I Am the Messenger

It makes me think that maybe I should write about all this myself. After all, I'm the one who did all the work.

I'd start with the bank robbery.

Something like, "The gunman is useless."

The odds are, however, that he's beaten me to it already.

It'll be his name on the cover of all these words, not mine.

He'll get all the credit.

Or the crap, if he does a shit job.

But just remember that I was the one--not him--who gave life to these pages. I was the one who--

I tell me to stop.

It's an inner voice and it's loud.

All day, I think about many things, though I try not to. I look through the folder and find everything as he said. All the ideas are written in and people are sketched. Scratchy excerpts are stapled together. Beginnings and endings merge and bend.

Hours wander past.

Days follow them.

I don't leave the shack, and I don't answer the phone. I barely even eat. The Doorman sits with me as the minutes pass by.

For a long time, I wonder what I'm waiting for, but I understand it's just like he said.

I guess it's for life beyond these pages.

One afternoon, I hear what feels like the last knock at my door, and standing there, on my cracked front porch, is Audrey.

Her eyes dangle for a moment, and she asks to come in.

In the hallway, she falls back against the door and says, "Can I stay, Ed?"

I go to her. "Of course you can stay the night." But she shakes her head and her dangling eyes finally fall. Audrey walks forward and reaches into me.

"Not for tonight," she says. "For good."

We sink to the floor of my hallway and Audrey kisses me. Her lips join up with mine, and I taste her breath and swallow and feel and lunge for it. It streaks me inside with streams of her beauty. I hold her yellow hair. I touch the smooth skin of her neck, and she keeps kissing me. She wants to.

When we finish, the Doorman walks to us and settles down at my side.

"Hey, Doorman," Audrey says, and again her eyes stream. She looks happy.

The Doorman looks at both of us. He is the sage. He is the wisdom. He says, About bloody time, you two.

We stay in the hall for close to an hour and I tell Audrey everything. She listens intently as she pats the Doorman, and she believes me. I realize that Audrey has always believed me.

I'm about to relax completely when a final question slips inside me. It tries to get up but slips over again.

"The folder," I say.

I get up and walk hurriedly to the lounge room. On my knees, I go through the folder incessantly. I sit there and comb through it. I rummage and plow among the loose papers.

"What are you doing?" Audrey asks. She's come in and stands behind me.