ASK ME

I remember it was a humid night last summer, maybe June or July. The sun had just begun its descent into the Colorado horizon. All the local kids were out playing, embracing their summer freedoms. Bouncing balls, swinging sticks, tossing curses and insults. Meg and I were sitting on a nearby bench, fiddling through our phones, occasionally glancing up to check on Jaxson. Just a typical summer night. Or, it should have been.

A supply truck - transporting potato chips - pulled over to the side of the road not far from where we sat. A man exited the passenger door and the truck drove off towards the mountains. The guy stood there, collecting himself or surveying his surroundings.

I looked over at Meg, who was lost in the world of Facebook. I nudged her gently with my elbow and she looked up.

“What?”

“Any idea who that is? Doesn’t look familiar.”

“Nope.” Back to Facebook.

Maybe it was gut instinct or something, but the man intrigued me. There was something about the way he stood there, as if trying to figure out what to do next. Was this guy some sort of predator or killer or other brand of criminal? Should we collect Jaxson and head home?

I made my way over to my son, trying to just casually ask my boy a question. As I got closer to the playing children, I eyed this guy. Our visitor.

Normal build, average height. Cropped hair, jeans, a Yankees cap. Unlike all of us parents, he wasn’t looking at a phone. The man was instead oscillating his head, taking in our little town.

I wasn’t the only person who’d taken note of this guy. Jaxson and his friends were watching him too. Soon they began whispering amongst themselves, then nodding in his direction.

It was then that I noticed a certain distinguishing feature about this man. I honestly don’t know how I missed it in the first place.

Now, I've seen plenty of unique tattoos in my day. Meg even had a butterfly on her ankle. I’d seen tats on biceps and arm sleeves. I’ve seen them across the back. I’ve seen plenty of tramp stamps. But this guy’s tattoo… it was much different.

Across his face was tattooed, in simple all caps: ASK ME

Huh? Ask him what?

Apparently I wasn’t the only one with that question. Charley, a good friend of Jaxson’s, approached the man. I jetted over, hoping to intervene. Where are Charley’s parents?

“What’s that mean?” asked Charley, always curious and never intimidated by adults or authority.

Charley received a simple silence in return.

“What’s your name?” Charley followed up, clearly amused and seeing a game about to play out.

The man offered nothing but a muted, expressionless reply… or lack thereof.

“Charley, why don’t you go find your mom and dad,” I interjected.

The boy stepped away, but not to find his parents. He instead returned to his friends to gab about this crazy new stranger.

I examined the man and the tattoo. He was unfamiliar to me, surely an out of towner. I’d first guessed that the tattoo was just Sharpie, but at a closer inspection it appeared real. Permanent.

“Can I help you with anything?” I asked the man. Translation: who are you, what do you want, and please leave.

He gave me the sample silence he’d given the child.

“What’s your name?”

“Where are you from?”

“What brings you here?”

No answer. No expression. Silence and a vacant stare.

Giving up, I made my way back over to Meg. By now she’d abandoned Facebook, and along with some other parents, was watching my interaction with the stranger.

“Honey, who is that?” she asked, with a blend of fear yet wonder.

“No idea. He won’t say anything. Did you see his tattoo?”

“Yeah, I see he has something written on his face… what does it say?”

“It just says ASK ME.”

“Ask him what?”

“No idea…”

Some of the other parents started walking towards the stranger. The questions flowed from my fellow citizens, but nothing stirred the man.

“Are you hurt?”

“What’s your name?”

“DO YOU SPEAK ENGLISH?”

“Are you lost?”

“Are you visiting somewhere here in town?”

“Are you single?”

“What’s the meaning of life?”

“Does God exist?”

All questions went unanswered. Eventually, the man began walking out of town square, towards the river. A few of us followed, at a distance. He found a downed tree trunk near the riverbed and took a seat.

It was beginning to grow dark, and everyone was getting concerned. Someone had called the cops, who arrived on the scene.

A group of us watched from a distance as the police approached the man, still sitting by the river. We couldn’t hear the conversation, but it was clear the cops’ questions were rebuffed just as ours were. This man was just not talking.

The police encouraged us to go home for the night, so we all collected our children and did so. I’ll admit, I struggled to fall asleep that night. It took a stiff drink for both Meg and I to doze off, and I slept with an aluminum baseball bat next to the bed.

Who the hell is this guy? And what does this tattoo mean?

—

I’m not too sure where the guy went the next day. In the morning I peeked down by the river, and he wasn’t there. No clue where he’d slept or what happened to him.

Did he skip town? Thank God.

Meg went into the office, and I worked from home as usual. Still unaware of where the mystery man was, I told Jaxson to play inside. I’ll give the kid credit, he’s usually great about wanting to play outside. But when given the option of having Charley over to play video games and eat potato chips all day, he jumped at the chance.

After work we found ourselves at a local restaurant. I was enjoying a burger and a beer, chatting with Meg about our workdays, when another strange man walked through the door.

This guy was a bit different - shorter, heavier, and adorned in an expensive suit. Balding and clean shaven, and - worth mentioning - without a tattoo across his face.

Much like the other guy, he stopped and surveyed the scene. But just for a moment. He soon sat down at the bar, ordering a bourbon.

Our table was just next to his perch, meaning I could easily hear his conversation with some fellow patrons.

“Nice evening,” he remarked casually. Some people nodded, perplexed by the appearance of a second stranger in less than a day.

“Hey… I’ve been looking for a buddy of mine,” this man said, trying a little too hard to be nonchalant.

He didn’t need to say who. We all knew.

“Does… does your friend have a face tattoo?” asked our neighbor Janet.

“Yep, he sure does.”

“A tat saying ASK ME?”

“Yep, that’s him.”

By now every other conversation in the entire restaurant had halted. This new stranger had our complete attention.

Janet continued.

“We all tried talking to him when he showed up last night. We certainly asked him a lot of questions. But he refused to answer any of them.”

“Hmmm, that’s odd, huh?”

“Any idea what that’s about?”

This second stranger seemed to pause and contemplate the question.

He’s toying with us.

Who is this guy?

What the hell is going on?

Before stranger #2 could answer, the restaurant door opened, and the stranger from the previous night entered. Mr. ASK ME sat down at the far end of the bar, as far as he could get from Mr. Nice Suit.

The second stranger gave the first a smug smile and knowing nod. The first showed him the same disinterest he’d shown all of us.

“What’s his deal?” my friend Brad asked the suited stranger, barely trying to whisper.

“Well… it would seem you need to ask him a question.”

“We’ve tried!” exclaimed my exasperated wife.

“Maybe you’re not asking the right question?” offered the Mr. Nice Suit.

“Well, what’s the right question then?” asked Janet, rejoining the conversation.

“Well, even if I did know, I’m not sure that would be my place to say.”

“DO you know?” I spoke up.

I don’t like this guy. If it’s even possible, I like this second stranger even less than the first.

He considered my question, and the smug grin returned.

“No… Of course I don’t know.”

BS. This man is lying. He doesn’t want us asking the right question.

—

The next morning we held a town hall.

Most of us called off work. We brought the children, encouraging them to play quietly in the back of the room. Some kids colored, some attended to their screens. But thankfully, maybe sensing the urgency of the moment, they offered little distraction to us adults.

People were getting upset. Concerned. Panicked. Angry. In the span of a couple days, two mysterious strangers had arrived in our little burb, upsetting our sense of peace and quiet.

The religious leaders were among the most vocal. Some pondered if the tattooed stranger was a prophet, sent by God to give us a message - if only we asked the right question. But what would that make the second stranger?

Others saw the tattooed man as a harbinger of doom, sent by the devil himself. Maybe to test us. Or to destroy us.

The politicians sought ways to twist this to their benefit. They urged us to vote for police levies to ensure our safety. They assumed authority in the situation.

The parents brought the most panic. Especially those with small kids. Could either of these mysterious strangers be trusted around their precious children? SOMETHING must be done, and soon.

Me, I sat quietly and observed. Both strangers were certainly odd, even suspicious. But I had to admit neither had done anything illegal or dangerous. A strong part of me wanted to see how this played out.

Several minutes into the meeting, the suited stranger made his way into the hall. Everyone went silent, waiting to see what this man would say or do.

“I take it we’re all here to discuss what to do about our silent, tattooed friend?” he offered, trying a little too hard to be casual and friendly.

You’re half of the reason everyone’s so upset, buddy.

“Me? I don’t trust him. I think he could be dangerous” stated Mr. Nice Suit, looking to forward the panic. “We need to do something.”

“Like what?” asked a council member.

“I think the cops should escort the man out of town.”

“Under what grounds?”

“Loitering perhaps? I’m sure they can find something.” He paused to think. “Everyone should also stop asking him questions, too.”

“Why’s that?” I finally spoke up.

“The man is clearly trying to trap or trick you. He WANTS you to ask questions. He wants to tempt you, to drive you to evil.”

Some of the religious leaders bought into this concept. The man continued.

“He wants you asking him questions, and talking about him, and getting upset. He wants to disrupt your lives. The man is wicked. A pawn of the devil himself.”

He kept going.

“Do you want him corrupting your CHILDREN? What if he’s some sort of predator?”

The parents perked up at this.

“Do you trust him with your wives and daughters? Who knows what this person is capable of!”

The crowd was growing louder… and angrier.

I looked around the room, at my fellow citizens of our small little mountain town. I knew who carried guns. I knew who had tempers. I knew who was desperate. I knew these people.

And at that moment I knew that this town spelled great trouble for the tattooed man.

I stood, not really sure what I was going to do or say. But I knew we all needed a little bit of reason just then.

“Let’s all take a breather for a minute, okay? Let me go talk to him. Maybe he doesn’t need more questions. Maybe he just needs someone to explain the situation to him. The optics of him being here and what he’s doing to us. Maybe I can get him to move on. Let me at least try, okay?”

To my relief, and to the disappointment of Mr. Nice Suit, everyone agreed.

—

I found Mr. ASK ME sitting again on his tree trunk near the river. He seemed to like that spot. I approached carefully, and then sat down next to him.

“I don’t have any more questions for you right now,” I assured him. “But I do want you to listen.”

This was returned by his usual blank stare.

“You’re causing quite the stir. Not sure if you know that. Your friend in the suit probably isn’t helping the situation, too. Of course, something tells me he’s no friend of yours. To me, it really seems like he’s hellbent on making sure you DON’T talk. No idea why. But that guy’s up to something, I just know it. It’s funny, he worries me more than you do. But I’m in the minority there.”

I paused and considered this man. His blank stare continued, but I saw no hate or evil in his eyes. If anything, he seemed… sad. Trapped, maybe.

“People are really freaked out, man. They want you to leave. If you don’t… I don’t know what will happen. Things may turn violent. I’d really hate to see that happen. But there may not be anything I can do in that case.”

Inside my pocket, my phone vibrated. I was getting a text. Probably Meg. I ignored it.

“Why HERE? Why us? What are you hoping to accomplish here?”

I couldn’t help but laugh at myself, just a little.

“And here I go, asking you questions, even though I said I wouldn’t. Maybe that’s just human nature. We see something we don’t understand, and we try to make sense of it. It’s really, really hard not to ask questions. You know?”

Ha. I did it again.

“It’s funny, when I look at you, I don’t necessarily see a threat. But I could be wrong there. Sure, you seem harmless enough… but you never know. You could be a serial killer I suppose.”

Silence.

“It’s just a weird situation, you know? I mean, who tattoos ASK ME across their face? Unless… it wasn’t your choice, I suppose. Is this some sort of punishment? I don’t really believe in things like curses, but is there some cosmic element here? Are you forever jinxed?”

I could be wrong, but I could swear I saw movement in his eyes.

I heard some noise behind me. I gave a quarter turn, and saw a collection of neighbors and friends standing a ways back. Too far to hear me talking. But close enough to monitor the situation.

Standing among them was the suited stranger. Looking ominous. Dangerous.

Was I getting closer?

“I dunno. Maybe you are cursed or something. You could be. But just know, we may never solve this weird riddle. You may be run out of town by a pitchfork-wielding mob before that happens. Do you want that?”

Nothing.

“I’m trying to understand. To put myself in your shoes. I think you need help - and I don’t mean that in a ‘you should be institutionalized’ way. You have a problem, and you need help with it. But I have no idea how to help you.”

Another text. It can wait.

“The funny thing is, you probably WANT to talk, to answer, don’t you? I think you do. I think you’d love to speak and answer all our questions. But for whatever reason, I don’t think you can.”

I examined his face closely.

“I wish there was a way to help. But how? How can I ease your burden?”

I stood, unsure what else I could do. Turning back towards everyone else, I shook my head sadly.

“Thank you.”

Huh?

I turned back towards the stranger. He offered a small smile.

“Thank you,” he said again. “You just did.”

At that, he rose from the trunk and made his way up the hill towards the street. That potato chip truck happened to be back for another delivery, and the stranger approached the driver. I couldn’t hear, but I saw the driver nod, and the stranger got into the passenger seat. A moment later, the truck pulled away, leaving town.

My fellow citizens, breaking out of their initial shock, surrounded me. The questions flowed rapidly.

“What did you say to him?”

“How did you get him to leave?”

“What did he say to you?”

“What was the correct question?”

I answered them as best I could, but I was distracted. I was watching Mr. Nice Suit, who stood apart from the crowd, clearly furious with me. He shook his head like a parent disappointed in their toddler for coloring on the wall.

I tried making my way through the crowd, but before I could he walked off. I scrambled after him, but there were too many people. I saw him turn the corner past the hardware store. I broke free and made my way to that corner myself, but the stranger was gone, never to be seen again.

I returned to Meg and Jaxson, relieved to be done with this ordeal. I pulled them each in for a hug, savoring what I’d hoped would be a return to normalcy for our family.

I’d love to say there was some great overarching moral to this story. Maybe there was. Maybe we all ask too many of the wrong questions? Or we’re all too wrapped up in our own worlds, our own concerns and questions? Maybe we need to ask how we can help others?

Yeah, maybe. Or maybe it was just some really freaking weird thing that happened to our town last summer?