Guidance Counselor

“Can you keep a secret?” The man in the black suit asked as he leaned over the empty seat between himself and the old man.

“What?” Jerry asked, leaning in closer.

“I’m supposed to blow up this train but I’m not sure I can go through with it.”

Jerry checked his hearing-aid, assuming he’d misheard the stranger, “Pardon me? Can you repeat that?”

The man poked his head above the top of their white polkadot chairs and scanned the cabin like a prairie dog. With a plop he dropped back down and whispered almost inaudibly quiet: “I’m supposed to blow up this train but I’m not sure I can go through with it.”

    Jerry thought for a second before responding, “I don’t...I don’t get the joke.”

    “It’s not a joke, I’m serious--look.” He slid a black backpack out from underneath the seat upon which he sat. He unzipped it and motioned for Jerry to look inside at the mess of black, white, red, green, and blue wires all attached in the center to a square box upon which a clock read 20 minutes and counting down. 

    “Oh Jesus--” The old man threw himself back into the seat and struggled to catch his run-away breath.

    “I know, I'm an asshole for putting all this on you but I need-- actually, hold that thought.” The stranger jumped from his seat and ran down the hallway before suddenly remembering something important and coming back, “Oh and, don’t tell anybody. Or I’ll have to--” he opened the inside of his jacket and pulled a large pistol from the inside. “Sorry.” He shrugged before jogging in the direction of the lavatory. 

    Oh jesus. Oh jesus, oh jesus. I have to tell somebody. His eyes darted around to the other passengers going about their day, completely unaware that their lives were now dependent on his decisions over the next 20 minutes. How can this possibly fall to me-- maybe it’s not--he leaned over and peaked inside the still unzipped bag at the clock that now reflected 18 minutes. At least he didn’t take it with him. Is that a good thing? I think it’s a good thi-- he heard the suction of the toilet and watched as the stranger exited the bathroom, taking a few cautious steps before being certain that there was nobody around the corner. His hand left the jacket pocket and he dropped in his seat next to Jerry who was still having trouble breathing. “You okay?” He smiled, chuckling a little bit. 

    “Wh-what is it you want? Money? I promise you I don’t have it--”

    The man let out a laugh just a little too loud. “No, no. No. I really just need someone to talk to If that’s okay.”

    “I can’t-I-I don’t want--”

    He held a finger up, “Sssh, listen if you help me, I’ll make sure you stay safe. Deal?”

    “Uh--”

    “Great, so in less than 20 minutes--” he checked the inside of the bag, “In less than 18 minutes this train is going to stop at Bridgeton, like it does every day. But this time we’re going to be joined by one, Senator John Markley--”

    “Wh--” Jerry tried to interject.

    “Wait, hold on, let me finish. Then you can say what you wanna say. Now the Senator has pissed off a few too many people, yada, yada, yada, yada, all that boring bureaucratic stuff, and my job is to get rid of him, which is a fancy way of saying I need to blow him up with this bomb. The problem is, I...I don’t think I can do it.” A deflated look of defeat came over him. “Now, I know what you’re thinking, it’s my job and I need to just man up and do it--”

    “Well I--”

    “But it’s really not that simple.”

    Jerry’s hands shook in his lap as he weighed his next comments with heavy consideration. Maybe If I can-- he scanned the room one more time just to be certain absolutely no one was coming to help.”Well…w-why is it that you think you can’t do it?”

    “I guess it’s not so much that I think I can’t do it, as much as I don’t want to do it. I don’t know, I guess I’m disillusioned, if that’s the right word.” The man reached into the front pocket of the backpack and pulled out a ziplock bag with a tuna sandwich sliced down the middle. “You want half?” He motioned to the sandwich.

“Oh, no, no. No thank you. I-I-I’m okay.” He took a deep breath and calmed himself for the next questions. I hate tuna. This is my nightmare, I’m sure of it. He pinched himself. “So uh...disillusioned huh?”

“I guess that’s what I’d call it.” said the stranger. 

    “Because...you know it’s wrong.” Jerry offered. 

    “Well, sometimes evil is morally justifiable for the will of the people,” he made a talking motion with his hand as he chewed on his food, “blah, blah, blah Assassin’s code garbage whatever, that’s not the point. I just feel like I’m not in control of my life. I never wanted to be an assassin. It’s the family business,” He swallowed hard, “I fell into it, and I assumed I’d eventually fall in love with it but I still haven’t and I don’t know, I’m lost I guess.” He sealed the bag that held the other half and put it back into the zipper pocket. “And tomorrow I turn 25-- oh dammit,” he smacked the armrest of his seat, “I should not have told you that. I am so bad at this.” He put his face in his hands. 

    Jerry if your 35 years of experience as a guidance counselor have taught you anything, it’s that you have a responsibility to help this kid. “So uh...if you aren’t interested in uh...assassinating, then what are you interested in?”

    “Well.” The man thought. “I guess, if I”m thinkin’ about it...what I would really like to do is write young adult fiction.”

    “Oh you’re a writer, that’s wonderful. Young adult fiction huh? My daughter loves that series, ‘The Guardians of Winthrop’.”

    “Oh!” The man shoved his hand into the large pocket of the bag and moved the bomb to the side to reveal a book underneath. As he maneuvered it out, Jerry caught sight of the bomb clock: 13 minutes. He clutched his chest. 

“Check it out!” The man flashed the cover. “Guardians of Winthrop IV: Desolation of Winona. And look at this,” He opened the cover page, “I got it signed!” 

    “Woow, would you look at that!” Jerry got out of his seat and moved to the empty one  between them to get a closer look. “Signed and everything! That’s somethin’ really special son. I bet you hold this dear to your life.” 

    “I do, yes. And, I’ve already had a few stories published and I’m thinking of attempting a novel but the story idea hasn’t come to me yet, so I’m on the lookout.” 

    “Well, I’ll let you know if I see one,” he smiled and the man chuckled. Nice job Jerry, just like when you convinced Enrique Gonzalez to go to art school instead of the Marines. “You know what son, I’ve never read any of your writing. I can’t tell ya’ if you’re any good, or if you have any talent,” careful Jerry, “but what I do know is that you have passion. And not everybody has that in their life. And I think  as long as you have it, you need to pursue it.”

    “You think?” The man asked, hope in his eyes. 

    “Van Gogh didn’t pick up a brush till 27. The only thing stopping you from being great is yourself, son. And I see greatness in you. Come here take my hand--” He held his palms up and out, “I wanna lead you in prayer, can we do that?”

    “Sure, I’ve...never prayed before though.” He said with a hint of embarrassment.

    Jerry could feel the train beginning to slow and lose momentum as it approached the station, “That’s okay, I’ll teach ya.” They took hands. “Dear lord. I ask that you help my friend here find some guidance in his life. And use your healing hand to...help him become the greatest Young Adult fiction writer of his generation. Like I know he can be. In the lord’s name, we pray. Amen.”

    “Amen.” The man wiped his tears. 

    Come on Jerry, close the deal, “Now I know we didn’t meet today by accident. God put me here to help you son--

    “Peter.”

    “Peter,” Jerry smiled. “Peter, I know this is all a part of his plan to help guide you on the right path. But you need to take the first step. And you need to do that by diffusing this bomb. Make that the first step of your new life.”

    “But my--”

    “Peter, you will always have a million reasons not to follow dreams. But you know as well as I do that you’re gonna always be wonderin’ if you could have. Nice, just like when you got all those unwed teenage mothers to go to law school. “What do you say Peter?”

    He was silent for a while, deep in thought. Jerry peaked inside the bag and saw that there was less than 2 minutes left. He could see the station lights through the window. He then watched with stoic anticipation as Peter reached into the jacket pocket that held the gun and pulled out a pair of wire cutters. He picked the bag up onto his lap but his gaze fell out the window as he watched for the approaching crossroads. “Here.” He held the tool out for Jerry to take. “You do the honors.” 

    “Oh no, no, I couldn’t. You’re the expert.” He chuckled nervously.

    “No, no I insist. It’s ceremonial. I’ll guide you.”

    Jesus christ what kind ceremonies is he going to, “Alright as long as you guide me.” The clock read 53 seconds as he took the wire cutters and Peter guided his hand to an aqua blue wire sticking out of the top. He clamped down--

    “WAIT NOT THAT ONE!”

    “OH!” Jerry threw himself back, and Peter erupted in laughter. 

    “Kidding. I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist. Go ahead, I’m sorry.” He took a few deep 

breaths to calm his joy.

    Jesus, if the bomb doesn’t get me my heart will. “You’re sure it's this one?” He asked as he clamped the blue wire. 

    “I’m sure.” 

    He clipped it with 10 seconds to spare. The train pulled to a stop and like a faucet the passengers poured out into the station, never knowing they were 19 seconds away from death.

    “Well I’ll tell you,” Jerry started, “I am so happy to have met you today, Peter. I can’t wait to read your book.” the two men stood up from their seats and shook hands. 

    Peter slung the backpack over his shoulder, “Thank you Jerry. I wanna give you this,” He held the book out in front of him.

    “Oh Peter, I know how special this book is to you. I couldn’t--”

    “No, I insist. To remember me by. Give it to your daughter.”

    You haven’t given me enough-- “I’ll guard it with my life.” Jerry said, clutching his to himself. They shook one last time before Peter disappeared into the flow of exiting traffic. Good job, Jerry. All in a day’s work.