The Pen is Mightier

by J. A. Cipriano

  “Really?” I asked, surprised that had worked. I mean, I’d been about to leave my car here and foot it to the tent, but I hadn’t expected him to break and let me in. That was crazy good luck.

  “Yeah, really. Just get back in, hand me whatever, and I’ll give it back to you, okay?” He nodded once. “Deal?”

  “Deal,” I said, smiling. “And thanks.”

  “Sure, man. Just get back in your car.”

  I nodded quickly and squeezed back past the blocker before sliding into my car. As I did, the guy held his hand out for the gate fee.

  Looking around, I realized I didn’t have anything that looked like money, and worse, all I had was a twenty. Grumbling, I pulled the bill out and offered it to him.

  He took it and nodded. “Thank you, sir.” He hit the button, raising the arm. “And exact change. I appreciate it.” He stared at me as the metal arm rose, allowing me passage.

  “What do you mean, exact change?” I asked, confused. “I gave you a twenty, which you were supposed to return.”

  “Um… no.” He looked at me in confusion. “You gave me fifteen.” He continued to stare at me, and as rage boiled up inside me, the cars behind me honked again. That was when the security goons rolled up in their golf cart, lights flashing.

  “Is there a problem?” the left goon called, his bulky body barely able to fit in the vehicle. He started to push himself out of the cart, eyes fixed on me.

  “No problem, Larry,” the stoner at the gate called. “This guy was just going.” He smiled at me.

  I wanted to rage, to yell and scream, to do fucking anything, but I couldn’t. If I argued, the guy would just lie, and they’d believe him, not me. No. I was just going to have to suck it up unless I wanted Tweedledee and Tweedledum to smash my teeth into the curb.

  “You sure?” the goon asked, one hand reaching to his Taser. “I got a report someone was trying to leave a car at the gate.” His eyes narrowed.

  “It’s fine, sorry. I thought I had a flat tire,” I said quickly before nodding. “He was just helping me check.” I gestured to the stoner who nodded knowingly.

  “Everything seems okay, move along inside,” the stoner replied, waving me through with his stupid orange wand.

  I glared at him before turning back to the gate and driving through. I was so mad I could barely think. Not only had he gotten me to pay the fee, but he’d ripped me off for five bucks. Worse, there was nothing I could do about it, and since the stupid delivery charge included a three percent service charge, I was unlikely to even get a tip.

  “No,” I growled, hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly, my knuckles turned white from the effort. “I will not let them get me worked up. That lets them win.” I let out a slow breath as I made my way through the lot. Only, for whatever reason, all the delivery spots were full of trucks and other vehicles. I sighed. Maybe I could just park here and run in?

  A quick glance in my rearview mirror let me know that wasn’t going to happen. Tweedledee and Tweedledum were following along behind me. I knew the moment I got out, they’d accost me, and that was the last thing I needed tonight.

  So, instead of double parking, I drove my happy ass to the back of the lot. It took me five more minutes to find a spot. It wasn’t at the very back, but it was so far away, it might as well have been.

  Grumbling, I wedged my tiny Kia between a lifted F-350 and a Chevy Silverado with spinners. It took me another couple minutes to get myself and the sandwiches out because there was barely four inches of space between the car and the road. As I squeezed out, I wanted to kick the stupid trucks. Why had they both needed to park on the line?

  Then again, maybe it was lucky? Maybe that was why there was a space. I had a tiny car, after all, most everyone else wouldn’t have been able to fit in that space. Deciding to go with that in an effort to feel like less of a loser, I slung the strap to my sandwich carrier over my shoulder and trudged to the entrance.

  It didn’t take long to reach the end of the parking lot, and as I stepped onto the curb, I noticed a pair of spots just a few meters away. They had been full when I’d driven by not a minute before, but now? Now they were both empty.

  I stared at them, trying to ignore the indignity of it all before sighing. I’d already parked and made my way over here. There would be no point in reparking.

  Adjusting the strap on my bag, I approached the tent, and as I did, a midget with skin the color of mashed potatoes poked his head out from the flaps and inhaled sharply, his wide nostrils flaring mightily.

  “You the sandwich guy?” he asked, looking over at me.

  “I am,” I said, holding the bag out. “Are you, uh,” I glanced at the tag, “John Tenner?”

  “That would be me,” he said, taking a step out. He was dressed in an immaculate, well-tailored suit that looked incredibly expensive. Like, so expensive, I was pretty sure it’d cost more money than I’d ever have ever.

  “Do you have the card you ordered with? And ID?” I asked, shifting the bag. “I have to check.”

  “Sure,” he said with a bored laugh. “I can show you my ID.” With that, he pulled out his wallet and flipped through it before offering me the card and ID.

  A quick glance revealed the name John A. Tenner on the credit card and a matching name on the Florida license, only the picture didn’t match at all. For one, the guy in the picture was a bald black guy, and his height was listed as over seven feet.

  “Um… this doesn’t look like you at all,” I said, uncomfortably looking over at the midget. “Unless you’re supposed to be LeBron James.”

  “Oh.” He smirked. “Give me a second.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out one of those moleskin notepads and the ugliest, most beat up pen I’d ever seen. I mean, wow was it a work of horror, all mish-mashed colors that clashed like a bad eighties sitcom.

  “Is it in your notepad or something?” I asked, confused as he began to scribble something down on the pad.

  “Huh?” He looked at me for a moment. “Oh, no, just look at the ID again. I think it’s the right one.”

  “Um… buddy, I think I know how to look at a picture,” I said, turning my gaze to the ID just to be sure. Only as I did, I saw the face of the midget staring back at me. Even crazier, all the details had changed as well so now it listed him as a three foot six white guy with blue eyes and brown hair.

  “Well…” he asked, sidling up to me. “Is it right or not?”

  “It’s right. I must be crazy.” I sighed. I could have sworn… “It’s been a rough day.”

  “Has it?” he asked, and he seemed genuinely interested which was surprising. “Tell me about it? I’m bored. So fucking bored.” He looked up at the sky. “I thought being a midget at a carnival would be fun, but it isn’t really.”

  “Um… I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, pulling his order out of the cooler bag and offering it to him. “Here you go, Mr. Tenner.”

  “Tell me,” he said, moving past me without taking the food and sitting down on the bench to the left of the tent.

  “Tell you what?” I asked, confused.

  “About your day.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fucking gangster roll of cash. “If you do, I’ll give you this.” He offered it to me.

  “Really?” I squeaked, my mouth suddenly dry as I stared at the wad of cash unable to believe it. That amount of money would help me so much it was crazy. I’d be able to pay my rent, to eat a real meal. Hell, I might actually be able to buy my books for my next class instead of trying to get my classmates to let me photocopy theirs.

  “Yeah. I said I was bored. Entertain me while I eat.” He traded me the cash for the bag of fried chicken sandwiches.

  “Thank you so much!” I cried, unable to contain myself because I was already buying things in my mind’s eye. There had to be over a grand in the wad he’d handed me, and if there was one thing I could do, it was spend it.

  “It’s not a big deal.” He patted the bench. “Talk to me. M
ake it good, and I’ll double that.” He gestured at the gangster roll I was holding.

  “Really?” I asked, unable to believe this was happening. Nothing good ever happened to me.

  “Really.” As he nodded, I wanted to ask him that, ask him why me, but I didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth. Instead, I did as he said. I mean, money was money, right?

  3

  “I’m sorry to hear about your parents,” the man said when I’d finished my story. “And your sister.”

  “Thanks,” I said, looking at my shoes. I always hated telling that part of the story. I had been over at a friend’s house when they’d died which was probably the only reason I’d lived. On the surface, the normality of the whole thing made me want to scream.

  It had just been one cold Michigan night like any other, and because the central heat always bothered my sister’s allergies, my dad had taken to lighting a fire to keep everyone warm. Only, I guess he forgot to put the hearth stop in front of the fireplace, and a log had rolled out while everyone slept…

  “Okay, so enough about that,” the midget said around a mouthful of sandwich, and I turned to look at him. He had a look in his eyes I couldn’t quite understand. There was the normal pity everyone had of course, but there was something more, something dark and mischievous.

  “Enough of that?” I asked with a laugh. “Don’t want to hear how I’m about to get kicked out of school because my scholarship lost all its money to a Ponzi scheme?” I tried to smile. “Trust me, we haven’t even started going down this rabbit hole.” I ran a hand through my hair and tried to play it off like my life was worth having. Truthfully, sometimes I wondered why I even bothered…

  “Yeah, look.” He met my eyes. “You seem like a nice enough bloke, so let me give you a bit of advice. You need to stop feeling sorry for yourself.” He squared himself in front of me. “Start visualizing what you want.”

  “Ha, that’s easy for you to say,” I said, shaking my head and sighing. I’d heard people tell me to be more positive before, but that never really seemed to help. No, the only thing that ever really had was working hard, and if I was being honest, luck seemed to help a lot more than that.

  “I’m not just saying that,” he replied with a shrug. “It’s true. Being negative hurts you more than anyone.”

  “Right, okay. Look, I think I’m going to go.” I jerked a thumb at my chest. “Try to keep, keeping on, and all that.” I smiled. “The cash will really help though. I appreciate it more than you know.”

  “That’s just money.” He looked at me, chewing on his lip for a second. “Not happiness. Trust me, I’ve had everything anyone could want, and it’s not anything worth having.”

  “You know, I always hear that bullshit, but truth be told, I’ve never believed it. No one who had everything would give it up to swap with me.” I got to my feet, ready to go. Even though he’d given me a bunch of money, I was depressed as fuck. I needed to go home before I did something stupid.

  “That is true.” He nodded at me, and as he started to say something, I interrupted him.

  “Okay, look. You seem pretty well off, and all, but you know what? Just once, I’d like to be well off too, have a little of the good life. Learn for myself that it sucks.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Because I think I’d be pretty fucking awesome at being rich, all things considered.”

  “Would you now?” the midget asked, curiosity piqued. “What would you do?”

  “I, um…” I stopped. I hadn’t actually expected him to ask me. “I’d probably just finish school, live a normal life. You know…”

  “That sounds boring,” he said, getting to his feet. “So boring it hurts my brain.” He sighed. “Better than snorting coke off of a hooker’s ass though.” He gave me a look that made me think he had actually done that, and something about it upset me. I mean, I’d never wanted to snort coke off a hooker’s ass or anything, but at the same time, I’d like the opportunity to try, you know?

  “Yeah, I guess it is.” I shrugged. “I will just never have enough money to dream of snorting coke off a hooker’s ass even if I wanted to do it. No use getting my hopes up. Got to keep my eyes on the attainable, otherwise I’ll just disappoint myself, and honestly, I’m not sure I could deal with that right now.”

  “Oh?” he asked, and this time that strange curiosity was back, that ‘I’ve seen it all’ look. “Maybe you should try.”

  “There’s no point,” I said, not wanting to divulge my deepest darkest secrets to the guy.

  “It might.” The midget pulled out his moleskin again. He opened it to an empty page before fishing out his stupid-looking pen. “Tell me what you want.”

  “Why? So you can write it down?” I asked in confusion.

  “Yes.” He nodded. “I find writing things down helps a lot. You know, helps you visualize what you want, make it real, you know?”

  “I’ve not found that to be true at all. Is that your secret?” I glanced at him. He really seemed to believe that, and I didn’t know why. Part of me thought he was crazy, but he’d also just given me a couple thousand dollars like it didn’t matter. Maybe there was something to it?

  “You have no idea,” he said, tapping the pen against the page. “Tell me what you want, Roger Stevens.”

  I thought for a moment as he eyed me expectantly, but when I didn’t say anything, I saw boredom begin to cloud his features. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to continue with the exercise, but at the same time, he’d given me almost two grand, so I felt I needed to humor him. It seemed like the least I could do, only my mind was a total blank. Actually, that wasn’t it at all.

  “Go on, tell me,” the midget said, stamping one foot impatiently. “What do you want?”

  “I feel uncomfortable just telling you,” I said finally. “Maybe I could write it myself. Then you could just read it?”

  He stopped and looked at me for a long hard time. So many emotions I couldn’t place flickered across his face, swimming through his eyes before settling into something. Interest. No, that wasn’t right at all. That was the look I’d seen right before people did something dumb, like jump over a shark on a motorcycle, or leap a flaming gorge. It was a crazy exhilaration. Only that didn’t make any sense given our current situation.

  “You know what, Roger, maybe you’re right.” He took a deep breath and then looking like he was about to give his life savings to a stripper, offered me the pen and his pad. “Go ahead and write down whatever you want. Really visualize it.”

  “Um… okay, sure,” I said, taking the items from him, and as I did, the man’s entire demeanor seemed to change. He looked around apprehensively before staring at me like he couldn’t believe what he’d done.

  “Hurry it up,” he said, shuffling from foot to foot. “Write it down.” He swallowed, edging closer. “Quick and give it back.”

  “I will, just hang on a second,” I said, taking a step away from him. “Let me just think.” I chewed on my lip as I stared at the blank page. What did I want?

  A million thoughts ran through my mind. Did I want my parents back? My sister? Part of me wanted to write that, but it seemed silly. That would never happen. No, I had to be more realistic. What did I want?

  I put pen to paper. I wanted my scholarship funded. Only, after I wrote that, I realized I didn’t want that at all. I know it’s silly, but as dollar signs of fortune and fame flickered through my brain, the only thing I could think of was my part-time job at the local superstore. Not because it was a great place or anything, but because my boss there was so mean to me.

  If there was anyone I wanted to be nice to me more than I wanted Chuck, the district manager, to be nice to me, it was for Amy to be nice to me. No. I didn’t just want her to be nice to me, I wanted her to treat me like I was a person, and hey, if she decided she wanted to make up for being so mean to me, that would be okay too.

  I scribbled that down and began to think again.

  “Are you done yet?” the midget
asked, moving closer and trying to see what I’d written.

  “Oh, um… sorry, I just need another second, is that okay?” I asked, and when he met my eyes, I could see the answer was no.

  “No, it’s not.” He held out his hand. “You’ve had my pen long enough, give it back.”

  “Okay,” I sighed, looking down at the page, and then before I thought about what I was doing, I wrote down another thing. Thanks for helping me, wish I could have written more.

  As I closed the pad, intending to hand the pen back to him, something exploded behind us. I turned, right in time to see a flaming bit of the tent hit the midget in the chest, flinging him backward. As his body hit the ground and tumbled, a fire alarm screamed through the air. Shoving the pen and pad in my pocket, I ran toward the midget, but before I reached him, another explosion filled the air. The shockwave hit me like a roundhouse kick to the face, throwing me off my feet. I toppled across the cement before slamming into a parked car.

  Agony ripped through me as darkness encroached along my vision and my hearing distilled down to a high-pitched ring. As I lay there, I saw a dozen guys clad in swat style body armor and face masks appear from everywhere. They swarmed around the midget, desperate to protect him, all with their M16s ready. A pair grabbed him up, pulling him away from the carnage as I lay there struggling to breathe.

  That’s when he pointed at me, and the guys with the guns turned toward me and opened fire.

  4

  As the sound of gunfire filled my ears, I managed to roll beneath the car I’d slammed into. My body was thrumming with adrenaline, and once that wore off… well… I knew it was going to hurt from that explosion.

  Still, I’d have to get away for that to matter. As I heard the sound of boots coming toward me, there was another explosion. Then another.

  “Fuck!” I cried, scrambling out the other side and sprinting through the cars and running as fast as I could. I wasn’t sure what the fuck was going on, but it sounded like someone was raining down fucking Armageddon on the group of soldiers who had shot at me.