CanIHelpYou?: the Shoveler

The alleys are dark and no one is around this time of night pretty much. The pub has closed and the faux-British people will crawl back into their beds and sleep it off and then wake up and post their selfies from the night before on their social media pages and say what a great night they had. They will eventually stop at my Drive-Thru window and use the word gimme. They will eventually yell at Ian for buying them the wrong size container of organic heavy cream.

We get to the park, and I see the shoveler again.

“Does he ever stop?” Ian asks.

“I want to talk to him.”

Ian laughs. It’s a giggle, really. High-pitched and laced.

“I’m serious. I want to find out his deal.”

“Dude. No. Trust me.”

“I just want to talk.” I don’t know what I’ll say, though.

Ian keeps walking toward the park. I stop and watch the kid with the shovel.

When I get about ten feet away, he looks up and says, “You’re not her.”

I don’t know if he really said that because part of me is still hallucinating quite a bit. I say, “Hi.”

“Do you know her?”

“Who?”

“The Freak.”

“I’m a freak.”

“You’re not her.”

I nod as if what he said makes sense even though it doesn’t. “Can I ask what’s with the shovel?”

He looks down at the shovel as if he’d forgotten he was holding it. “I’m tunneling.”

I stare at him. He stares at me. Locked eyes.

“Me too,” I say, but I’ve never tried a shovel. Maybe it’s the way out. Maybe I should carry a shovel.

He says, “If you see her, tell her I’m looking.”

“Okay,” I say. I back away and over toward Ian.

“See you around,” he says.

“I hope you find her,” I say. But really I hope he finds me and I can be his freak. It’s not that he’s super attractive or anything. I mean, he’s okay. It’s not about looks. I’m on acid. Everyone is beautiful. This was deeper. Something deeper than anything.

He’s tunneling.

I’m tunneling.

We’re bound to meet again. Probably underground.