What In Luck!

He was running across the Broadway stage, looking left and right frantically, like he had no idea where he was going, panicking. He was going from one end of the other end, the curtains ruffling a little. But he wasn’t doing anything but going from one end of the stage.                

The curtains were pulled back to reveal a woman in gold. Another person, a man with a mint green stripe on his velvet black top hat, appeared. A second woman, one in a snow-white dress down past her knees, showed up. A second man—a very, very dark-skinned black man with a blood-red shirt and black business jacket—made his entrance. They were all holding glittering hourglasses.

“What are those for?” The man stopped running.

“Don't panic!” Someone in all white appeared, telling the man to stop panicking. “Why are you so hurried? Slow down. You’ll—”

“Those are hourglasses. They’ll run out. I’m assuming…”

“They are representing your luck. You’re running out.”

“Running out?” The man’s voice became high-pitched, and he wiped sweat from his forehead. “Running…out…?”

“Yes.” The man in all white walked up to the dry-mouthed man, him staring at the sharp-eyed man. The man who was shorter was looking at this man with squinted eyes—he studied his icy blue eyes, thin raven-black hair and pointy teeth. But none of this fazed him. He looked at the hourglasses, and panicked.

“But…but, they’re hourglasses! What do I need to do?” He looked around himself. “How am I—?”

“First of all, stop being all hysterical. You’re the reason they’re here. If you spend your time wisely—”

“But I do!” He shouted, his face tight. “If I do spend my time wisely, it’ll be all okay for us because we’ll be set free. We’ll get out of here.”

The man in the pure-white tuxedo, pure-white tie, pure-white shoes and pure-white button down shirt with the pearl-white buttons snapped his fingers. Twins, a boy with flamingly black hair, golden eyes, black lips and slanted Asian eyes and a girl, Asian too with evergreen make-up and black lips, appeared immediately, shrunk before such a domineeringly tall man. Anyway, they stuttered and stammered, but he put a finger to their lips each, and the formerly panicked man asked the two who would want to serve this man if his luck runs all the way out tonight.

“The stars will burst, and all the sun will melt. Like wax on a candle.”

The throaty rasp of the boy sent shivers up the man’s spine. It wasn’t a very good sound—more like barely formed nails on a person’s hand sliding down a chalkboard. The girl stood there, like she was under a spell.

The man pursed his lips, staying his distance. The girl hadn’t moved or spoken.

“So—you!” The man in all white pointed a finger at the boy. He jolted, and tried getting away, but the man in white ordered him back here. The boy scurried back, whimpering up at him. The man smiled sympathetically. “Oh—so sorry. You’ve had a rough day. Off with you to bed.” He patted the girl on the shoulder. “Yes—you, too.”

They dashed off.

The man who had his luck running out squinted at the man. Unsure of what he was doing, the man stayed where he was.

“Like it?” The man took off his jacket, and a similar-looking servant came and took it. Then he ran away, appearing again in a T-shirt and jeans. The man vomited in his mouth—the man looked like he needed a shower and to shave and had sweaty, dirty clothes on. But the man, swallowing at the very appearance of the man, dared not say anything. Instead, he, trying so hard, looked patiently at the man, though he knew he was slowly balling his fists.

 “So…uh…” The nonchalant man shrugged his shoulders, like they’d been waiting for their flight for some time now, or waiting for a long time for the waiter, and they didn’t really know each other, strangers sitting across from each other at a table, awkwardly together. Didn’t really know how to talk to each other. He coughed. “So…”

“So I’d like to know why I’m running out of luck.”

“Well, you see, I reserve the questions for never. And I reserve the stupid answers for—”

The man, steely-eyed, narrowed them. His lips were really pursed, he felt them that way.

“Oh—” The man in white pulled at his collar. “Is it hot in here? I…I’m sorry.” He walked away, ordering the air conditioning to be turned down. “Are you going to just stand there…?”

The man who didn’t know a bead of sweat from a panicked gesture from before now stood rigid. He looked at his shirt. He picked at it, the orange comforting him somehow. It was so neon it was talking to him. Well, if he could just find someone else out there. No one was in the audience. His shoulders slumped a little—he wished he had his girls and sons with him. They were both identical, his sons, but his daughters looked nothing alike. A brunette, beautiful, and a blond, so intelligent.

His sons were so smart, intelligent social-wise. He wished he had them with him—not that he was stupid or anything. They just needed some tender love...

Something pulled him away from his family. The funny stench of such a wickedly interesting man…

He turned to face this man, as in a duel. “What do you want?”

The man shrugged. “Oh—”

The other man grabbed him by the collar and growled, “Where’s my family? My sons and daughters!”

“Where’s your wife?” The man gently tapped the man’s hand, and he let the other man go, but his blood boiled inside. “Where’s—”

“Don’t mention anyone—”

“WHY?!” The man thundered. “I…I may have made some mistakes, but I don’t understand why…” He looked to see whether she had walked into the room. Or his children were around him. Or his family…did they love him at all? He was always alone.

“A single father, is that correct?”

“Yeah.” He forced out, betraying himself.

“Oh.” The voice was sympathetic.

He suddenly wanted nothing to do with this stupid fool. Just walk away and snuggle up with his separated wife. Invite his children, all of them crowding around the couple, their smiling faces all shining with anticipation of being a family and watching a feel-good movie. His wife, turning to him, a smile on her pretty face. Her curls, ever so brunette, smacking him lightly in the face.

He laughed. He smiled. Even though he returned to reality, he still stayed in the fantasy. Once he returned, he held onto it like he would a stuffed animal if he were a toddler or a small kid. “Hey—what’s with the stupid time? Why do I have only so much time?”

“You have to turn the hourglasses around so they’re not going to kill you.”

The man did. But even if he did, he realized, he still wouldn’t be able to beat time. He thought. I’m losing no matter what. I’m the one who needs to go before my luck runs out. But how do I do this? How do I keep from my luck running out?

“How—how do I keep my luck from running out?”

“Oh!” The excited man said cheerily. He bounced right out to the hourglasses, giving him a little tour. “You turned these over; now, you have time to get your luck away. In other words, do stuff so you can enjoy your luck before it runs out.”

What he just said, the man didn’t want to even think about. He didn’t really make—no, he didn’t care. The man was stupid. He didn’t care about the stupid luck. He was done with stuff he didn’t have to have. He didn’t have to have luck. He didn’t have to stay away from his wife. She could come back. She didn’t have to run off—separate over stupid matters. They fought, they bickered, and they were at each other’s throats like cats and dogs. But she didn’t have to run away—he saw his mother run away after an altercation with his father. His father tried getting her back, but she refused. She didn’t want to be married anymore. She thought she was the wrong woman to marry. His father didn’t pursue her. He died a divorced man.

I will never end up like that. The man thought, lifting his head and looking steely at the man in white. You can lie to me. You can tell me my stupid luck’s running out! But I’m not going to be my father. I’m not going to die a divorced widower. I’m not stupid like you—

He dashed over and balled his fists, looking at the man and then pulling back his fist. The black man jumped out, having dropped his hourglass. He looked firmly at the man. The man looked at him. So fearless, so strong. He dropped his fist. Nodding, he ditched the fist. He looked at the man.

Nodding, he turned away, reconciling with his wife. They came together down the aisle. His children came, too, and sat in four of the theatre seats. They all watched as the couple walked down the aisle. “Yes, honey,” he muttered, his head cocked towards her, “this is where the magic happens!”

He hurled up, spinning up. “Watch!”

He ran over to the hourglasses, but the man in white told him not to do so. He went over to him, grabbing his hands. “Come on, man! It’ll be okay—”

The black man about spat out something, but the man jerked towards one of the hourglasses, softly so he would close his mouth. He nodded, after making eye contact. The man turned around. If I can’t punch my father, I’ll punch these hourglasses! He did so, the gold, silver, emerald, evergreen and sunshine yellow sand and glittering salt at the end of the rainfall shower of falling such stuff from the hourglasses. The stuff came out, and he smiled widely, turning around to see his wife. She looked at him and then at the stuff, and then asked what he was doing. Was he going to sell the stuff in the Middle East or India? Did he gather it, turning it into monetary goodness somehow?

“It was my luck. It was running out—”

“Look!” The wife shrieked, jabbing her finger right at the mess. It was melting! The man grabbed it, scooping it into his hands, trying to put it back. But it was no use.

“Help!” He shrieked, panicking. Ordering his children to hurry up here, he told them to hurry up as they gathered the stuff. The children tried gathering it all and putting it each broken hourglass, but the man hurried them up, impatient till he balled his fists. “Hurry up!”

The children froze. The women and men, shock registered on their faces, stared horrified at him. “How dare you!”

He whipped around. His wife glared at him. “How…dare you!”

“You don’t want to be like your father, but you’re yelling.”

The man in white was grabbed by the back of the collar and thrown into the gold and everything else. “Take it. Have it. Do something with it. Here!” He wanted his screams to be hurting the man. The man in white.

“The liar. The fool.”

He dashed over to his children, ordering his wife up on stage. She came and then yanked him away from them. “How—”

“Honey. Please.” He spread his hands. “I’ve cracked the hourglasses. No more luck.” He shook his head.

The wife, husband and his children, whom he hugged and made up to by kissing them on their cheeks and messing up their hair, walked offstage. But the man’s face became darker and darker, his complexion so grave. Over the years, he shook his head, he telling his family he was fine. He was fine—he just told himself…

He didn’t need hourglasses of luck. One morning, he awoke in his bed. His wife was not there. His children were not in their beds. He searched the room, his panic returning. He tried finding them, but when he arrived back at the stage, the man in white said that they disappeared. Fell off the face of the planet.

The man balled his fists and punched the stupid fool in the face. As the man reacted, he looked at the stuff. The stupid stuff. He had no interest in trying to pick luck up. It could die for all he cared. He searched and searched, rejoining his wife. And his children.

He brought them back to the stage, showing him he defeated the evil man. They shook their heads. He nodded firmly, saying the deed had been done. But there was something gnawing at him. Keeping him awake. He went to sleep. His sleep was troubled, not with nightmares, but with this stupid feeling. He spent his days with his wife, children and himself.

But they turned away from him.

He escaped the theatre—the theatre of meaninglessness. He shoved open the theatre doors and then whipped open the front doors. Strutting down the sidewalk, he saw someone, her back to him. Her brunette hair was done up like the 40’s, all curly and pinned to her head with barrettes.

“Sweetheart, I—” He whipped her around.

“Oh!” The woman gasped, and hurried away.

The man kept searching and searching. He studied their faces. They all seemed the same…

Everything seemed salty, grimy. He looked around himself. Reality began to set in. He looked around—the men and women having held these hourglasses stood there, pitiful faces and silence reigning.

He couldn’t get out. He reigned in the hourglass. He gulped. I’m not my father. I’m not a divorced or dead man. I’m not going to die a divorced man or a dead man who has separated himself from his family. I’m going to get back together!

“But they don’t want you.”

The man in white stood in front of the man in the glass hourglass. His hands on the glass, he growled, but the man in white shook his head, whispering, and somehow the man could hear him. “So sorry, for your loss. Your own wife and children—”

“Don’t bring them up! They’re mine!” The man’s face was white: he just knew it. No one messed with his family. “Did you do something—?”

The man in white looked down and away, like he was rubbing a toe in the dirt. Then fingers snapped. The two Asian children appeared, more starved and dehydrated than before. The man’s heart broke for these children. They were innocent. But they served a fool—so how innocent were they?

He called to them, but they didn’t answer. He pounded on the glass. He rammed into it. This hourglass wasn’t glass; it was plastic. Seeing the little tunnel above him, he tried jumping, and then put his hands out—they stuck onto the hourglass! Inching his way, he got through the very thin part of the hourglass! Reaching the top, he grinned madly.

Ha! Hold on, dear. Here I come!

The two Asian kids kicked the hourglass.

“Whoa!” He stuck on for dear life, and closed his eyes. Then he opened them. He was still stuck in the hourglass where he had been. He had just been tipped over. The Asian kids went around, reaching inside. He could hardly believe it. They were helping him?

He got out, ignoring them.

“No!” The Asian boy said. “We’re not your enemies.” The girl shook her head violently.

“Prove it.”   

The two Asian kids charged the man in white, but the man in white was white with fury.

“Well, well, who do we have here? A fool in all white. Too bad your eyebrows aren’t white, too.”

The two Asian kids went to the man. “Can we be your children?” They begged. Where were their parents? He blinked back tears.

The man grabbed these children’s shoulders. “Find your parents.” They dashed away, never thanking him. The man turned away but not before one of the women who held the hourglass spoke up.

“Honey.”

He whipped around. She approached him. “Dear,” she took off her wig. She pulled off the dress, revealing clothes he recognized as one of her usual outfits. “I missed you.”

The other three people jumped out. His children.

He gaped. Then he gasped, “YOU were all here?”

“We love you!”

“We didn’t want you to be worried. Or nervous. Or anything.”

The man shook his head. Overjoyed, he grabbed his children and his wife, hugging and kissing them. “I didn’t want to lose you. I didn’t want to lose you!”

“You won’t. If you don’t want to be lost.” 

“Like my father.”

“Like that bully over there—in white.”

Everyone turned.

The man in white took off his hat and outer garment to reveal a plaid shirt and jeans. “Dad?”

“Son, I’m sorry!”

“Dad—why’d you walk away from me like that? From Mom?”  

His throat was choked with tears. “I—I don’t know what I was thinking. I wasn’t the man—”

He opened his arms for a hug, and the man embraced him. 

“Do you see him? His eyes are icy blue. He’s got razor sharp teeth. He’s evil!”

The man released. He had turned back into a white tuxedo wearing fool. “Ah, so ready to hug your own father—”

The man whipped around, returning to his family. “You guys! I’d never.”

“No—we’d never.”

The man smiled.

“Thanks, guys.”

“Thank you!” Mother and children chorused.

The father got up, nodded at the movie theatre and then walked out, knowing he had a lot of talking to do with his son—a happy reunion for all.

But he was just a divorced man trapped in a graveyard of people who couldn’t reconcile. Who couldn’t get back together, because they refused to do so. He saw his wife. She wasn’t dead. Just divorced.