caution: writers at play
Stranger Things
He reached out a large, meaty hand. “Hello, name's Riaan.”
He had a thick Afrikaans accent, a giant of a man with long, curly, somehow inappropriate hair atop his bulky frame. I took his hand reluctantly and introduced myself.
“Adam.”
“Can I buy you a beer?” he asked.
I shrugged non-committally, pointing at my half-full pint, hoping to discourage further interaction from this stranger.
“Look,” he said. “I know I'm being forward, but this is important. Let me buy you a beer, dammit.”
I did not want to anger this hulk of a man so I assented.
“You see,” he continued as our drinks arrived. “the thing is … I know you.”
I looked at him, startled, and spluttered, “Look, I think you must have me confused with...”
“Ja, I know it must seem odd, but I do know you, from my dreams.”
Right, I thought. Time to make an exit. I stood up and was about to leave when he put his hand gently on my arm.
“Please,” he said. “I am not mad. Hear me out. What have you got to lose? And the beer here is very good, as you know.”
I looked at him for a moment, observed his eager, intelligent eyes and warm smile, and sat down smiling.
“I'll listen as long as there is a beer in front of me.”
He guffawed, “Good man!” and slapped me heavily on my back, rattling my bones to the core.
“Every night I have this dream,” he began.
“I walk up this street and am stopped at the door of this pub by a man dressed in white. He has an unnatural glow about him so I think he must be an angel. He tells me to go inside the pub and give a man a very important message. I protest but he insists, so we go in together and he points you out. Then he leaves and I wake up.”
He paused, reflective.
“I know what you are thinking, but I am not mad. I never dream, well hardly ever that I can remember, and when I do they are incoherent collections of strange scenes, nothing like this. I believe God has given me a message for you.”
I looked at him.
“Look I know you mean well, and I appreciate the beers and all, but I don't believe there is a God, and even if there was, he certainly would not care enough about me to send me a message.
The big man smiled.
“I know it's from God.”
“How you know?” I asked.
He stared at me intently.
“Do you have a wife?”
I nodded.
“She loves you right?”
“Yes.”
“Well how do you know that?”
I frowned. I could see where this was headed.
“By the many things she does and says to prove it.”
“Well,” he replied, “it is the same with God.”
“I think that's debatable. There is a difference between a wife you can see and touch and a God who hides behind probabilities.”
He laughed.
“I was once like you. I had to see and touch everything. But at the end of the day you can't see and touch everything you know is true. We life our lives by faith in the simplest things. The universe for me just makes more sense with God than without Him.”
I shrugged, “Well that's where we differ.”
“So do you want to hear what the message is?”
“May as well,”I replied.
He looked serious.
“You have left your car lights on.”
He had a thick Afrikaans accent, a giant of a man with long, curly, somehow inappropriate hair atop his bulky frame. I took his hand reluctantly and introduced myself.
“Adam.”
“Can I buy you a beer?” he asked.
I shrugged non-committally, pointing at my half-full pint, hoping to discourage further interaction from this stranger.
“Look,” he said. “I know I'm being forward, but this is important. Let me buy you a beer, dammit.”
I did not want to anger this hulk of a man so I assented.
“You see,” he continued as our drinks arrived. “the thing is … I know you.”
I looked at him, startled, and spluttered, “Look, I think you must have me confused with...”
“Ja, I know it must seem odd, but I do know you, from my dreams.”
Right, I thought. Time to make an exit. I stood up and was about to leave when he put his hand gently on my arm.
“Please,” he said. “I am not mad. Hear me out. What have you got to lose? And the beer here is very good, as you know.”
I looked at him for a moment, observed his eager, intelligent eyes and warm smile, and sat down smiling.
“I'll listen as long as there is a beer in front of me.”
He guffawed, “Good man!” and slapped me heavily on my back, rattling my bones to the core.
“Every night I have this dream,” he began.
“I walk up this street and am stopped at the door of this pub by a man dressed in white. He has an unnatural glow about him so I think he must be an angel. He tells me to go inside the pub and give a man a very important message. I protest but he insists, so we go in together and he points you out. Then he leaves and I wake up.”
He paused, reflective.
“I know what you are thinking, but I am not mad. I never dream, well hardly ever that I can remember, and when I do they are incoherent collections of strange scenes, nothing like this. I believe God has given me a message for you.”
I looked at him.
“Look I know you mean well, and I appreciate the beers and all, but I don't believe there is a God, and even if there was, he certainly would not care enough about me to send me a message.
The big man smiled.
“I know it's from God.”
“How you know?” I asked.
He stared at me intently.
“Do you have a wife?”
I nodded.
“She loves you right?”
“Yes.”
“Well how do you know that?”
I frowned. I could see where this was headed.
“By the many things she does and says to prove it.”
“Well,” he replied, “it is the same with God.”
“I think that's debatable. There is a difference between a wife you can see and touch and a God who hides behind probabilities.”
He laughed.
“I was once like you. I had to see and touch everything. But at the end of the day you can't see and touch everything you know is true. We life our lives by faith in the simplest things. The universe for me just makes more sense with God than without Him.”
I shrugged, “Well that's where we differ.”
“So do you want to hear what the message is?”
“May as well,”I replied.
He looked serious.
“You have left your car lights on.”
Comment
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Comment by Forest Crump on November 11, 2009 at 3:54pm - And the Hokie Pokie is what it’s all about.
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Comment by Mulled Vine on November 10, 2009 at 8:36am
- True. He could have just said, "I think your lights are on", but then I would have missed the underlying message to me.
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Comment by Valerie on November 10, 2009 at 6:01am - if someone went through all that to tell me my lights were on, i'd be a little disappointed with the message once i got it..
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- say wot?
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Comment by Valerie on November 9, 2009 at 2:57pm
- damn i'd be like dude, intro much?..
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