---

 

This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “Seasons” Down in the Dirt, v171 (the May 2020 Issue) Order the paperback book:

Order this writing that appears in the one-of-a-kind anthology Outside the Box the Down in the Dirt May-Aug. 2020 issues collection book		get the 422 page May-Aug. 2020 Down in the Dirt 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

Order this writing in the book 2020 in a Flash the 2020 flash fiction & art collection anthology		get the 296 page flash fiction & artwork & photography collection anthology as a 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

The Mystery of Mr. Mitey

Samuel Evans

    Edward stared out the diner window rubbing his finger on the outside of his glass dejectedly, the gears in his head grinding as they tried to restore some meaning to a life that seemed to be spiraling out of his control.
    It still didn’t feel real to him. How could he not have gotten the job? He was more than capable and he had the diploma to prove it. The interview had gone well, as far as he could judge. All the pieces of the puzzle fit together, but for some reason they hadn’t made the right picture.
    Edward did not know what to do, other than to shake his head and continue watching the steady stream of pedestrians who walked past the window. That job had been the goal for years, a constant path for him to follow. It had motivated him to try, to care, and at some point it had become an almost inseparable part of who Edward was. The prospect of abandoning it so completely pressed down on him with something that resembled physical pain.
    Edward was sitting by himself at a corner table. He had not drunk more than a quarter of his soda, which was the only thing he had ordered. Despite the fact that it was one of only three tables in the diner and that it was the heart of lunch hour, none of the other customers attempted to join him. He wondered with some amusement if perhaps they thought he was looney— or maybe even high— but beyond that did not pay them much attention either.
    Still partially submerged in a haze of bitterness, he had none of his typical tact or self-consciousness, and he watched each passerby without any attempt at subtlety. When someone caught his eye, he met theirs unflinchingly, taking a peculiar enjoyment from their disconcerted expressions. This went on in a sort of pattern, which ended with most people looking away uncomfortably and mothers urging their children to walk faster. Without fail, every single one of them failed to meet his gaze for more than a moment.
    Just as Edward was beginning to consider going home and abandoning his seat in the diner in favor of the softer and more spacious seat of his couch, a man came striding down the sidewalk wearing a deep green suit. The striking color of the suit along with the man’s brisk, purposeful walk captivated Edward almost immediately, and he watched with rapt attention as the man came right in front of the window and then stopped. He turned and met Edward’s gaze, and his lips stretched upwards in an amused smile. Before Edward even knew what was happening, the man had come into the diner and was sitting down at the seat across from him.
    “Mind if I join you?” the man asked cheerily.
    It all happened so suddenly, and Edward’s manners and instincts responded before he could check them, releasing a politely conventional response and waving his hand in a gesture of ambivalence. “Be my guest.”
    The man sat stuck out his hand exuberantly. “Alphonse Mitey. Al, if you like.” His face rested in a firm but amicable expression, framed by silver hair. It was hard to determine his age with much confidence. He was too wrinkled to be called young and did not appear feeble enough to be called old.
    Edward took the hand and shook it reluctantly. “Edward.”
    There was a long silence, in which Al examined Edward patiently with vivid green eyes which were magnified by thick spectacles. Edward found this irritating for a reason that he could not quite pin down.
    “So, Mr. Mitey... where are you from?”
    “Nowhere. But most recently everywhere,” Al said, looking very proud of himself.
    “Is that a riddle?”
    “Nope. Just the truth.”
    Edward had no idea what that meant, but the smug expression on Al’s face made him feel stupid, and he suspected he had been the butt of a joke. He decided to ignore it and move on.
    “What brings you here?” he asked.
    “Why, I came here to see you.”
    Edward raised his eyebrows, playing along. “Specifically me, or just any stranger?”
    “We aren’t strangers. I’ve known you for quite some time.”
    Edward took a moment to examine Al carefully before replying. “Well I don’t know you.”
    “You wouldn’t. It has been a very one-sided relationship.”
    Al took out his wallet and began to thumb through it. “Would you like something to eat? My treat.”
    “Sure. Thank you.” The man was a bit strange, but Edward thought he was more than willing to tolerate his company if it meant free food, especially in light of his current employment situation.
    Al waved over the man at the counter. “A couple hotdogs with everything on ‘em, for me and my boy Edward here.”
    After the man went in the back to get their food, Edward resumed the conversation. “So would you like to tell me the real reason why you decided to come here, or is it a secret?”
    “It’s not a secret, and I already gave you the answer. But you don’t have to believe me. It might actually be better if you didn’t. Most of those who do misunderstand and end up muddling everything up far more than those who disregard me altogether.”
    Edward just nodded. He now felt sure that this man was attempting to be clever at his expense. However, the free hot dog would be worth a little heckling, and he was finding these odd little declarations intriguing, even though he suspected they were little more than nonsense.
    When the hot dogs came, Edward realized how hungry he was— he had not eaten since that morning. Al waited, watching until Edward had finished devouring his meal before he began.
    “If you ever think you’re having a bad day, just be glad you’re not a piglet, ripped open and squealing so somebody can stuff their face with your innards.” Then Al opened his mouth wide, tearing off a bite of bread, meat, and slaw. Edward had begun to feel a bit nauseous, but Al just continued to smile at him.
    “I don’t think they slaughter the piglets,” Edward said.
    Al shrugged. “Every pig was a piglet at some point.”
    Edward looked down at the table, unsure what to say but too uncomfortable to watch any longer.
    “Don’t feel too badly,” Al said, “You didn’t make the world work the way it does; you’re not responsible for its shortcomings.”
    Edward gave a slight forced smile. He realized suddenly that Al’s eyes, while vivid and sharp, seemed rather tired, and Edward could not tell whether their glow was joyful or melancholy.
    “I think it is time I was going,” said Edward as he began to stand.
    “You don’t have any questions? About anything?”
    Edward gave a short laugh. “I have questions about a lot of things, but I doubt you’ll be able to answer many of them.”
    Al’s eyes twinkled. “You’d be surprised. I know a lot of things. More or less everything in fact.”
    “I had no idea God frequented diners like this,” Edward said with mocking wonder.
    Al just smiled.
    Edward’s curiosity to over, despite what he felt were his better instincts, and he found himself sucked back into the conversation. “I feel underdressed.”
    Al cocked his head to the side. “Well you are certainly more dignified than when I first saw you, all naked and wailing.”
    “When might that have been?” Edward felt it was his turn to be clever.
    “September 21, 1995,” Al replied. “4:32 p.m.”
    That was Edward’s birthday. More uncertain than before but still heavily leaning towards disbelief, he chose not to respond. He had begun to treat the conversation with a careful strategy, almost like a game of chess, and he had decided to wait for his opponent's move before he committed to another one of his own.
    “I suppose doubt would still be the rational response to all this,” said Al. “I don’t know how else I might prove myself. Unfortunately, people have exaggerated the whole ‘miracle’ situation. I planned things out, set the world in motion, but that is for the most part where my contribution to it begins and ends.” Al sighed. “I suppose this would be why everyone talks about faith, but I’m hesitant to endorse such an idea. People can’t seem to help blundering it up and spouting narrow-minded nonsense like it’s a virtue.”
    Edward, still not convinced, but thoughtfully suspending his disbelief, asked “So you really can’t do much?”
    “What if I could? What if I broke the world when I made it, and made sure it stayed broken? What if I just think it’s more interesting because it’s ugly? If I really could fix the world, and have chosen not to, would you really want to know?”
    “Depends on if you had a good reason.”
    Al nodded, as if he had accomplished what he had meant to. “Yes, I suppose it does.”
    Then Alphonse Mitey got up, placing a few crisp dollar bills and a couple of quarters on the table, and walked out of the diner, never looking back and leaving as suddenly and inexplicably as he had come.

Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.

Problems with this page? Then deal with it...