To Be Able To Forgive

Trigger warning: depictions of drug abuse

As he's leaving for work, of all times! "Ding, ding," the bell sounds again. There's no getting around answering the door. He has to get past whoever's there in order to leave, and he's already running late. He flings it open and it bangs against the wall. "Great, there's two of them!" he thinks, eyeing them with a rapid scan from the business shoes to the tops of their fedoras.

"Whatever you're selling or preaching, I'm not interested!" he asserts with a cringe-accented tone that has always worked before. But the two men aren't stepping aside to allow him through. Mid-morning sultriness with the rattlesnake sound of locusts in nearby bushes adds to his sweat. What on earth could they possibly want? Their faces are as void as their voices are silent. Hard as rocks, pale as death, stale as statues. At the end of the eternal moment, the shorter of the two cracks his lips to speak.

"Are you Glenn Smith?" It's a calm, robotic voice.

"Yes," he answers with a questioning tone.

The shorter of the two burly men turns to the taller one with an almost undetectable nod. A metal jiggle inside the taller one's jacket pocket joins the rattle of locusts. 

"Turn around and put your hands behind your back." 

Glenn smiles with a disoriented glare in his immature eyes. "What the hell's going on here?"

"Just do what you're told," the shorter man says. A curl of oily hair hanging down from under the fedora rests pasted against his shiny forehead. Glenn obeys the order with hesitation and protest. They nudge him inch-by-slow-inch toward a dark-windowed sedan they've left idling in a lion-like grumble.

"I am not getting in that car! Not until you show me your credentials and give me some kind of damn explanation for why I'm being detained!"

The shorter one seems irritated. First real sign of a human pulse in him. "Your name is Glenn Smith. Correct?"

"Yes, I told you!"

"Then the case is closed! Would you please get in now?"

"The case is not closed! Did it ever occur to you...cops...hitmen...whatever the hell you are how many 'Glenn Smiths' there are in the world? You got the wrong man, I'm telling you!"

The prison preview on four wheels snickers at Glenn's words as its a/c pump kicks in again. "Just get in, Sir!" the taller one says through clenched teeth. "You know what you did."

The back door thuds shut. A minute ago, the sounds of summer were unnerving. Now in their muted distance, they're inducing homesickness. The rectangular, matte-black barrel of the shorter man's weapon ensures total cooperation from this point on. Cooperation, or termination. The sedan shoots away from the yard Glenn may never see again, and before his stomach settles from the g-force of the jolt, the three are several blocks down the street and counting.

Glenn's job is more important to him than anything in the world these days. It isn't just the pay, it's the family he has there. He can't afford to lose it. His soul and sanity can't. He glances out the window to his side. They've been headed down the same street as the office for a while now. Soon they will pass it by. He dwells on the five years he was there. All for nothing. He always knew his thirties were going to be a time of downhill change, but he never dreamed they'd be the decade he'd lose everything. His freedom, his dignity, his friends, his home - and from the looks of these two...thugs - possibly his life. He's seen this scene in movies. Read it in books. The gun, the car, the clean-pressed gray suits, the hats, right down to the line: "You know what you did." He never thought he'd be living it.

"I demand my right to an attorney!" The shout pierces the ears of all three, including his own. He sees the taller one smile at him in the mirror. The shorter one joins him in expression after pulling his cupped hands away from the sides of his face.

"Calm down, and listen to us." Glenn tries to do that by getting lost in the blur of concrete and greenery as they pass by the buildings in the business district, but all it does is amplify the dread over his wrecked career. "Unfortunately," the shorter one says, "due to the nature of this crime, you're not allowed representation."

"The nature of this crime," Glenn repeats in a mind whisper, rather than question the truth of the man's statement with further shouting.

"You know what you did." This time, the taller one smiles with his teeth as he gazes at the trembling reflection in the back seat.

Glenn leans toward his own lap, head shaking, the trembling increasing in intensity. He knows what he did. He knows exactly what he did. "Oh, Robbie," he ponders with weeping for the words.

The sedan has stopped. The two men nod to each other, and the shorter one lifts Glenn's head up by the chin with his calloused-over hand. "Hey! We're here. Exit the vehicle slowly and uneventfully, please." Glenn does several doubletakes, trying to verify that what he's seeing isn't real.

The men do a quick check of their surroundings as the gun barrel remains pointed at Glenn's side. The taller one wraps his hand around the door handle to Barbara's office building, but stands there for a moment before opening it.

"You'd better hurry or you're going to be late for work," he states with that same teeth smile.

"You know what you did," the shorter one repeats one final time as he pulls the trigger. A long wire with a bright yellow flag and the word, "BOOM!" written on it pops out. "At 12:00 AM last night, you, Sir, turned thirty years old."

"Happy birthday, Sport," the taller one exclaims with a pat on the shoulder. "We're event entertainers. Your awesome boss and co-workers paid us good money to treat you today, so you be sure and give 'em a big thanks!" Glenn creeps his way into the building, knowing full well what's going to happen next.

"Surprise!" eight people yell at the tops of their lungs. "Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you..." they sing in an off-key chorus filled with smiles and giggles.

"These guys are also magicians," Barbara relates to him pointing at the two men. After work, we're gonna have a big catering party and they're gonna put on a show for us!" She shakes Glenn's hand. "Thank you for all you do here."

He stares at the floor, with his hand over his stomach. "Thank you," he mumbles.

"Are you sick?" she asks.

"No. It's not that."

"Well, what is it?"

A long minute passes. "Let's go outside to some fresh air," she suggests. He follows her in slow steps.

Her eyes lock with his. "Now what's bothering you? Come on, it's your birthday! Liven up a little!"

He looks at her as though bullets had just fired from her mouth instead of words. "It would have been my best friend's thirtieth this year too."

She shakes her head, copying his stare at the ground. "I'm so sorry to hear that. It's always terrible, losing a friend."

"Even worse when you're the one responsible for it."

She doesn't have to ask. The stagnant quiet suffices as her question.

"Fifteen years ago, I gave him one of those 'spice' cigarettes as a birthday present. We were young and stupid, and I didn't think it was any big deal because I'd been smoking them like crazy without a problem." He removes his stare from the concrete and places it toward the sky. "I was wrong."

Barbara puts an arm around him. "It was shortsighted of me to pull this birthday stunt on you, and I am very sorry. I had no idea..."

There's a pause.

"You know: Having been young and stupid is a fact of life for all of us. I tried spice a few times myself back in the day. There were those of us who were lucky, and some who weren't. I know this can't bring your friend back, but believe it or not, what happened was not your fault. I've worked with you for five years now, and I believe I know you well enough to know you would never deliberately do anything to harm another human being."

She copies his stare into the sky.

"To be able to forgive anyone is hard, but to be able to forgive yourself is one of the most important things ever in life."

The door to the building pops open as the two men head back to the sedan to retrieve their cases of magic props from the trunk.

Barbara smiles at Glenn. "Please go have some cake, will you?"