“And what about you?” the woman asked. “Any plans for the immediate future?"
“I'm going to make sure these kids get back to their parents. Nothing beyond that. Nothing I can think of, at least."
“You need anything? Money?"
“Only the air that I breathe."
“Catchy,” the woman said, smiling. “It would make a good song."
The man sat there, staring at the basket of popcorn on the table. Which, of course, prompted me to grab a handful and stuff it in my mouth. I looked at the man to see if was going to stop me, but he didn't. He looked like he was going to cry. I'd never seen that in an adult man before. It was weird.
“I know what you're thinking,” the woman said. “Rest assured, I'll take care of her. She's happy here."
“Can I say something to her? Just for a second?"
“Sure. But remember: I've wiped her memories away. The bad ones, I mean.” The woman swallowed and closed her eyes.
Again, I reached out with my tiny fingers and grabbed as much popcorn as I could hold, then tried to shove it all into my mouth. Most of it missed.
“Hi,” the woman said.
“Hello,” the man said. “It's been a while."
“I'm sorry, but I don't remember you."
“Of course you don't. I look different now. I wanted to wish you luck in the future. You deserve it. In fact, you deserve the world. I wish I were the one who'd be able to give it to you."
“Oh, okay,” the woman said. “Uh, thanks.” The woman blinked, and then sighed. Then she stood up from the table, patted us both on the heads, and said, “Be good."
The man sat with us for a while longer, not saying anything. Diane and I made short work of the popcorn basket, and the waitress brought over a full one when the man stopped her, smiled, and then took us both by the hand and led us off the ship, back across the bridge, back to the corner of 2nd and Chestnut, back to my parents. I don't remember their reaction; I can only assume they were overwhelmed with the urge to hug us and choke the living shit out of us, simultaneously.
My last memory of being a four-year-old was this: The man in the suit walking away.
I never saw him again.
October 2003
Philadelphia, PA
About the Author
Duane Swierczynski was playing keyboards in a bar band at the age of 10, hauling garbage at 15, interviewing fashion models at 17, and working at a magazine at 19. He was born and raised in Philadelphia, lived for a while in Brooklyn, and now has returned to Philly with his wife, son and daughter.
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