The Park Mystery

"I don't like anybody."

"Nobody?"

"Nobody!"

"You don't like me?"

"I said, NOBODY!"

"That's kind of hurtful."

"Why is that?"

"Because I thought we were friends."

"Ha! There you see! How could I like someone who would be friends with the likes of me?"

This was nothing new, the banter between an older man and a younger man, both seated on a bench in the middle of the park, in the middle of the day, in the middle of the city.

"You are...incorrigible," the younger man said. He often said that, even though he did not know quite what it meant.

"Ha! I'm old," the older man said with a growl.

"Not that old."

"Yes, but still old. I'm grizzled! I'm ancient! I'm near eternity!"

Saying he was 'near eternity' was the older man's way of saying he was near death. Which didn't make sense, the younger man thought, because anyone could say the same, no matter what their age. No one knows when they will die. But, he allowed his frequent bench mate his turns of mystic pomposity, after all, he was old and he could die any minute.

"Well, don't fall into that eternity today. It's too hot."

The older man took a deep breath and slowly moved his head from left to right, squinting out into the sunlight, a sour look on his face, licking his thin lips before he spoke. "Mad dogs and Englishman!"

The younger man had perfect hearing so he knew exactly what the older man had said. "What?" He still asked.

"Mad dogs and Englishman!

At some point in his life the younger man had come in contact with that phrase. He couldn't remember how or from where it came but he was sure if he nudged the older man, just a little bit, he would explain. "What does that mean?"

The older man turned his head toward the younger man, but not quite looking at him. His face wrinkled in a thoughtful manner as he uncrossed his legs and pressed the palms of his hands down on the park bench, as if he was about to stand. "I don't know," he said. "I heard someone say it once...". The older man's voice trailed away as his eyes caught something in the distance.

"I saw a mad dog once," the younger man said. "I was a kid, but it didn't scare me. I was just curious."

"Curiosity killed the cat."

"But this was a dog. A mad dog!" The younger man continued. "Caused a lot of commotion. People running around everywhere. The dog catcher finally showed up and it turned into a big show."

"A memorable day," the older man said.

The younger man thought for a moment. "Yeah, I guess it was. I remember it was a Sunday...a Sunday in the afternoon. It was hot! Just like today."

"Mad dogs and Englishman," the older man repeated, as his eyes continued to stare into the distance. "Mad dogs and Englishman."

The younger man rocked forward on the bench and smiled a bit. He turned towards the older man and then followed his gaze into the distance. On the bench, on the other side of the walking path, there was an object. It was a white box, wrapped in brown paper, a corner of which flapped in the infrequent breeze, exposing the white content.

"Somebody leave something behind?"

The older man mused, "Possibly a birthday cake."

The younger man frowned and squinted his eyes. "Why would someone leave a birthday cake on a park bench?"

"Why not?"

The younger man smiled. He knew this game and he was willing to play. "You answer my question first."

"What was the question?"

"Why would someone leave a birthday cake in box, wrapped in brown paper, on a park bench?"

The older man folded his hands in front of his chest, looked upward and to the left, and pondered. "I'll tell you tomorrow."

"What?"

"I will give you the answer tomorrow."

"What, you're going to go home and ponder this like it's an Egyptian riddle? I can save you the time; it's definitely not a birthday cake."

"Oh, but it is a birthday cake. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO WENDELL, it says, in blue lettering with tiny pink flowers surrounding."

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO WENDELL? Why Wendell?"

"Because that's his name."

"Whose name?"

"Wendell. The name on the birthday cake."

The younger man grinned and rocked back and forth on the bench. The game was definitely afoot. He had found joy in his meetings with the older man, specifically for this reason. The flights of absolute lunacy in which the older man would involve the two of them, half joking, half mad, half genius, the older man's mind was fluid and ever expanding. It was as if the acid he had "dropped"---so he said---as a young man, would bubble up from unknow recesses and make him see and know things that no one else could see and know.

"So, over there, wrapped in that brown paper, is a birthday cake in a white box that says, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO WENDELL?"

"That's correct."

"So, who is Wendell"?

The older man turned to the younger man and leaned in, as if keeping secrets. "A very...dangerous man." He retreated from the younger man, slower than he had advanced; holding the younger man's gaze as if his words were to be held in strict confidence.

The younger man returned the older man's gaze. He smiled, knowingly. "Okay, okay," he said, eager to play the game. "So, what makes this Wendell so dangerous?"

The older man leaned in again. He looked around as if checking for nosey ears. "It's because he's so normal," he said, almost in a whisper.

"Normal? That's what makes him dangerous?"

"Of course!"

"But, I don't understand. If he's normal, what makes his dangerous?"

"Being normal is the danger," the older man implored. "Everyone is afraid of the big, bad, scary monsters. But, it's the quiet, meek as a mouse...normal souls that cause the real damage."

The younger man frowned and then squinted at the older man. He couldn't figure out this game. The tone was different. The element of fun was not quite there. Perhaps he should press on, he thought, peel back the onion a little bit more. He remembered what the older man had told him once, 'The end! Always get to the end!'.

"So, this very normal, meek as a mouse guy named Wendell has a birthday and presumably a birthday party and someone in the party leaves the cake on a park bench. Is that the gist?"

The older man nodded a few times, slightly, begrudgingly, the corners of his mouth turned downward. "Partly," he said.

"Which part?"

"The boring part."

"The boring part," the younger man exclaimed. "I would think that there is a real interesting story behind why you would take the time to buy a birthday cake, decorate it with HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO WENDELL, with tiny flowers around it, and then leave it on a park bench."

"It was a trick," the older man said slyly.

"A trick?"

"A trick," the older man said with a nod and a wink.

The younger man became more intrigued. Really, behind his smile and the gleam in his eyes he knew it was all nonsense. But, at the end of the day, when he was back in his one bedroom apartment, with the curtains drawn and the television on for companionship, he would look back on this time and smile and feel, somehow, contented.

"So, who is the trickster and who is the trickee? Does Wendell have friends or enemies?"

"What's the difference?" The older man asked sincerely.

The younger man let a smile slowly drift across his face as he leaned back on the bench and crossed his legs. "What if someone comes and takes it?"

"No one will."

"But, what if they do?

"No one will," the older man said sternly. "It's not time."

The younger man leaned forward again and moved close. "Time for what?"

The older man suddenly appeared startled. His eyes bulging and his mouth agape. His face trembling slightly, the younger man looked on with concern, fearing a seizure or a stroke.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm sorry."

Thinking the older man did not hear him, the younger man repeated himself. "Are you okay?"

"I said...I'm sorry...but it had to be today. No other day but today."

The younger man was confused. He felt the older man was drifting off. Perhaps remembering or reliving a thing of great value or hurt. He gently placed his hands on the older man and urged him to sit back against the park bench. The older man continued to stare wide eyed across the walking path as shadows began to overtake the box in the brown paper wrapping.

"What's so special about today?"

"What isn't special? Everyday is special. You should know that. When I had Wendell, I tried to teach him that. All the time. But he wouldn't listen."

"You? You "had" Wendell? Who was Wendell? Is today his birthday for real?"

"I'll go see."

The older man stood, suddenly. He put one long, thin leg in front of the other and started a slow, stately walk across the walking path to the park bench where the white box wrapped in brown paper lay. The younger man resisted the urge to go with the older man. Instead he perched on the edge of the park bench, both hands squeezing the lip of the bench in anticipation. He sensed a heightening to the game. A giddy grin snuck onto his face as he watched the older man reach the bench across the walking path. The older man hovered over the bench, staring down at the box. He reached down slowly and carefully and tore away the brown flap that had been playing with the wind . With a quick motion he reached down and flipped open the lid of the white box. The younger man could see his shoulders heave as the older man sighed. Almost reverently, the older man returned the lid to the box and did his best to repair the brown flap he had torn. Finished, his head lowered, he began the slow walk back to his bench and the younger man.

The younger man began to shout as the older man returned. "So what is it then? Happy Birthday To Wendell, or Lucille, or Mario or Martha? Probably isn't even a cake."

The younger man laughed, heartily. This was a strange game but one he would remember. However, he had a sense that the game was still not over. As he watched the older man, slowly, return to their bench, he smiled brightly. The smile, however. could not overtake the sullen, dour countenance of the older man. The older man did not look at the younger man as he sat down. He settled back on the bench and crossed his legs, looking downward.

"I'm sorry," he said. "It's almost time."

"It's almost time for what?" The younger man asked quizzically.

The older man turned to the younger man and looked him tenderly in his eyes. "You should go see."

The younger man was confused. He smiled and shook his head. He still had not figured out the game but he was determined to get to the end. He stood abruptly and with a big smile said, "I'll go see if Wendell is missing a birthday cake."

With that, he was off, slowly jogging across the walking path over to the bench across the way. The white box in the brown paper wrapping bounced in his eyes as he focused in and he grew closer and closer. The final steps towards the bench, he walked a contented walk. He had a slight grin on his face. He reached down and peeled back the brown flap and opened the lid to the white box. There was a flash.