Strange people (fictional recreation of reality)

Sun streaming down on a bright weekday afternoon, he was one of many on the benches in the park eating his lunch. Nothing very unusual about that, nothing out of the ordinary . . .

"Goddamn candy asses! That's what they are! Vicky, it's what they are! Goddamn candy asses!"

All eyes turned to a woman walking past, a metal traveling cart trailing behind her. Speaking into something in her hand.

"No, no, Vicky!" the woman insisted. "They're crazy if they think they can screw with me."

Just another person talking on a cell phone. The lunch crowd returned their attention to their meals.

"That will make you sick! That is the plan!" hollered the woman storming past again.

"They are brothers," she insisted stopping a few feet from the benches. "They are too! Bill Clinton and George Bush are brothers. I have the DNA proof!"

Those on the bench exchanged a look. All but one made a determined effort to ignore the woman on the cell phone. He didn't. He studied her and noticed that, out of the corner of her eyes, she was watching everyone.

He noticed something else. She didn't have a cell phone. What she held in her hand was a busted TV remote.


"Vicky. Vicky. Vicky! I have to go. I have another call. Hello?"

She was being a little more obvious now about watching those on the bench. All but one ignored her. She stepped a few feet closer and turned up the volume.

"Candy asses! They aren't stripping me of my benefits!"

A few looked over for a moment.

"I served! Unlike those damn candyasses, I served! I was in the second wave at Iwo Jima!"

He noted that the last remark caused those on the bench to lose interest.

She noticed it too.

"No, you listen to me! I served my country! I fought and died for my country! I'm the one who served the poison jello to Hitler! They should be wiping my butt with their tongues! Stupid candy asses!"

He thought a few things. First, he thought how interesting it was that in her imaginary conversations she was always arguing. Second, he thought how much her voice sounded like Lily Tomlin and wondered if the comedian was trying out a new character? She had Tomlin's build. The hair was blonde but it could be a wig. Was it just a character or was the women for real? The third thing he thought was that the easiest way to hide out admist a group of people was to be loud and draw attention to yourself.

She was outside smoking. Reviewing the day thus far and making mental notes of what still needed to be done. For a few minutes of silence, she'd even turned off her cell phone. Promising to quit but needing the nicotine fix to carry her though the day, she took another drag and looked upwards.

"Hello," said a short, strange man who suddenly appeared. "I know you. You're against the war."

He wore a dark suit and tie. His hair, what there was of it, was clipped close to the scalp. He had the complexion of someone who pushed papers for twenty out of every twenty-four hours.

She couldn't place him.

"Yes," she finally replied.

"Right, right," he said quickly with a greasy smile an insurance salesperson wouldn't try to pull off. "Yeah. I'm against the war too."

She nodded to him and took another drag from her cigarette.

"So," he said drawing out the syllabels to fill the silence. "I've been thinking about what you said about overthrowing the government . . ."

"What are you talking about?" she interrupted.

"No, no, it's cool," he said looking around. "I'm for overthrowing the government too. I listen to Al Franken. I'm a big lefty too."

She knew now that she'd never met this man before.

"I don't know what you think you know or who you are, but you need to get the fuck away from me," she advised him.

He tried a new tactic.

"Well, I've been thinking about things and I really see that overthrowing --"

"I said, 'Get away from me!' I will call the cops."

"Right, right, we can't talk about it in public," he said looking around. "But you remember when you said that violence was what it would take?"

"I never said anything like that. I don't know who you are or why you're still standing here."

With that she dialed 911 on her cell phone.

"Yes, he won't go away and, yes, he looks dangerous."

He looked angry but he moved on.

Who was he? No one she knew. No one she'd ever spoken to. Someone who thought the left was Baby Cries a Lot. Someone who wanted her to admit to saying something she'd never said. Why?