"I would like to thank you all again for coming tonight. I look forward to talking with you next week at the same time. And don't forget, the meeting has been changed to conference room number two oh eight so we’ll meet there next week." Steve-Bob flashes a youthful smile that belies his adulthood as he uses his sausagy digits to gather his notes, curriculum and other assorted papers. "By the way, I wish you all a careful drive home, watch the wet roads everybody," he follows up as the small assembly of drones slowly disincorporate and each person begins finding his own way in life again, one trudging footstep at a time. Joy radiates from Steve-Bob's tall frame as he tries to connect with each lost soul by way of handshake or friendly pat on the shoulder and a gracious 'thank you' or 'good night'. This group has a bit of promise, Steve-Bob thinks, reflecting on the many anger management groups he has spoken for in the last couple years. Groups like this remind me why I continue on this path of servitude. They make it all worthwhile.
With his seminar closed and his heart open, Steve-Bob embraces the warm cotton that fills his chest and finishes gathering his charts and worksheets, bundles them neatly into his black canvas briefcase and wheels about on his heel to the door only to find the way blocked by a looming figure holding a long, slender weapon. Joy and fulfillment drain from Steve-Bob's face along with his blood. The warm cotton in his chest freezes, sending chilling tingles to the furthest reaches of his large body and he is suddenly aware of an electrical hum from an unknown source.
The figure does not move.
Steve-Bob's mouth begins to compensate for the immediate dryness and the dams break, allowing the saliva to flow. The blood drains to his hands now, making his fingers heavy which nearly prevents them from holding anything. As the handle of the briefcase begins to slip, the friction in his hands remind him of the tangibility of the moment and he knows this isn't some dream and reaffirms his grasp on the bag. "H-Hi there," Steve-Bob musters, "I'm sorry but the seminar is over."
No response.
"There um…there will be another one next week. You can come to that one if you like."
Nothing.
Oh god! A chill shakes his spine into submission. This is it! This man is going to kill me! What did I do? His mind begins playing a high speed slideshow of the human mutilation and autopsy photos he had to endure during his training for emergency responder. Each of these bizarre slides replace the generic victim's face for Steve-Bob's own, providing there is a face left.
"Hello?" Steve-Bob manages to stumble, but still...nothing. The hum amplifies and suddenly, Steve-Bob realizes that he is required to be absolutely anywhere but inside this room at this time. "L-Look guy, I um...I am just on my way out. So, uh...so do you need something?"
A nod from the stranger. Finally! A response. He raises his hand and offers forth the end of his weapon with dirt traced knuckles to reveal a bristled head. A broom? Oh lord, how stupid! "Hey sure, fellah. I’ll be out of your way in just a second, just let me get my things together and I'm through with this room." Stupid! Stupid stupid stupid! He's just a janitor. Come on, get it together! With his spare hand, Steve-Bob gathers his tacks and the flyer for next week's seminar and heads through the door, shuffling past the cleaning man and his tool. The janitor grins crookedly. Did he just scoot closer? Steve-Bob's meaty back scrapes the door frame and his largish belly brushes awkwardly against the janitor and his broom. Creepy! "Good...uh....good night." Without waiting for a response, Steve-Bob heads down the hall as fast as his long, meaty legs can take him without seeming too obvious that he feels like a hen trapped in a chicken coop with a fox on the loose. He listens as he high paces down the hall but can hear no footsteps other than his own and, once getting to the lobby of the large building, he relaxes his momentum long enough to stop at the community bulletin board to post his flyer for next week's class. With one frantic scan back toward tonight's class, Steve-Bob hurriedly stabs the paper onto the board and darts through the front door, nearly plowing down a small elderly woman trying to make her way inside. "Excuse me...” he exclaims apologetically, “…excuse me"
Fresh air fills his lungs and thaws the cotton that once felt nearly warm enough to heat an igloo. Okay, get it together, he coached himself, it was a janitor...nothing more. Not everybody is out to get you. Calm down. With one last curse toward his anxiety attacks, Steve-Bob composes himself and heads down the street, feeling more confident with each stride. He heads out on foot toward his final destination before going home and by the time he makes it to St. Paul's Church of Eternal Joy, the memory of the creepy janitor is all but gone, replaced by the comfort and safety that the towering edifice of old world religion instills within his breast. From the pointed roof, down to the statues of the holy mother at the base of the stone steps, this building serves as a spotlight in the dark of today's society. The ancient architecture of the brickwork and the stained glass windows set the premises apart from the uniform of the modern construction, reminding Steve-Bob that there truly is some stability in this ever changing world.
Steve-Bob begins to climb the steps of the church as the doors atop the steps swing open and a woman nearly as tall as Steve-Bob makes her exit from the building. Her hair is cut close and curled and, despite her slightly advanced age, she still carries a figure that increases the heart rate of many. Steve-Bob knows her well, many times having to remind himself that his thoughts of her are immoral and most likely unappreciated but he never can stop looking fondly upon her. "Good evening Evellyn." His words covered in satin.
"Oh..." she says with a start, "Hiya Stevie B. I didn't realize you were going to be here this late," she pauses with a glance deep into the church. He knows she makes little nick names for everyone whose name she can remember but he can't help but feel just a little special any way. She turns back to Steve-Bob, "So, is there...is there anything I can do for you?"
Thou shall not covet another man's wife. That wasn't a come on line. Thou shall not covet another man's wife. Come on Steve-Bob, say something. She's waiting. Was it a come on?
"Stevie B?" her demeanor is pleasantly impatient.
"Uh...No Evellyn. I'm just...is father Nichols still here? I wanted to talk to him about my day." She listens patiently as he continues, "I made so much progress and I think I'm really starting to touch people."
With a graceful step to the side, Evellyn motions Steve-Bob inside, "You know he is. I think he's still in the back chambers but he will be out momentarily." She smiles as Steve-Bob skips up the stairs and thanks her before going into the building. Can this guy really be in his thirties, she questions to herself as she continues aloud, "See you Sunday Stevie B."
"See you then Evellyn. Good night." He races back out as she's making her way down the steps, "Hey Ev, um...would you like me to walk you home?"
"That's thoughtful of you Stevie but, well, I drove here and my car is right at the corner," she awkwardly jabs her thumb just behind her. The two meet glances and each fidgets with uncertainty until Evellyn closes the conversation, "Okay, good night Stevie B."
"All right," he shoots a school boy smile, "Alright then, goodnight," he offers as he walks back inside, allowing the thick oak doors to close behind him.
