Stars gleamed above the outdoor theater.  I’d spent the last half hour criticizing this production of “Death of a Salesman” in my mind.  I found fault in everything from the scenery, to the actors’ delivery, to the cost of concessions being sold at little booth by Boy Scouts.  I still bought popcorn at intermission, even if I regretted it later.  I could have used that six dollars for bus fare.  I shook my head at the popcorn.  Even bus fare wasn’t six dollars.  Everyone knew that.  The Boy Scouts were charging more for popcorn than the government was charging for public transportation.

“Excuse me, but you’re in my seat,” came a quaint voice beside me.  I looked over to see a short man with a face round as the moon, and filled with just as many craters.  I instantly pitied him for having such an ugly face.  I had a scar above my left eyebrow and thought that was unsightly, but this?

“The seats aren’t numbered,” I said, “and I’ve been here since before the play began.”

“You don’t understand,” the man urged and took a small step closer.  I noticed his feet were tiny.  Not tiny like a deer, but tiny nonetheless.  “I come to this theater for every performance.  I always sit in that seat.”

I rolled my eyes and slid down the bench.  “Fine.  Sit there.  I don’t care.”

The neat little man took up the seat after thanking me.

“What’s so special about that seat?” I asked while tossing a few popcorn pieces in my mouth.

“It’s just where I always sit,” the man said.  “I’m greatly appreciative that you’ve given it up.”

I shrugged and looked down at the stage.  Folks in dark clothes were still pulling pieces of the set into place.  The little man started ringing.  I thought the sound was coming from deep inside the fellow, but instead it was a cell phone he retrieved from his coat pocket.

“Yes,” he said.  “Yes, it’s all right.  Yes.  Yes.  I will.  Good-bye.”

I looked over as he put the phone back in his pocket.

“You live around here?” I asked the man, just for the sake of making conversation.  I actually wasn’t all that interested.

“Not really.  That’s why it took me so long to arrive this evening.  I’m rather disappointed I missed the first half of the play.  Was it any good?”    

I thought momentarily about all the points I had criticized.

“It was fine.  The guy who plays Willy keeps forgetting his lines though.  Pretty bad.  I guess he’s nervous.”

“That’s my nephew,” the little man said.  “A good lad with a promising career.”

I decided to stop talking to him.  Figured it was his own fault for asking my opinion without first asking me not to criticize his relatives.

The little man started crying.  This made me uncomfortable and I started looking for a new seat.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” the man moaned and pulled out a blue handkerchief.  “I hope you’ll forgive me.  But I really am grateful you let me sit here.  It’s really, truly, important.  I’ve been coming to this theater so often, it’s difficult to think I won’t be coming here anymore.”

I didn’t want to talk to this man anymore.  And I certainly didn’t want to hear his life story.

“No problem,” I said.

I turned away from him and started eating my popcorn more fervently.  Though, I admit, it was tasting more and more like six dollar cardboard.  I don’t think this batch had any butter or salt or anything on it.

The lights dimmed and the audience settled down.  I listened to the little man sniff beside me while the characters returned to the stage.  I saw my neighbor, Curtis, down there.  I wouldn’t have come except Curtis offered a ticket.  He thinks he’s a big-shot actor and always thinks I’m impressed.  I pretend I am.  

The play had only been on again for five minutes before the little man beside me stood up.  With hands in his jacket pockets he edged slowly out of the bench and down the stairs.  My eyes were fixed on him.  I forgot the play.  I forgot my popcorn.  I noticed he still wiped his eyes with that blue handkerchief.

When he was almost out of the theater, I stood up myself.  I had a great urge to follow him, even though I didn’t like him.  I practically hated him for being so annoying.  But I guess it beat listening to Willy stumble through his performance.

I couldn't see the old man immediately outside the theater.  There were trees and paths and a little lake.  Plus the darkness.  My eyes scanned the area, but I couldn’t see him.

I thought about heading back to my car instead of the play.  I could tell Curtis there was a family emergency and had to go.  Of course, I’d have to make up some kind of family with some sort of emergency.

I noticed a little figure near the lake. I thought at first it was a bush but it was the funny little man.  I had a great fear he was going to walk straight into the lake.  I’d heard of lonely people doing that sort of thing.

“Hey,” I called when I got closer.  “What are you doing?”    

The man didn’t respond.  I got closer.

“I’ve been here for forty-eight years,” he told me.  “This night is the exact anniversary.  It’s always a pity when we have to go back, isn’t it?”

“You don’t have to do this, you know.  You can get help,” I said, though I couldn’t give him much more information than that.

The man laughed.  I could still see tears on his face.  “No, no.  I don’t need any help.  I’ve had a nice time here.  Found people who care for me.  People you would least expect.  I learned a new language!  And this.”  He held out his hands.  “This body has been a great tool.  Helped me on many occasions.  But it’s out of use now.”  

He started pulling on his arm.  “You know, they told me it would only be good for twenty years at the most, but I certainly showed them.”

Before my eyes, his arm came right off!  I would have shouted out or thrown up or something but what happened next was unexpected.  Instead of bones and gore flowing out of his torso, a great bright blue light issued out where the appendage had been, and lit up the area.  I couldn’t stop staring.

“I’ll remember you though,” the man told me.  “You showed me the last simple kindness I’ll ever know here.  I’ve faced a lot of unkindness.  There was a time I thought your race were nothing but wild beasts.  But kindnesses like yours have told a different story.”

In the next moment, the man tore completely apart.  Blue light burst out of the old man's body and filled the whole area.  There was no longer the figure of a man before me.  Actually, I couldn’t see what was standing before me at all.  A blinding mass of light.  It floated out over the water, moving further and further from me.  I watched until the blue light was directly over the center of the lake.  It expanded into a giant burst of light to rival the sun.  The lake and trees seemed to be all lit up with a blue fire!

Then the light was gone.  Darkness returned and I could hear the distant applauding for Willy on the stage.  I was sweating.  My heart was racing.  There lay the shredded body of the moon-faced man I had been talking to moments before.  I walked over and kicked it around.  The body appeared to be made of plaster and chicken wire.  I stumbled away from the lake, rubbing my eyes.  Apparently I had been there a long time because the theater audience was leaving.  I stood in the middle of the exiting crowd.  Curtis found me, still dressed in his costume.

“I’m glad you came,” he said.  “Did you like it?  Tell me the truth.  And you can tell me I was fantastic.  I can take it.”

I glanced back toward the lake then looked at Curtis.

“It was fine,” I said. 

“How about the guy that played Willy, though?” Curtis muttered.  “He couldn’t remember a line to save his life.  I don’t know why they cast him.  It should have been me.”

I remembered all the criticisms I’d come up with earlier, the the face of the funny man.  “He was fine,” I shrugged. 

White sands and palm trees.

Old Tom manned a fishing boat off the coast of Oregon.  Long nights, rainy days, slick decks and a lifetime of fish.  He longed for the South Pacific.  Dreamed of it always.  When he was up in the bitter cold waters of the North Pacific, with his yellow slicker and increasingly gray beard, the warm sands of Fiji sounded ever-so nice.

One night, in the midst of a dream, he woke to his name being called.  “OLD TOM!” came the low rumbly voice.  There were shouts and hoots from the other sailors on deck.  “OLD TOM!” came the call again, and this time the ship shook and trembled.

Old Tom was frightened well out of his wits, and well out of his bedsheets.  He’d never heard his name called so loud or rumbled so low.

“You better get up there, Tom,” Skipper said from the stairwell.  “You don’t want to make it mad!”

Old Tom fastened up his boots and put on his yellow slicker.  Rain poured and poured, rolling in little rivers down the stairs.  Tom shook.  Water dripped from his beard.  His heart went on a-thudding and he thought it might never slow down.

When Old Tom reached deck, he saw a bundle of sailors leaning over the railing, pointing and shouting at something.  They all backed away when Old Tom approached.

“IS OLD TOM UP THERE, OR ISN’T HE?” came the thunderous voice again.  It was even louderer and rumblerer than the first time.

Old Tom froze to the deck.  Rain fell all around but he couldn’t feel it.  Who — in the water — was asking for him?  The only souls he knew were on that very ship.  It was a curiosity beyond reckoning.

Afraid of enraging the voice any further, the fellow sailors pushed Old Tom along to the railing.  He closed his eyes at first.  He didn’t want to know what was calling him!  But he couldn’t ignore it for long.

“THERE YOU ARE, OLD TOM!”

There in the water beside the boat, riding up and down on the waves was a sea turtle — and what a large sea turtle it was!  Nearly the size of Old Tom’s house boat, which was tied to a lonely dock away on the Oregon shores.

The sea turtle turned its large head toward the ship, eyes twinkling in the lamplights.  Old Tom wondered if his heart was still beating.  Being personally addressed by a sea turtle was not something he’d experienced before.

“What do you want?” Old Tom asked, though his voice was frosty and distant.

“I WAS IN THE AREA,” the sea turtle responded.  “I’M JUST FINISHING UP MY SWIM AROUND THE GLOBE.  THAT FELLOW JULES VERNE RECKONS IT TAKES 80 DAYS!  WOULD YOU GUESS, IT ONLY TOOK ME 52?! I EVEN GOT LOST ‘GOING ‘ROUND THE HORN’, BUT I CAME OUT ALL RIGHT.”

Every sailor on the ship stood with mouths agape.

“ANYWAY, I’M HEADING BACK HOME NOW AND A SEA GULL LET ME KNOW YOU MIGHT WANT A LIFT DOWN SOUTH.”

Old Tom was stunned.  He pictured the exact sea gull the turtle was referencing.  The sun had been high in the sky the week before when Old Tom spilled his dreams to that sea gull.

“A sea gull told you?” Old Tom whispered.  “The very sea gull I spoke to?”

“I GUESS SO,” the turtle replied.  “NAME WAS BRENT, I THINK.”

Old Tom shook his head.  “Sorry.  Afraid I didn’t ask his name.”

The sea turtle dipped his head below the salty surface.  The rain still came and the winds still howled between the sails.

“ARE YOU COMING OR NOT?” the turtle called.  “MY WIFE’S EXPECTING ME IN TWO DAYS!”

Old Tom started nodding a lot.  He hardly knew what he was agreeing to.

“Yes.  Yes, yes, I’ll come.  Let me get my things…”  Tom turned toward the stairs but stopped and went back to the starboard railing.  “I just remembered,” he laughed.  “I don’t have any things!”  Tom laughed some more, and kept laughing.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so loud or so long.  

The other sailors started laughing too and helped lower Tom down to the turtle.  He climbed aboard and held tight to the turtle’s massive shell.  He waved back at the sailors as the turtle swam away.  They were the only souls he had known, after all.

It hadn’t been a bad life, that.  But the prospect of Fiji was much better.

The turtle sailed careful and sure, not knocking Tom off even once.  Soon the rain let up.  The air got warmer and in less than two days (because the turtle was intent on keeping his word to his wife) Tom was on the shores of Fiji.

White sand.  Palm trees.

Tom thanked the sea turtle a hundred times.  The turtle told Tom to “TAKE CARE.”

The old fishing ship off the coast of Oregon wasn’t really all bad, Tom thought one warm afternoon with his toes a tide pool.  But in a choice between the two — Old Tom would pick Fiji every time.

Karen despised her 98th floor office.  The building was old in the first place, it swayed with the wind and a strange, toxic smell often issued from the air vents above her desk.  She’d been buying air-fresheners regularly for twenty-one years.

            The elevator was on its way up Thursday morning, with Karen inside.  She leaned against the wall the moment she entered the conveyance and prepared for her three-minute ride up the shaft.  The elevator was empty that morning.  She kept looking at her watch to make sure she’d arrived at the right time.  Perhaps everyone else was late.

            Unexpectedly, the elevator stopped at the 38th floor and the doors opened. Karen’s eyes went wide at the view.  There before her was an entirely black marble hallway with a single white door at the end.  In that brief moment while the doors stood open, Karen realized she had ridden that elevator a million times but never in her entire career had she gone to any floor in the building besides the 98th.

            With only a few moments to decide, Karen stepped out of the elevator with her plastic sack of various air fresheners hanging on one arm and her red Coach purse on the opposite shoulder.  Her shoes made odd sticking sounds and echoed off the walls while she turned around in a circle.  The ceiling seemed to go upward forever and the door at the far end could have been glowing.

            Feeling she had taken a decent gaze around the place, Karen went back to the elevator and pressed the up button.  She glanced at her watch and, with a shock, saw she had wasted a tremendous amount of time on this detour.  In two minutes she would be considered “late”.  She pressed the elevator button again, hoping to speed its arrival.  The white door at the far end of the hall opened instead.

            Karen turned to see a man in sharp business attire and keenly polished loafers exited the door and began a steady walk toward Karen. 

            “The elevator’s being slow,” Karen said when the man stopped beside her.  He analyzed her for a few moments then held out his hand.

            “Pleasure to meet you,” the man said.  He had a deep voice, but pleasant.  “Sorry to keep you waiting.  Did you find the place alright?”  His friendly smile revealed creases near his eyes.  He was handsome with dark hair, but Karen felt unable to guess his age. Closer to her own, she supposed.

            Karen shook his hand, causing the plastic sack on her arm to rustle loudly.

            “Yes, but I think the…”

            “I’m sorry we didn’t have any pomp or circumstance for you.  We’re quite busy today as you can imagine, but if you’ll follow me… May I?”

            He was offering to carry her plastic sack.

            “Ok, but I don’t think…”

            “Seriously, though, we’re extremely grateful for your help,” the man said and guided her along the hall toward the white door.  Things have gotten out of hand since Mr. Reynolds’ disappearance.”

            “Disappearance?” Karen repeated while shuffling along beside the stranger.

            “Yes, well, that’s what we’re calling it for now.  The whole ordeal has been very top-level security stuff.  We can’t go around calling things as they really are, now can we?”

            The white door had closed behind the man when he exited.  He now had to swipe a keycard beside a blue blinking light on the doorframe.  This done, the door slid open to admit them.

            Inside, Karen followed the man through rows of gray desks which housed a person working viciously at a computer.

            “Naturally we were expecting you to arrive later, but it’s no problem.  In fact, it might be better that you’ve come earlier.”

            Karen kept trying to speak but she didn’t know what to say and he always seemed to be cutting her off.

            “These are our analysts,” the man indicated the endless rows of desks.  “There’s no time to meet them all now, but you’ll work with each of them in turn.  Through here we will get in touch with the other agents.”

            “Um, I think we should talk,” Karen said.

            “Yes, naturally.  I’ve set up a conference with regional management,” he said.

            “I don’t think you understand!” Karen said forcefully.

            “Yes!  Naturally!  That’s why we’re having the conference!  Follow me please.”

            They went into an office with glass walls that could look out at all the analysts.

            “This is Reynolds’ old office.  It’s yours now.  I’ll let you get situated.  I have to go arrange a few things.  If you need anything at all, please see Regina.”

            He pointed out the window at a woman with red hair then and set Karen’s sack of air-fresheners on the desk.  He left the office.  Karen had no idea what to do.  Besides that, she was now very late for work.

            Seven minutes passed and she hadn’t moved except to sit in the chair behind the desk.  Karen saw Regina answer her phone, glance over at Karen, hang up the phone and come to the door.

            “They’re ready for you in the conference room.  I’ll take you there.”

            Karen got up and followed Regina out of the office to a short flight of stairs and into a different room with a long table.  One wall contained a large TV scree which was split four ways.  Three of the squares were filled with the faces of grumpy looking men.

            “Gentlemen, she’s here now,” the man said and pulled Karen into view of the TV screen.

            “We are grateful you heeded our request to come back in,” one of the men said.  “We realize being dark for so long it will take time for you to adjust, but we do expect your full cooperation this time.  No alternate agendas.  Is that going to be a problem?”

            Karen glanced over at the man who brought her into this mess but he merely stared at his loafers.

            “Good,” the man on the TV said, though Karen didn’t recall giving any sort of answer.  “Now that we’re all on the same page, and since you are fully familiar with the intended target, would you please enlighten us on what we’re up against?”

            All eyes focused on Karen.  She felt her knees quaking a bit and couldn’t imagine a more confusing, high-pressure situation.

            “I don’t know what you want me to say,” Karen finally admitted.         

The people on the screen nodded.

            “That bad, is it?” said one of the other three men.

            The phone on the conference room table rang.  The man beside Karen answered it.

            “This is Waverly.  Very good, put him through.”

            He hung up the phone and a fourth man appeared on the TV screen.  Karen gave a short gasp because the fourth face was the President of the United States.

            “I’ve been apprised of the situation,” the President said.  “Secretary Johnston, I’m not trying to tread on your toes but I wanted to emphasize the importance of this situation.

            “Not at all, not at all,” the man in the upper right corner of the TV said.  “I’m grateful you joined us.”

            “I would like this situation to be handled ASAP,” the President continued.  “Is this our asset from the field?”

            The President looked at Karen.

            “Yes,” Waverly said, “she’s agreed to take the lead on this operation.”

            “Good.  I’ve read your file Agent Woodhall, and while you have had disagreements with my predecessors, let’s work together and put things right.  I would have a direct hand in updating the contents of your file, if you understand me.”

            Karen opened her mouth, wanting to tell the President about the obvious mistake that was occurring but the President cut her off.  “I’m on a tight schedule, but I would like real-time updates on the situation.”

            “Of course,” Waverly said.  “We will relay our feeds to you.

            “Good luck,” the President added before disappearing from the screen.

            “I would still like some idea of the operation, Waverly.  What’s going on?” the man in the upper right asked.

            “Naturally it’s top secret, Mr. Secretary,” Waverly grinned.

            The Secretary didn’t like this excuse.

            “Naturally, Director Waverly, I am the only person in the world to have access to every top secret and I’m not familiar with this one.”

            Waverly cleared his throat.  “Agent Woodhall would like more time to evaluate our assets.”

            “How much time?” the Secretary said.

            Karen glanced at her watch.           

            “An hour!” Karen said aloud.  This was the amount of time by which she was late to her real job.

            “Fine.  An hour it is.  Have the plan on my desk in one hour, Waverly!” the Secretary said. And the TV screen went dark.

            “Ok, you  need to listen to me.  I am not…”
            Waverly quickly placed his hand on her mouth to stop her from speaking.  She tried to wriggle away.

            “Please just follow me back to your office, Agent Woodhall,” Waverly said.

            Karen sighed and scampered along behind him back to the room with her air-fresheners.  Waverly opened the door, pressed a button on the wall and all the windows lining the office tinted to black.

            “Ok, I am not Agent Woodhall!” Karen said.  “My name’s Karen Blake, I’m forty-three years old, I live in…”

            “I know you’re not Agent Woodhall.  She was my partner in the field for 12 years.  I know what she looks like.”

            “Then what on earth are you doing?” Karen shouted.

            “Agent Woodhall is a rogue agent.  We need her for this operation, but I can’t locate her.  No one can.  That’s why I brought you in.”

            Karen shook her head.  “You don’t understand.  I’m not an agent of any kind!”

            “I know.  You’re name’s Karen Blake.  You’re forty-three years old, you live in Tribeca and work for the ad company on the 98th floor!”

            “And how do you know that?!” Karen said.

            He folded his arms.

            “Obviously I can’t find Woodhall.  The Secretary gave me a week to find her.  One day I saw you, followed you, researched you, tracked your mobile phone activity to make sure you were clean, learned your life-story…”

            “That’s psychotic!” Karen told him.

            “No, it’s called research.  Anyway, I determined you were suitable,” he explained.

            “Suitable for what?!”

            “Impersonating an untraceable rogue agent!  Great goodness, Karen, haven’t you figured all this out by now?” Waverly said and went over to use the computer at the desk.

            “Are you out of your mind?!” Karen said, leaning over the desk to make sure her words reached directly into his ears.  “I have a job upstairs!  I’m late!  I have to go to work!”

            “Look,” Waverly said, “all you have to do is put up a front until we get the operation going and I’ll handle it from there.”

            “Then why don’t you just do it?  You don’t need me!”

            “Yes I do!  I’m the Director of this facility, not a field agent.  I have an agent who will be doing all the dirty work, but we need them to believe you’re behind it all.”

            “What for?”

            “Because the Secretary explicitly wanted Woodhall to do it and I can’t find her!”

            “Well, I’m sorry,” Karen said and picked up her plastic sack from the desk.  “But I’m not going to do it since it seems like I’ll probably go to prison if I do!”

            Waverly stood up.  “If you don’t do this, then I’ll end up going to prison.  Do you want that on your conscience?”

            Karen didn’t reply.  She left the office, walked straight to the white door, which opened and shut quickly behind her.  She got back in the elevator and finished her ride to the 98th floor.  Yellow fluorescent lights met her when she entered the office and so did Ron, her supervisor who always wore a tie and had a long nose.

            “We open at nine, Karen,” Ron told her.

            “I know,” Karen said.  “I…got stuck on the train.”

            “You better have,” Ron said but continued on his way.

            Karen sat at her desk, trying to catch her breath.  Right away, the lurid sewer smell began seeping into the office, but soon it smelled like Coconut Breeze. 

            Her phone rang.

            “This is Karen Blake,” she said.

            “Karen, it’s Waverly,” came that man’s voice.

            “Oh, no,” she moaned and was about to hang up.

            “No.  It’s alright.  You see, I don’t need you to do the mission after all.  We found Agent Woodhall.  It turns out she was coming up the other elevator but it got stuck between floors 26 and 27.  She’s been there for the last two hours.”

            “Oh.  That’s good to hear.  Why did you call me?”

            “Well, I’m sorry, “ Waverly continued, “this is terribly awkward but I have an extra ticket to a play tonight.  Would you mind going with me?”

            Karen looked out at her office with its gray walls and gray-faced co-workers.

            “Will the President be there?” she asked.

            “No.  I doubt it,” Waverly replied.

            “Alright then.”

            Karen hung up her phone and turned to her own computer.  She had proofs that needed to be submitted before eleven o’clock.