Billy's Got A Note

There strode Billy. Right down the serenity of our tree-lined street with its singing birds and harmonious expectations, there strode Billy. Clutching madly note in hand, eyes fixed straight ahead, target acquired, there strode Billy.

He carried the world in his oblivious hand as he passed my living room window. I don't a think a hurricane gale could have knocked him off course. Once seen, I don't know how anyone could take their eyes off him and his laser focused march.

He had news that must get through. Empires would fall, nations plunge into turmoil, mountains collapse into deserts, oceans drain dry if he did not accomplish his mission. The whole of the universe rested on his shoulders, anxious angels side by side with divided demons awaited the outcome. Billy's got a note.

Each step put him thicker into the fray. Under our sweet suburban skies raged invisible bullets in fatal fury along Billy's path. Despairing land mines awaited him in anticipated ambush. Tension mounted in ticking time in this daylight drama: would he survive, much less succeed?

Is miscommunication the start of every war?

What is the wisdom of enduring this peril? Certainly he believes the reward is worth this risk. Or perhaps to Billy, the greater risk was a note undelivered. Who can judge what is right in these weighty matters? In a godless world, what can serve as a Faultless Guide?

His face holds the terrified grimness of a battlefield soldier. In the moment of facing danger, the mind is filled with thoughts unable to share. What do observing angels see in our time of trying? One thing I do know: like Moses passing through the parted sea, no force of Nature would deny Billy.

Reaching Veronica's yard, he stiffly turned towards her front door, trembling on the manicured grass. Had a bomb exploded or the heavens burst or the ground below split in two, Billy would not have noticed. His shaking hand placed the note in her mailbox as if lightening would strike him down. When it didn't, he turned 'round to retrace his steps, lost in the fog of war.

For what had he fought? Like a soldier returning from a losing battle, he was forced to question his life choices. Would he lose an arm or a leg or an eye to live a forever cripple? Or had he fought on the side of right, bringing healing to a hurting world? With words his only ally, he'd been the author of his fate. I suspected he'd never return. One can endure only so many battles.

CODA: That evening I couldn't pull my mind off Billy's Walk as I sipped my drink. In the prison of my home I no longer engage, feeding off the lives of those I spy. Then a thought occurred to me: Take the note. I could play the role of saboteur, altering the course of lives as happens in every war. When darkness was complete, I darted my way down the street, slipping through trees planted in original innocence. The exhilaration of plucking the note proved worth the effort!

Safely back in my cell I took stock of my plunder reading Billy's pleading explanation Veronica would never see. I felt so alive! I was bound to them both now as part of my despair. I am a Thief Of Hope, drawing whomever I can into my hole. I will keep this note as proof of the fragility of life. And besides, what does one more broken relationship mean in this broken world - right?