by Scott Young
Father Dodson put his arms around the distraught man, hugging him in the darkened theatre. “Don’t say that, my friend. Each one of us at least deserves life. That is God’s gift to us all.” The dam inside him burst and Sidney broke down completely. After four or five minutes, the tears abated enough for him to wipe his eyes on the napkins he’d taken from the concession stand. Father Dodson could tell he was embarrassed by his outburst.
“Don’t you see, Sidney? Maybe there is a reason you survived,” the priest said gently. He grabbed the sobbing man by his shoulders. “You’ve been given a precious gift. You have a chance to do things differently, to change who you are. Most of us don’t get that opportunity. It’s possible you were spared because you have a purpose you haven’t fulfilled yet.”
Sidney looked up at the other man, still sniffling.
“If it’s like you said and you’ve never really tried, then you’ve never failed either,” Dodson said with a gleam in his eye. “Your potential is unlimited in that way. No matter what happens, you can get through it because you have a clean slate. You don’t have any of the baggage that can weigh a person down. None of the regrets or misgivings about past choices, because you’ve allowed others to make the important decisions for you. You simply have been waiting for a chance, for your opportunity. This is that opportunity, Sidney.” Father Dodson smiled broadly before adding in a firm tone, “You can be anything you want. You can be anyone you want.”
Sidney felt a calm come over him. It began in his chest then quickly spread throughout his entire body, clearing his mind and energizing him. Somehow when he looked into the priest’s eyes, he saw the simple truth for the first time in his life: it was all up to him. He was the master of his own fate. He could take control of his life and be someone different, someone better. He, Sidney Rosenthal from Kew Gardens, Queens, could be everything he’d always wished he could be. He knew it beyond any doubt, believed it with all his heart.
“Thank you, Fath...thank you, Nicholas,” Sidney said with a smile as he shook the other man’s hand. “You’ve done me a great service. Maybe one day I can return the favor but right now, I have to go. I need to go.” He grabbed his coat and briefcase before bounding down the stairs two at a time. Within seconds, he’d disappeared through the doors leading out of the theatre.
“You’re very welcome, Sid,” Father Dodson whispered serenely. “I know you’ll do great things soon.”
Sidney hurried through the busy streets of Manhattan, almost sprinting at times. Something had clicked for him in that theatre and, despite feeling an urgency he’d never experienced before, he also felt in rhythm with the world for the first time in his life. That synchronicity seemed to slow everything down as he weaved his way through the crowds of people, allowing him to see three or four moves ahead, like a star running back breaking through the defensive line. He was lighter now too, completely unburdened, not just from the bus incident, but from every weight he’d ever allowed to be thrust upon him during his long, torturous life. As he reached the corner of 44th and 8th, he dumped his briefcase into one of the city’s overflowing garbage cans without breaking stride.
Minutes later, he was on the street that housed his longtime employer, Weinstein and Goldman Accounting. He sped up, his excitement increasing with each step, as he got closer to that familiar revolving door. Sidney burst into the lobby like a guided missile rushing past the security desk, newsstand and flower shop on his way to the elevator banks. When the doors opened on the 16th floor, he went through the office’s outer doors heading straight for the cubicle where he’d spent the better part of his adult life. Just like every other day, no one bothered to greet him or ask him where he’d been all week. Nobody cared enough about Sidney Rosenthal to exchange a simple pleasantry. No “Hey, what’s the good word, Sid?” or “How ya doin’, buddy?” No, today like every other day, he got nothing but apathy from his coworkers. This time it didn’t bother him in the least. He casually looked around his work place and realized there was nothing for him there, nothing he needed anymore, nothing he wanted.
“My name is Sidney Rosenthal and I quit!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, startling everyone. He strode purposefully toward the door as everyone watched. Sure, now everyone notices me, he thought to himself. Well, too little, too late, assholes. Just before he exited through the doors, he turned and added, “And you can all kiss my ass!” Outside on the street, he took a deep breath and smiled happily. He felt good. Really good. Better than he’d felt since he was a little kid, before his dad passed away.
Twenty-five minutes later, having stopped at a street vendor for his first two hot dogs with sauerkraut in 17 years, Sidney arrived at the main offices for Parkhurst National Bank. This office was the very first branch ever opened back in 1967 and, while it still offered three tellers for customers’ banking needs, it was now used mostly as the corporate headquarters for New York State. Helen had been promoted to VP of Administration a little over two years ago but, as he was just beginning to realize, Sidney had never set eyes on the place before today. He was beginning to understand just how much of a spectator he’d allowed himself to become in his own life.
As he walked through the front doors, Sidney could see the entire inside of the bank. It was one incredibly large room consisting of a 25-foot high ceiling with two distinct portions separated almost completely down the middle. On the left were the tellers, secure behind their bulletproof, clear, glass dividers. Their work area was much smaller than the length of the room, undoubtedly because the vault was located through the heavily fortified door at the far end of their work stations. Directly in front of the tellers was a waiting area with two counters filled with various banking forms and those pens chained down to prevent theft. There was the requisite roped area sending all customers through a maze of left turns to maximize and coordinate the waiting space. Sidney couldn’t help but notice the numerous security cameras positioned throughout the room to monitor every square inch of the place.
On the right side of the room was an office setting. It was completely surrounded by more glass, accessible only through a locked door, and further protected by a computerized key card entry system. Inside were a half dozen desks lined up two by two as well as other various office equipment. There were three doors along the right wall leading to other offices, presumably for the higher-ups. Some kind of meeting room was in the far back, most likely used for conferences and other gatherings, also completely enclosed in glass walls and doors. This place must be a bitch to clean, Sidney thought. Right in front of the door to the office section was a small desk and chair facing the street. On the desk was a clipboard filled with lined paper, a few pens and an out-of- date phone. A lone security guard stood nearby, dwarfed by an overgrown, 8-foot tall potted plant.
“Can I help you with something, sir?” the security guard asked as Sidney looked around for his wife. He was a gangly, redheaded man with oversized blue eyes and freckles all over his face and arms, made more prominent by the dark blue uniform he wore.
He appeared to be all sharp angles, his elbows, shoulders and knees protruding starkly through his clothing. The hat on his head was entirely too big, conjuring up images of a ginger Barney Fife. His name tag said “McDowell.”
“Hi, I’m Sidney Rosenthal,” Sidney said. “I’m here to see my wife, Helen.”
“Helen’s married?” the guard responded, his face scrunching with incredulousness.
“Yes, she is,” Sidney said curtly. “To me. For 15 years.”
The guard grimaced in embarrassment. “Gosh, I’m sorry, Mr. Rosenthal. I didn’t mean no offense. I’m Timmy, by the way,” he said, extending his hand to shake, but Sidney just stared at him stoically. “Ah, um...well you see, it’s just that I’ve never seen you around and everybody loves Helen. I mean, she’s the best and so nice and I figured you would’ve gone to the office parties with her and everything.”
“What office parties?” Sidney asked, having no recollection of Helen
ever telling him about any work gatherings.
“Oh, we have ’em every few months. It’s always at some swanky place. Everybody from the office goes,” Timmy said with a big smile. “Probably the Christmas party is the best with the tree and all the decorations and stuff. Last year, Helen even asked me to dance. Yes, sir, she did. Nobody’s ever done that before, but she just walked right up to me and asked me. It was real nice. Yeah, she’s the best.” Timmy was blushing now, his entire head getting redder by the second.
“I’m sure she is,” Sidney responded, beginning to wonder just how much his wife hadn’t told him. “Is she around, Timmy?”
“Um, I think so, Mr. Rosenthal. I’m not exactly sure. You see, I’m usually in the back of the office by the vault. My buddy, Carl, is the front guard. He’s a good guy, too. I only watch the front door when he’s on lunch break,” Timmy said, before whispering “Or if he’s gotta...well you know, if nature calls.”
Sidney began to wonder if Timmy was a little slow or if he was actually a transplant from a town like Mayberry. Either way, he didn’t want to be insensitive or insult the guard so he chose his next words carefully. “Do you think you could find out if she’s here, Timmy? I’d really appreciate it.”
“Oh, sure thing, Mr. Rosenthal. Just give me a second,” Timmy replied before moving to the desk and picking up the phone. He hit one of the extension buttons, but immediately hung up, looking confused. He ran his finger down the right side of the phone before finally hitting another button. He looked up at Sidney with a goofy grin as he waited for a response. After a 10 second conversation he hung up.
“Helen’s in the conference room right now, so I can’t let you in yet,” Timmy said. “All visitors have to be approved by the person they’re coming to see unless you’re on the list. Are you on the list? Did Helen know you were coming or was it a surprise?”
“It’s a surprise, but now I’m thinking that maybe I should wait ‘til she gets home later,” Sidney said.
“If you want, you could wait out here in the lobby with me or like you said, you could wait until you see her at home. Whatever you want,” Timmy said, trying to be helpful.
“Is that the conference room in the back?” Sidney asked.
“Sure is. You can see it from here. See?” the guard said, pointing to the back of the building. “Oh, look there’s Helen with everyone now.”
Sidney stared toward the back and saw the spacious conference room. Helen was at the head of a large dark table giving some kind of presentation to four other people, three men and one woman. Everyone was paying close attention to what she was saying, the woman taking notes in what looked like an oversized binder. There was an erasable white board behind her filled with words and numbers, a portable movie screen set up in the corner, and piles of different colored paper strewn across the table. Looking at his wife in her workplace made him sure coming there was a mistake. Informing her he quit his job in that setting was definitely the wrong thing to do. There was no telling how bad she’d take it.
“Are we cool, Mr. Rosenthal?” Timmy asked. “Really, I didn’t mean any disrespect.”
“We’re good, Timmy. Don’t give it a second thought, but could you do me a little favor? Don’t tell Helen I stopped by, okay?” Sidney said. “I’ve decided to surprise her with some big news once she gets home so I need you to help me keep it a secret. If she knew I was here, she might figure it out. Can you help me out, buddy?”
“Oh, sure, no problem. Wow, big news. That’s awesome, Mr. Rosenthal!” Timmy said. “Anything else I can do for you?”
“Yeah, the hot dogs I had a bit ago aren’t sitting quite right,” Sidney said as his stomach groaned. “Nature seems to be calling pretty loudly right now. Where’s the men’s room?”
“Right past the tellers, take a left and it’s the first door on the right,” the guard answered.
“Thanks again,” Sidney said. He quickly started walking toward the bathroom, noticing one of the bank customers looking at him. The customer was a tall, well-built man with long blonde hair and chiseled features, reminiscent of Scandinavian royalty or a Norse God. He had a strong air of familiarity about him so Sidney wondered if he was an actor or some other kind of celebrity. Whoever he was, he continued to stare a hole into Sidney as he walked by. What’s the matter, Sven? Never seen a Jew before? Sidney thought to himself, a little unnerved by the stranger’s unyielding gaze.
As he passed the last teller, Sidney had his first unobstructed view into the conference room so he stopped at the corner of the hallway to catch a glimpse of Helen again. The meeting seemed to be breaking up, so he watched his wife dismiss the others before beginning to gather the materials she’d used for her presentation. He still marveled at her enduring beauty. For a second, Sidney considered leaving the premises immediately so there was no chance she’d see him, but another large stomach noise convinced him otherwise.
Just before he turned toward the bathroom, he saw a male coworker come up to Helen and put his hand on her ass. She quickly brushed it away and chastised the man, but she didn’t seem too upset about it. In fact, Helen threw her head back laughing and Sidney could tell she was flirting with him. The guy moved in very close, pressing his body against hers and she didn’t resist, instead smiling broadly before looking around to see if anyone was watching. She whispered something in his ear and bit her lower lip. The man grinned and left the room, making sure to turn around twice to leer at her before exiting. Helen fixed her skirt and blouse before going back to work.
Sidney moved down the hall, feeling like someone had just kicked him in the nuts, which made his need for the bathroom even worse. He hurried inside and took the last stall, grimacing from the stomach cramps as he pulled down his pants and boxer shorts before sitting on the toilet. The erstwhile accountant’s eyes watered, but it had nothing to do with his gastric distress. Watching his wife, the love of his life, behave that way was almost more than he could take. He felt angry and betrayed, but in his heart he was starting to face the truth: he’d probably lost Helen long ago, their marriage now nothing more than a convenience for her. The realization crushed him and he wept openly once more.
Despite what he’d seen, Sidney blamed himself more than he blamed Helen. Deep down he knew it was his fault for escaping into his fantasy worlds and not being the man she needed him to be. The timing seemed too cruel, even for his life. He couldn’t believe he’d finally discovered what he needed to do with his life only to lose the only woman he’d ever loved. Maybe there was something he could do? Maybe if he confronted her, he could convince Helen he was different now. If he showed her the man he could be, the man she needed him to be, maybe they could rekindle their love. Be confident. Be strong. Be in control, he repeated to himself, over and over.
Suddenly, his stomach problems disappeared and he felt fine. Sidney Rosenthal pulled up his pants and adjusted his belt, ready to march out into the bank and win back his wife. Just as he opened the door to the stall, he heard a loud noise from the interior of the bank. A second later, the Scandinavian guy who’d been eyeing him came running into the bathroom, frantically closed the door behind him and pressed his back up against it. His face was a mask of fear: a slack jaw, pale complexion, eyes wide and panicked beyond reason. When the man realized Sidney was in the room the stranger ran to him, grabbing him by the shoulders.
“There’s a madman out there! He shot the guard!” the blonde man screamed. “He’s going to kill everyone!”
“What? What are you talking about?” Sidney replied, his voice rising.
The man’s eyes grew even wider and he put his hands on either side of Sidney’s face. “You! You’re him! You can help!” he screamed.
“I’m who? I don’t know you! I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!” Sidney said, knocking the man’s hands off his face and pushing him away.
“You’re that guy...that Jack Wylde guy from the movies!” the man yelled. “Can’t you do something!?”
&
nbsp; “Are you out of your god damn mi –” Sidney said, as he turned to the bathroom mirror, stopping in mid-sentence when he saw the reflection. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He knew it was him looking into the mirror, but someone else was staring back at him. He put his nose close to the reflection, poking and pulling at the face he saw, the face of Mark LeClare/Jack Wylde. How could it be? How could he be looking at someone else? How could he be someone else?
“You’ve got to help!” the stranger yelled. “Please!”
“Calm down, my good man,” Sidney said in a voice not his own. “Give me a moment and we’ll see what I can do about this rather peculiar situation we find ourselves in.”
As he turned away from the man, Sidney realized that not only did he look like Jack Wylde, he sounded like him, acted like him, even felt like him. He was the confident, charming, in-control super-spy he’d always wanted to be. He smirked into the mirror, his mind thrilling at the sight of that familiar face from his favorite movies looking back at him. He took a few steps back and, much to his surprise, he was now wearing a meticulously tailored, black, three-piece suit. It was exactly like the one worn by Wylde in the movies, so somehow he knew it had to be bulletproof, too. Sidney felt under his left armpit and, sure enough, there was Jack Wylde’s legendary Walther PPK handgun in a shoulder holster. He checked his wrist and found a watch, also an exact match to the secret agent’s timepiece. Sidney was sure it had all the gadgets and weapons in it, too. Despite his confusion about how this could be happening, he marveled at his newfound body and accessories.
“Please, you’ve got to do something,” the blonde man pleaded with him.
“Right you are. Stay here and let me handle this,” he answered firmly.
Sidney pulled out his pistol and walked over to the bathroom door. He listened intently for a moment before peering out. From this vantage point, he couldn’t see much so he soundlessly closed the door and made his way to the end of the hallway across from where he’d watched Helen a little while earlier. Crouching near the far wall, he again waited and listened. He heard people crying and whimpering. After a woman said, “Please, don’t hurt me,” Sidney heard the sound of a hard slap across a face, then a scream. When he finally did take a chance to look around the corner, what he saw shocked him, a lone man standing on top of the service counter waving his arms like a madman, a gun in each hand. That would have been startling enough, but the fact that it was Timmy, the guard from Mayberry, surprised Sidney most of all.