I Am the Messenger

I ask him where to.

The usual.

Then I get the answer.

"26 Shipping Street."

Not the usual.

The words paralyze me and I nearly pull the car to a stop.

"Just drive on," he says, but he doesn't look up. "Like I told you, Ed. 26 Shipping Street."

I drive.

We travel in silence until we make it to town. I'm driving cautiously, with nervous eyes and a badly beating heart.

I turn onto my street and pull up at my place.

Finally, the person in the backseat removes his cap and looks up so I can see him for the first time in the mirror.

"It's you!" I shout.

"Yes."

Something greater than shock or surprise has stolen every thought or reaction I might have had--because in the backseat of my cab is the failed bank robber from the start of this story. His ginger whiskers are still there, and he's as ugly as ever.

"The six months are up," he explains. He sounds friendly this time.

"But--"

"Don't ask questions," he interrupts. "Just drive on. Drive me to 45 Edgar Street."

I do it.

"Remember this place?" he says.

I do.

"Now 13 Harrison Avenue." And one by one, the failed bank robber takes me to each place. To Milla and Sophie, to the father and Angie Carusso, and to the Rose boys.

"Remember?" he questions me each time.

In the cab, I revisit each place, each message.

"Yes," I tell him. "I do."

"Good. Glory Road now.

"Clown Street and your ma's place.

"Bell Street.

"And you know the last three."

We drive the streets of town as the sun climbs higher in the sky. We go to Ritchie's, to the playground with the unkempt grass, and to Audrey's place. At each destination, remembering takes its turn in me as I drive. At times, it makes me want to stop and stay.

Stay forever.