"That's a thousand dollars."

"Where'd you get that kinda jack, Socrates? I know you, dog. E'r'body know you. You work in a little hole in the wall office. Your clients cain't pay you. You work pro bono. That's why I give you your fruits and vegetables for . . . free."

Socrates was grinning and looking up at Phaedrus from the corner of his eye. Phaedrus sat down.

"Help me change the world," Socrates said. "Take the money. Do the experiment. One week."

Phaedrus picked up the money. "They's also inventory," he said. "I give e'r'thing away, I lose the inventory too."

"How much is that?"

"Fi' hundred."

Socrates whistled as he fished in his other pocket. "You do have quite a mark up."

"I gots the best spot with the best produce," Phaedrus said.

"Is that yo' slogan, dog? Cause if it is, you need to work on yo' advertisin' skills. There's fi' hundred," Socrates said, plunking down another thinner fold of cash.

"How'd you do that?" Phadrus said, picking up the cash, looking at it with wonder.

"It goes according to expectation," Socrates said.

"This ain't gonna work," Phaedrus said. "Cause I don't have any expectation."

"Yes, you do, too," Socrates said, smiling. "I know you, dog. I know you."

"A' 'ight," Phaedrus said. "It's yo' money."

With a hand clasp and shoulder hug, Phaedrus and Socrates parted ways.

"Meet me back here one week from today," Socrates said. "And let me know how it went."

The next morning Phaedrus started the experiment. He was taking the pricing labels down from the shelves when he had his first customers, a couple of white women dressed well.

"Mornin', ladies," he said. He'd seen one of them before but she wasn't a regular.

"Raising prices?" the one he'd seen before, the younger one, said with a laugh. "Guess we should have gotten up a little earlier." The older one was unamused.

"No, ma'am," Phaedrus said.

"Don't tell me you're lowering them," she said. "Nobody ever lowers prices anymore."

"Well," Phaedrus began. He hadn't quite worked out what he was going to say about the prices yet. "It's pretty much according to what you want to pay."

"They don't put up the prices so they can charge more to certain people and less to others," the older woman said.

"Mother, please," the younger woman said. "This man has the freshest produce in town. I'll pay whatever he asks." She laughed again, a little nervous laugh.

"It's all right, ma'am," Phaedrus said.

But the older lady wasn't placated. She said, "That's why the supermarkets have put little stands like this out of business. It's because you know what you're going to get and you know what you're going to pay."

"It's not like that, ma'am," Phadrus said. "Everything is free today. It's on the house. Take whatever you need."

"Oh, so you think you'll shame me into paying, is that it? Do we look like we need charity to you? Come on, Allison."

"Mother!"

Allison walked halfway behind her rapidly departing elder. After a moment of indecision, she turned back to Phaedrus' stand.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "She gets this way sometimes."

"It's all right," Phaedrus said, with honest relief. If he could only illicit this response from everybody, he might make it through the week.

Allison grabbed a head of lettuce, a head of cabbage, some tomatos, some celery, cradling them all in her arms. Phaedrus opened up a paper bag and the woman dropped everything in. She put a twenty dollar bill on the counter.

"I am so sorry," she said and hurried off to catch up to her mother.

"That's too much," Phaedrus said. "Ma'am," he shouted. "It's too much." But she waved him off as she broke into a trot.

This can't be, Phaedrus thought. It's just a coincidence. He put the twenty in his pocket and took down the rest of the prices.

The next customer came a while later, a man in a suit. Some of them stopped by before work, some after. He picked up a yellow apple. He wiped it on his lapel and took a bite.

"If I don't stop here at least once a week," the man said, "my wife will kill me." He said this almost every time. He took a little of nearly everything. "She loves your fresh dill," he said. He put his apple on the counter to open up his wallet. "How much?"

"The thing is," Phaedrus said. "You can just take whatever you need."

The man's forehead wrinkled and he smiled. "Whatd'ya mean?"

The man was always amiable. Phaedrus always liked him.

"I mean, if you need it or your wife needs it, you can take it."

"What is this, some sort of promotion you're running?"

"Something like that, I guess," Phaedrus said.

"It's a little weird," the man said, but he was still smiling. "What's your name, by the way. I've probably been here a hundred times, and..."

"I'm Phaedrus."

"Interesting name. I'm Tom." He gave Phaedrus a twenty and said, "That should be enough. Keep the change."

"Thanks," Phaedrus said.

The man looked at him one last time and smiled. "Back to the grind."

"Yes, sir," Phaedrus said.

"Tom."

"Right, sorry."

Tom walked off with the bags, eating his apple.

Phaedrus looked at the twenty dollar bill before putting it in his pocket. Again it was more than enough. This couldn't keep up.

But it did keep up. For every nine who estimated too high there was one who came in too low, and most of those those were not based on tight-fistedness. It was an honest miscalculation, Phaedrus figured. And it was never enough to matter.

It wasn't until the third day that the momentum took a swing in the opposite direction. A woman with dirty red hair, freckles.

"I heard you was givin' out free food," she said.

Phaedrus had been sprucing up the produce. He looked at the woman over his shoulder. She must have been in her forties but she somehow looked both older and younger than that at the same time. Her jeans and T-shirt were clean.

"That's not exactly the case," he said. He let the woman stand there while he finished his re-organization.

Standing back, he said, "Take what you need." She took an apple, the nearest thing, and held it, wondering what she was supposed to do next.

Phaedrus looked at her for a minute. She was thin, too thin. That's what made her look young and old. He'd seen these people around. He'd never paid them much mind.

"Is that all you want?" Phaedrus said. The woman didn't know the answer. Phaedrus felt overwhelmed. It was different to give instead of sell. After all he'd given and been given in the last three days . . .

"Here," he said, and he handed her a second apple.

He started sprucing again, even though he was finished. His hands brushed across the grapes. He had too many.

"Here, take some of these too," he said.

And then some bananas.

Then some cherries.

When the woman's hands were full, he opened up a paper bag. "You can put that in here," he said.

He turned back toward the produce and braced himself for a moment on the counter. He was afraid he was going to cry for a minute but he got it back under control.

"Do you have a place to cook?"

"You mean a kitchen?" the woman said.

"Yeah, a kitchen."

The woman nodded.

Phaedrus started pulling down the vegetables--carrots, potatoes, corn--and dropping them in the bag, careful not to damage the fruit.

"Do you know how to cook greens?" he asked, pulling them down. "Cause greens is what you need. They're the best thing for you."

"My momma stays with me," the woman said. "She keeps the kids for me. She knows how to cook everything."

Kids?

Phaedrus opened up a second bag: beets, radishes, green beans, cabbage, cucumbers. No, kids only like potatoes and corn. He put more of those in the bag.

This wasn't going to be good. He didn't have the heart for it.

Phaedrus found Socrates in the same spot at the appointed time. He was laid out on the bench, his jacket balled up under his head. It had rained the night before and the ground under the trees was still damp.

"I saw you on the TV, dog," Socrates said with his big toothy grin.

Phaedrus, his fists balled up in the pockets of his unzipped hoody, stood over Socrates.

"What's wichu?" Socrates said.

Phaedrus dropped a packet of cash on Socrates' belly. It was the same thousand dollars. He dropped a second packet. It was the same five hundred.

Socrates picked them up and started to laugh, a low I-told-you-so laugh.

Then Phaedrus dropped a third, larger packet of money on Socrates' belly.

Socrates took it in hand too and sat up.

"It changed the relationship," Phaedrus said. "That's all I can say, dog. It changed the relationship."

"Changin' the world one produce stand at a time," Socrates said, stuffing the money into his pockets.

"I couldn't get my suppliers to charge me any money," he said, "once the TV news got a hold of it."

"I tol' you, dog," Socrates said. "I tol' you."

"I don't know how long I can keep it up, though," Phaedrus said.

Socrates stood up, put on his jacket, and they started walking back toward the bridge.

"None of us do," Socrates said. "None of us ever do."

Coming to the three crosses, Phaedrus said, "Maybe we should say a little prayer."

"By all means," Socrates said.

"Oh Lord, give me a good heart," Phaedrus said, his eyes closed. And let my outside be a reflection of my inside. Let me always see the wise as the rich people of the world. And give us today our daily bread. Amen." To Socrates: "I think tha's it."

"Ask the same for me, homes," Socrates said as he crossed himself.

Phaedrus said, "A' 'ight, dog. Let's get on up outta here."

Angel Unaware

2010-03-27T12:41:00.000-07:00

by Todd Wright

“The key to interpersonal relationships is never allowing any space to come between you and the other person. This is especially true when it comes to your family.”

Arnie had made another test flight strapped into his hang glider. When he saw Chris was home he left it where it lay at the basin of the park and walked over. Before too long they’d gotten into it.

“Why don’t you just mind your own business every once in a while, eh?” Chris said. “About the last place you ever want to butt in on somebody else’s life is with their family.”

“They’re not your own personal fiefdom, Chris. They’re here for you to be nice to them. To treat them with love and respect. To hug them every once in a while.”

“I treat them with respect. I put a roof over their heads and food on their table. I can’t think of anything more respectful.”

“I can.”

They were nose to nose now.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Sure, I can.”

“And what might that be?”

“When your wife is pregnant with your seventh child, maybe it isn’t so important to remind her that she didn’t go to the gym today!”

“Why you little…”

Chris lit into Arnie, who at six feet was just slightly smaller than Chris. Soon Arnie had Chris in a head lock.

“All right, all right!” Chris said. “Let me go!”

Arnie let him go and Chris was right back in his face.

“And why is a grown man so interested in another man’s children anyway, huh?”

“They’re people, Chris. They need other people around them.”

“And why are you always hugging on them?”

“Because you don’t!” Arnie said. “Children need physical contact as positive affirmation. With six kids you’re already fighting a losing battle on that score.”

“…always touching and squeezing them.”

“What are you insinuating?”

“I think you know exactly what I’m insinuating.”

Arnie held up his finger. “I am always very careful never to touch them anywhere but back, shoulders and stomach, and sometimes from the knee down when I’m swinging them around and so forth. My hugs couldn’t be more awkward.”

“Yeah, well…”

“And I’m always very careful never to have any genital contact with them, accidental or otherwise. Believe me, little girls know very well that there’s something different going on down there and it can be difficult fending them off.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you should just leave a man’s family alone!”

“I really can’t believe you sometimes!” Arnie said. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe I’m an angel that was sent here precisely because you have six kids and one on the way and maybe you could use a little help raising them!”

This stopped them both, simply because if such things were ever true, this was an instance when it could be. It was a windy day and there were birds in the trees nearby but it was as if you could hear both of them blinking as they looked at each other, wide eye to wide eye.

Arnie was as shocked as Chris was.

They sat side by side on the hill looking out over the park beside the house, drinking beers Chris had fetched for them.

“I don’t know,” Arnie said. “It just came into my head and I said it.”

“Into your head? Or into your heart.”

“I don’t know. What difference does it make?”

“Was it an idea or an inspiration? It makes a big difference.”

“An inspiration, I think. I don’t know.”

“Because you know I believe in that sort of thing. I wouldn’t have seven children if I didn’t. Maybe that’s why you said it. To take advantage of my superstitious nature.”

“I would never do that, Chris. You know that.”

Chris looked at Arnie long and hard to make sure. Turning away, he said, “All right, now, let’s just think this through. How do you get money?”

“Just like everybody else,” Arnie said. “I go to the ATM and take out money.”

“Let me see your card.”

Arnie took out his wallet, removed the card and handed it to Chris.

“Out of town bank, where you say you’re from.” Chris handed it back. “And where does the money come from? We’ve noticed that you don’t have regular hours, and yet you’ve had the wherewithal to help us out during this downturn.”

“Oh, you know,” Arnie said. “Business…dealings of some sort.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“I don’t know,” he said.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I do…stuff. I don’t know.”

“And how do you pay your bills?”

“Bills,” he said. “With a check?”

“Are you asking me?”

“No, with a check, like everybody else.”

“You have no idea about any of this, do you?” Chris said.

“Sure, I do.”

“No, you don’t, Arnie. All right, I’ve seen enough.”

“Where are you going?” Arnie said, following Chris to his truck. Chris was a housing contractor, one of the biggest in the city before the economy went bad.

“Get in,” Chris said. “We’re going to pay a little visit to your hometown.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Arnie said, nonetheless climbing up into the cab of Chris’s Ford F150. “That’s, like, a long way from here.”

“You don’t even know that, do you?” Chris said, looking squarely at Ernie with a beaming smile on his face.

“Well…”

“It’s a five-hour drive. We’re stopping only to take a leak. We’ll be there by midnight. We’ll stay at a Motel 6 and then we’ll get up in the morning and you can show me all the places you used to go, introduce me to your family, you friends. It’ll be great.”

“Don’t you think you should tell Sarah?” Arnie said. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. You’re leaving a pregnant woman alone on a Friday night to take care of six kids and you’re not even going to tell her you’re going?”

“We’ll call her from the road,” Chris said, pulling away. “I’m calling your bluff.”

“And what about the glider?” Arnie said, pointing through the glass at it, small and lonely out in the middle of the field.

“Don’t worry about it,” Chris said. “The boys’ll get it.”

“Fine,” Arnie said. “Fine. A road trip it is, then.”

“Honey, Arnie thinks he’s an angel.” They were a half hour down the road. Chris was talking into his cell phone.”

“Hey!” Arnie protested. “That’s not fair!”

“I know it’s ridiculous,” Chris said. “That’s why I need to do a little investigating. We’re taking a little trip. I’ll see you tomorrow evening.”

Arnie shook his head and looked out the window at the passing colors of the trees in autumn.

“And tell the boys to go out to the park, get Arnie’s glider and put it away,” Chris said. “Love you, bye.”

“So what did she say?” Arnie asked.

“What she always says when these sorts of things come up: ‘OK, whatever.’”

“It’s still an A-hole thing to do. That woman is a saint.”

“Ah, I needed to get out of town for a little while, anyway,” Chris confessed. “Take a break. There’s just as much work when there’s no money rolling in. So what’s the point?”

Arnie didn’t say anything. He was a good listener.

“Catholic dogma certainly allows for such things as these,” Chris said. “You must know that if you’re an angel. But if you’re preying off what you consider to be my crazy belief system…”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Arnie said. “This is as baffling to me as it is to you.”

“Here we are,” Chris said, stopping on the main street of the small town, hopping out of the truck. “Hometown, USA.”

“Here we are,” Arnie agreed.

There was a bar a couple of blocks down with some kids from the nearby college loitering out front. A courthouse further on. A bank close at hand.

“Let me see that card of yours again,” Chris said.

Arnie took it out and handed it to him. Chris walked to the ATM in front of the bank.

“Let’s see what this thing does,” Chris said. He put in the card. “Type in your pin.” Arnie complied. “How much money do you want?”

“I don’t know,” Arnie said. “A hundred?”

“All right, sir.” When the receipt and the money came out, Chris handed them both to Arnie, taking a look at the balance on the receipt. It was a nominal sum. “Is that all you got?”

Arnie shrugged and put everything in his wallet. “I have enough.”

Arnie liked to help out. He was sly about it, though, bringing over a few things each time he stopped by, knowing that a bag full of groceries or a handful of dollars would be met with prideful scorn from Chris.

Except for just the one time, that is, last month when Chris couldn’t make payroll and his bank was all seized up and he needed help anywhere he could find it. Arnie didn’t mind at all, figuring anything he could do to help those beautiful children would be treasure for him in heaven anyhow. They were like baby birds in a nest, all with their mouths wide open.

“All right,” Chris said. “So, your old haunts? Friends? Family?”

“Oh, well, you know how it is,” Arnie said. “People don’t want to hang around in a small town. They move on. Others pass away.”

“You’re 40 years old,” Chris said. “Surely your parents are still around.”

“No, I guess they aren’t.”

“You guess?”

“Well…”

“Brothers, sisters?”

“I left here a long time ago.”

“And then?”

“Drifted from place to place until I ended up on the other side of the park. Hey, look,” Arnie said, changing the subject. “They finally got a McDonalds. Looks like it’s still open. I could use a burger.”

“Fine,” Chris said and they got back in the truck.

At the second window, as he took the food and the change from the manager, Chris said, “So how long has this McDonalds been here?”

“Oh, more than thirty years, I think,” he said.

Chris looked at Arnie as he pulled away. “You don’t know anything about this place, do you?”

“I thought I did. I guess I just don’t pay much attention to the past.”

They sat eating in the cab.

“Come on, Arnie. What’s really going on here? ‘Fess up.”

“Nothing’s going on,” Arnie said.

“Come on, Arnie,” Chris said in that mocking way of his. “It’s me you’re talking to. Your old buddy, Chris. You can tell me.”

“I don’t know,” Arnie said. “I honestly don’t know.”

“Well…” Chris put his empty Big Mac container in the bag and crumbled it all. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this. Rest assured.”

The family had met Arnie in the park beside their house. There was a small bluff at the far end of the park where Arnie’s house was, probably too small for hang gliding, but Arnie would strap himself into the apparatus from time to time and if the wind was strong enough he could get some lift, but only enough that he could make a more or less controlled landing a few hundred yards away. On their initial meeting, Chris had asked him why he was trying that here. Why didn’t he go out to the dunes? Arnie had said he had just bought the glider and was afraid to take it any higher until he had gotten used to it.

“Better a few bumps and bruises than a few broken bones,” he said.

He never really seemed to get much better at it, but the boys loved the machine and so the friendship was born. They would help him walk it back to the far side of the park and he would pay them a few dollars for their trouble.

In the days that followed, Chris cooled to Arnie, believing that something was amiss, and Arnie kept his distance. Chris would come out to his back deck, bottle of Budweiser in hand at the end of the day, and watch as Arnie scudded across the bottom of the park. Arnie would pick himself up, smile and wave, then walk his flying machine back toward his house. Sometimes the boys would be around to help him, sometimes not. This happened a few times. Chris stayed on the deck, watching. What was Arnie’s game? What was he up to? What was he after?

He was too old for that hang glider. At this rate he would kill himself.

A couple of months passed in this manner. Chris had almost forgotten about Arnie’s revelation. Until one evening after dinner, Sarah whispered that they needed to talk.

When the dishes were cleared away and the kids were in their rooms pretending to sleep, Sarah sat down beside Chris on the sofa. The game was on and he had beer in a glass on the coffee table. She slipped a coaster under it, then leaned back, patted his stomach.

“Too much beer?” he said.

“Maybe a little.”

“Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?”

“No.”

“Can it wait, babe?” he said. “We drive two hours to the Latin mass every Sunday. I hardly ever get a chance to watch football anymore.”

“Latin mass is your idea,” Sarah said. “I’d be perfectly happy here in the parish. You know that.”

“Don’t start up again. The Novus Ordum is a sham. It doesn’t make any sense. And the guitar playing. It’s ridiculous. So this is what you wanted to talk to me about?”

“No.”

“Then what is it? Let’s get it over with.”

“Something strange happened today,” Sarah began. “At lunch, when Arnie was here—”

“Wait, Arnie was here for lunch?”

“Arnie is always here for lunch. He helps out a lot. Like you used to most days.”

“One issue at a time,” Chris said. “How long has this been going on?”

“Pretty much since we’ve known him,” Sarah said. “I thought you knew that.”

“I guess I did, but I thought he might have…”

“Might have what?”

“Go on with your story. What happened that was so strange?”

“Today after lunch, when the kids were downstairs, Arnie sort of cornered me. You know, got in my personal space.”

“He what? Like how close?”

Sarah held her hand six inches from her face. “Like this.”

Chris sat up and faced Sarah, moving to six inches away. “Arnie was like this to you?”

“That’s right.”

Leaning away, “And.”

“And he said something like, ‘Sarah, you’re a beautiful woman, inside and out. Whatever happens, just know that you can always count on me.’”

“Whatever happens? What’s that all about?”

“I have no idea.”

“And then?”

“And then nothing. I sort of slid away and a few minutes later he flew home.”

“The nerve of that guy!” Chris said. “I knew he was up to something but—Wait, what did you say? He flew home?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means he flew home,” Sarah said. “On that contraption of his.”

“Wait a minute. You’re saying he flew the hang glider home?”

“That’s right.”

“So how does he get it here?”

“He flies it over.”

Chris stood up, mind in motion, putting a little distance between himself and his wife, whom he couldn’t at that moment believe.

“So you’re saying he flew the hang glider across the park and then he flew it home?”

“I’m not just saying that, Chris. That’s what he did.”

“That’s impossible.” He went to the window and looked out across the darkened park toward Arnie’s place as if trying to envision the hang glider coming and going.

“It’s not impossible. I’ve watched him do it a couple of dozen times.”

“A couple of dozen times?” Chris said, his pitch and volume rising a little with each extension of this revelation.

“Last few weeks.”

“Assuming he could fly that thing over, which I’ve never seen him do, these hills here are too low to launch off of.”

“I’ve seen him do it.”

“Dozens of times.”

“Yes, dozens of times. It sounds to me like you’re more concerned with his flying ability than you are with him hitting on me.”

“Is that what he was doing?” Chris turned to face Sarah.

“I don’t know. I think so. But how can you know about that sort of thing unless you follow through?”

“Did you follow through, Sarah? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

“Of course not, you idiot. If I had I probably wouldn’t be telling you about it, would I? When you’re pregnant, with six kids that’s not really in the cards, is it?”

“I knew he was up to no good.”

Chris went to the hall and grabbed his jacket and then to the back door.

“Where are you going?”

“Where do you think I’m going?”

“It’s nine thirty,” Sarah said. “It’s dark.”

To no avail.

“Don’t make a scene Chris. I shouldn’t have told you.”

Chris left closing the door behind him.

“You’re no angel,” Chris said through the screen door.

“Chris,” Arnie said. “Come in. What a nice surprise.”

“This isn’t a nice surprise,” Chris said. “Sarah told me what you did.”

“Are you going to come in or would you prefer to discuss this on the front porch?”

His fists balled in the pockets of his jacket, Chris took a beat to decide before moving stiffly past Arnie, who was holding the door open.

“Want a beer or something?”

“No, I don’t want a beer, Arnie. You just made a pass at my wife.”

“Look, I’m sorry about that,” Arnie said, his mouth open to further explain.

“So, you admit it then?”

“No!” Arnie said. “Not in the way you mean it. But I could have been a little less awkward about it. I didn’t mean to give that impression at all.”

“What’s this ‘if anything happens’ business?”

Arnie demurred, shaking his head, smiling, looking down.

“Come on, Arnie. Out with it.”

“Look, it’s just something you say, okay? I was overcome for a minute, with the kids there. I would do anything for those kids. That’s all I was saying.”

Such plain and tender words about his kids subdued him. Chris wanted to believe what he was hearing, that there was nothing more to the story, but the news of Arnie’s newfound flight prowess and what it might imply had walked with him all the way across the park.

After a moment of silence had passed, Chris said, “Can I have that beer now?”

Arnie broke into a smile. “Sure,” he said. When he handed the bottle to Chris he took a drink from the one he had taken for himself and said, “Hey, I’m sorry about, you know, this and everything else. But this whole thing has been a little weird for me.”

Chris took a sip. “Not just for you,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“Sarah says you can fly that thing now.”

Arnie again looked down and smiled, “Something like that, yeah.”

Another awkward moment ensued, broken when Chris said, “The angel thing again?”

“Yeah, the angel thing.” There was no one else Arnie could speak to about it but Chris, and he’d been aching to for weeks now. And yet with each passing day came more that he could not reveal.

Arnie went to sit down and Chris followed him, lounging back in a corner of the couch.

“How can I explain this,” Arnie said. He put his beer down and wiped his wet hand on his jeans, then used that one and the other to gesture in front of him. “It’s like this. All of us are manifested into this world in one way or another. And at some point we remember who we are.”

“And you remember now that you are an angel.”

“That’s just a label,” Arnie said.

“A pretty important label, I would say.”

“No labels are important. A label implies division and judgment, neither of which represents reality.”

“Okay, Arnie, you lost me with that one.”

“If there is no division, how can there be judgment?” Arnie shook his head. “It’s not possible for you to understand.”

This was weird, all right. Again Chris wanted to call Arnie’s bluff, his typical inclination, part of his personality. Maybe it was the fact that he sat here in Arnie’s house, but Chris felt a little uneasy about doing that. He took a long swig from the bottle of beer, hoping the alcohol’s entry into his bloodstream would help a little.

“Let’s just hash this out a little,” Chris said. “So you were sent here to help out with my family, or so the theory goes.”

“That’s no different from anybody else,” Arnie said. “We all have to help each other.”

“And something is going to happen to me that will require you to step in and take over, is that it?”

“I have nothing to do with the future. That’s not my role.”

“Well, apparently it is,” Chris said. “That’s what you said to Sarah.”

“I’m just a messenger,” Arnie said. “Want another beer.”

Surprised to see his bottle empty, Chris handed it to Arnie and followed him to the kitchen.

“So tell me, are you going to want kids of your own? Because Sarah is coming to the end of her childbearing years. And one would hope there would be a period of grief that would last at least a few months.” He took another nervous pull from the new bottle.

“I can’t have kids,” Arnie said, leaning against the buffet. “There was a time when that was a possibility. But it caused all sorts of complications, so the problem was eliminated, so to speak.”

“Ah, yes,” Chris said. “The modern approach to life. Let’s everyone just sterilize ourselves. And if one slips through, we’ll kill it.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Arnie said.

“You’re a cold fellow, Arnie.”

Arnie didn’t say anything. He didn’t smile Chris’s comment away this time.

“So this flying,” Chris said. “It has nothing to do with favorable winds or aerodynamics, or anything like that.”

“One learns. One becomes.”

“It’s just that if you flew around without that glider around you, people would talk. Is that it?”

Again Arnie didn’t answer.

Chris didn’t want to talk about this anymore. He wanted to leave. Arnie was talking like someone from another world. He was flying when he shouldn’t have been able to. And to Sarah he had said something was going to happen that would require his supportive presence. Chris felt left out and afraid.

“So what’s going to happen to me, Arnie?”

“I don’t know,” Arnie said. “I honestly don’t know.”

“But you know it’s something,” Chris said. He swallowed hard, sensing deeper coldness that had not been in the air or the beer. “I want to go home now.”

Arnie watched as Chris put down his half-empty bottle and walked to the door.

When Chris was outside, past the front porch in the dark, he said, “Maybe you could walk with me through the park.”

“I can’t,” Arnie said. “But I can tell you with complete assurance, there is absolutely nothing to worry about.”

Chris felt no encouragement from these words. He turned to go.

From the light of the house, he heard: “This world is constant change, Chris.”

A Brief History of the Modern World

2010-03-27T11:46:00.000-07:00

by Todd Wright

There once was a very bad philosopher named Aristotle, who wanted to take over the world. A man named Jesus tried to stop him. He was killed but his followers kept up the fight. They pulled off a coup, taking over the most important government. Beauty abounded throughout the kingdom but the war waged on.

The followers of Jesus fought valiantly for about a thousand years. When all seemed at peace in the kingdom, they forgot who it was they were fighting. Aristotle's men infiltrated their ranks. Soon, they took over the kingdom from the inside.

Slowly but surely, the followers of Jesus died off and Aristotle's men were free to rule unopposed. And the kingdom was ugly.

Alas, the story does not end well.