Chapter 4: You Are Cordially Invited To Join Me For Dinner

The Present

Luke Nelson was growing bored with just beating up Ben Dover. He needed a new game plan, something to add a little more humiliation to the taunting and beatings that he already gave Ben.

He decided to step up his one boy crusade of harassment to a higher level, a greater public humiliation. The only question was how? Being rather dull and easily distracted, it was not easy for Luke to break his pattern of bullying Ben.

The answer came to Luke one day while helping his father, Red Nelson, pick out several cans of new brown paint for their house.

There in Owens Farm hardware store, Red Nelson, was talking to the store’s owner Henry O’Day about paint. Red never really talked to anyone, at least in a friendly manner, unless it was in his best interest and today, he was talking with Henry and pretending to be interested in the hope of striking a better deal on the paint he intended to buy.

Normally, just as unpleasant a character as his son Luke, today Red was more than friendly. Luke had no desire to be in the hardware store since once the paint was purchased, he was sure that he would be the one to paint the house.

Grunting “morning” to Mr. O’Day, Luke received a quick jab in the ribs from his dad. “Be nice and maybe we’ll get a deal”, threatened his dad, quietly in Luke’s ear.

“Need some paint Henry”, said Mr. Nelson with an obvious fake smile, “Oh and how’s that lovely wife of yours?” Knowing that Mr. O’Day loved his wife more than anything, Red Nelson knew that this would immediately get Henry O’Day in a good mood and of course lead to about twenty boring minutes of the latest news on Mrs. O’Day but Red figured that he could use this to get several dollars off of the cost of the paint.

With Red Nelson off with Mr. O’Day listening to tales of Mrs. O’Day and trying to choose just the right shade of brown for their house, Luke was left to wander around the rest of the store. “last thing I need to hear is how Old Lady O’Day’s volunteer work at the hospital is goin”, grumbled Luke below his breath.

He glanced back quickly and saw his dad still grinning that fake grin and Mr. O’Day still going on and on.

Turning up an aisle, Luke came to a place in the hardware store that he and most likely no resident of Owens Farm had ever visited. It was a short aisle, used mainly for storage, lined with boxes of nails, shingles and other items generally found in hardware stores, but there on the shelf was an item that gave him the idea he needed to carry out his plan to humiliate Ben Dover.

There was a single gallon can of bright, yellow paint. Dusty and dirty from years of just sitting on the shelf, Luke knew that this must be his. How? His dad would never agree to buy yellow paint. Luke could hear him bellowing know, “For God’s sake Luke, the whole town is brown and gray, why would I do waste my money on that yellow”.

With it purchase out of the question, Luke decided to simply steal the can but just walking out of the hardware store with it was out of the question. He knew that Mr. O’Day didn’t trust him and would watch him leave the store, all the while looking to see if he had stolen anything.

“So how to get the can of yellow paint”, thought Luke and then the answer appeared before his eyes.

Mr. O’Day and Red Nelson had just completed loading several gallons of dark brown paint into a large box, their deal was about complete. There it was just sitting on the floor amid all the other shades of browns and grays, the chance Luke was looking for.

Henry O’Day was ringing up the tab for the paint at the front counter with Red Nelson gentling reminding, “Remember Henry, that’s two dollars off per can.” He grinned his fake grin again.

Turning now to his son, Red Nelson growled, “Go get that box boy, you’ve got a lot of work to do”.

Perhaps Mr. Nelson should have noticed that Luke went to get the box of paint more cheerfully than he usually would have, but he didn’t.

Off went Luke, realizing that the first part of his plan was working. Picking up the box, Luke took his time, watching his father and Mr. O’Day complete their transaction. With the two of them distracted, Luke quickly ducked down the short aisle where the yellow paint was to be found and quickly placed it at the bottom of the box, under the cans of brown paint.

Joining his father at the checkout counter, Luke gave an almost cheerful, “Got the box father, ready to go”. Then he quickly realized that he might have made a mistake, he was never cheerful with his father or anyone.

Red Nelson turned and stared at his son. Even Mr. O’Day stopped. Luke decided that he must say something mean and say it quickly. Their suspicions were aroused.

“Dad”, he whined, “I don’t want to paint the stupid house and you can’t make me do it”.

With this an argument began between Red and Luke Nelson that continued out the door of the hardware store, down the street and finally finished as Luke place the box holding the cans of paint in the trunk. Mr. O’Day turning away and giving thanks that his family was not like that went back to work, never noticing that the can of yellow paint, down the short aisle used for storage was missing.

With his dad still angry behind the wheel of their car, Luke sat in the passenger’s seat, saying nothing but thinking “First step… complete”.

# # #

Finally after a long day of painting, Luke Nelson was back in his room and could continue his plan of humiliation for Ben Dover.

Luke’s room was filled with clutter of all types and this was just how he liked it. Boxes and clothes filled every nook and cranny. Under his bed, amid thickening dust and more than just a few small squirmy creatures was more boxes and bags. Usually, there was just a small path, only partially cleared from the door of his room to his bed.

Years ago his mother stopped coming in to clean, leaving it up to Luke. She would dutifully place clean sheets, pillow cases and towels out side his door for him to use. Sometimes he would take them and sometimes they sat there for a long time gathering dust.

Luke’s father also never entered his room, not because of the dirt and mess but because of disinterest, he simply didn’t care what Luke did.

And all of this suited Luke just fine since in the room were not just his personal items but also boxes and bags of items that Luke had stolen over the years. Yes, there sat the can of yellow paint, Luke most recent bit of thievery, but this was not what he needed now.

Digging through pile of goods and papers he finally found what he needed, blank, official letterhead of the Owens Farm School system. Luke had stolen several boxes of letterhead when he broke into the school last year.

Originally looking for the chemistry lab and things that he could sell, he got lost in the school. Deciding it was time to leave, he headed for the principal’s office, a place he knew very well. “The window is always easy to open there” he thought. Reaching the office, there outside the door sat a delivery of school letterhead that was not yet put away.

Luke knew that he couldn’t sell but he didn’t want to leave empty handed. He had to take something, so Luke Nelson, climbed out the principal’s window with a pack of Owens Farm School letterhead. Getting home, he climbed through his bedroom window and just threw the letterhead paper in a pile of clothes in the corner.

Opening the paper now, Luke slipped the Owens Farm School System letterhead into his printers and he began to compose a letter. “Phase two begins”, he thought.

# # #

Eleanor Dover sat waiting on the porch, as she always did at about noon, for the daily mail to arrive. Rocking back and forth, she often thought how her husband Albert joked when he bought her that rocking chair several years ago. “It’ll make you old before your time”, he chortled, “Now you can join the elderly ladies for canasta and tea”.

But Eleanor, would just smile, sit back in the rocking chair and relax, knowing that her husband was just joking with her.

So her she sat every day, at just about noon, gently rocking, eyes closed and dreaming, waiting for the daily mail.

“How yer doin Mrs. Dover”, said Johnny Quinn the mailman. “Don’t got much fer you but yer son Ben’s got a little something today”. And with this Mr. Quinn handed the mail over to the rocking Mr. Dover who stood, walked into the house and sorted the mail into several piles.

First pile bills, second pile junk mail and the third pile, well that was usually for everything else, but today, there was a fourth pile, a pile for Ben.

Ben usually got home from school at about three o’clock unless he went over to Mary’s house or, and here Mr. Dover cringed, met up with that awful Luke Nelson again. Sure enough, at three o’clock Ben came through the back door, shouted hello to anyone who might be in the house and headed for the refrigerator for an after school snack.

This time though he mother stood there smiling and greeted him. “Good to have you home son. Any homework? By the way”, she paused, ”You’ve got a letter over there, very official looking and addressed to you”.

Nothing important had ever come through the mail before, except maybe for a birthday card or two from aunts and uncles. Reaching the table Ben saw that it was from the Owens Farm School District.

“Took all I could do not to open it”, said his mother smiling, “but it was addressed to you. Thought it best to give you a little privacy, after all you are growing up, besides, I’ll find out what’s in it soon enough”.

Ben knew this was true. His mother had connections to school through the PTA, the Library Guild and of course the usual network of mothers who share gossip about everything and anything going on in school.

Ben opened the envelope, carefully so as to not rip the materials inside.

“Read it”, said his mother excitedly.

“Mom, I don’t even have it out of the envelope yet, give me a chance”, said Ben.

Unfolding the letter, Ben began reading out loud:

Dear Mr. Benjamin Dover,

The Owens Farm School District is pleased announce your nomination as a freshmen finalist for student of the year for outstanding civic and academic performance.

Should you win, you will join the winners of other classes on a special advisory committee to the Owens Farm School Board.

As a requirement, you must select an adult sponsor, to act as your mentor and guide during your one year term. It is also required that this mentor and guide be someone other than a parent.

You and your selected sponsor are required to attend a pre-award ceremony meeting at 3:00pm on May 28 at my office. Do not call. Do not reply, just be there.

Sincerely,

Charlie Biggs

Principal Owens Farms School

“Kind of a rude ending”, said Ben’s mother. “Principal Biggs must have had a secretary write it, he never would have ended as harsh as that”. She took the letter from Ben and read it again. “And son, you’ve really been doing just average at school, haven’t you? I love you but I wouldn’t call your school performance outstanding.”

Rereading the letter several times, Ben’s mother finally said, ”Hmm… looks official enough but I’ll ask around at the PTA meeting”.

Ben ignored all his mother’s concerns. “Mom this is great”, beamed Ben, “I wonder who else is on the list. I’ll bet Mary, yes it’s got to be Mary”.

Then it hit Ben, who would be his sponsor? While he wished it could be his father, the letter said that it could not be a parent.

“You and Mr. Carlyle get along great. Why don’t you ask him, Ben”, said his mother. “If nothing else, Mr. Carlyle will sure shake up those old fuddy-duddies on the school board. I can just see him coming in with orange shoes, blue pants and a lime green jacket”, and she smiled a sly little smile.

“Mom”, said Ben with a rising panic in his voice, “this meeting is tomorrow, what if I can’t get Mr. Carlyle? What shall I do?”

Calmly, Mrs. Dover took the telephone, handed it to Ben and said, “You’ll never know until you ask. Call him now and see”.

Ben dialed and walked out onto the back porch to talk with Mr. Carlyle in privacy.

“He said yes, mom. He said yes”.

# # #

Luke could only hope that his plan was going to work and that Ben Dover would show up for the three o’clock meeting in the principal’s office. “This will be great”, he thought.

Directly above the main entrance to the Owens Farm School was a room which was once the office of the school custodian. Abandoned now and used as general storage, it was rarely visited by anyone in the school but it figured prominently in Luke’s plan to embarrass Ben Dover.

With a door set just slightly in from the main second floor corridor, it would be simple for someone to slip unnoticed into the room.

Luke knew the room well. With a set of keys he stole during an earlier break in at the school, he often went there to sleep while cutting classes or to hide after some incident he caused in the schoolyard or cafeteria brought the teachers, principal or police out.

The abandoned custodian’s office had a window overlooking the main sidewalk leading up to the school. The path Luke knew that Ben and his mentor would use to get into the school for that phony meeting he set up. Luke chuckled silently to himself as he hung out in the hallway pretending to be interested in this bulletin board or that poster, but all the while waiting for a chance to slip into the room unnoticed.

Pretending to read a recent posting about the chess club, Luke slowly moved his head, looking up and then down the hall. “The moment must be right”, he thought, “none of these school idiots must notice”.

Finally Luke’s chance came. A small fight broke out among some freshmen down the school corridor and everyone’s attention was drawn to it.

First slipping into the small alcove in front of the abandoned office, Luke gave one more quick glance up and down the hall. “Perfect”, he thought. Then he opened the door and jumped inside.

Silently closing the door behind him, Luke latched it from the inside. “No need for some fool to come into this room accidentally”, Luke thought. Then moving aside some boxes, he found the can of yellow paint he had hid there earlier in the week.

Grinning ever wider, Luke was pleased with the events that were about to occur. Prying off the top of the paint can Luke looked at the paint and for a second considered, mixing it to get a better color. “Nah, that would be like... work”, and he chuckled again and moved toward the window.

Prying open the window and Luke leaned slightly out, careful not to be seen by anyone outside. “Perfect, perfect”, he muttered “Ben won’t know what hit him”.

With the window open and the can of yellow paint sitting just inside the sill, Luke got a chair and sat staring out the window for his intended victim.

“This was going to be too good”, thought Luke very proud of himself and his plan. Students, teachers and some parents came and went but Luke continued to watch and wait, waiting for the one victim he wanted.

Then, after about ten minutes, Luke sat up with a start. There they were, that idiot Ben and that old fool Carlyle just coming up the school walkway. “This is too good”, thought Luke, “Not only do I get that jerk Ben but I get that colorful old fool too”.

Not suspecting that any was out of the ordinary, especially the plot that Luke was about to hatch, just above their heads, Ben and Mr. Carlyle walked up the path to the school’s entrance. Ben was slightly ahead of Mr. Carlyle who was fidgeting with his maroon tie and a too starched collar on his cyan blue shirt.

“Can’t get this tie just right, Ben”, said Mr. Carlyle, “Go on, I’ll catch up in a second”.

One floor above at the abandoned office window, Luke was increasingly anxious to push the yellow paint can out the window and then marvel at how well his plan worked.

“Wait, wait”, said Luke as he teetered the can of yellow paint on the ledge. “Not yet. Can’t let it go to soon?” He was nervously fingering the yellow can of paint as it inched ever closer to the end of the window sill.

Ben was now directly below the window as he stopped to check his watch to make sure they were on time for the meeting.

“Now”, said Luke silently to himself and he started to give the can a final shove to the end of the window.

Mr. Carlyle, still trailing Ben by a few feet, paused. “Something is not right”, he thought and gave a quick glance around looking for something, anything out of the ordinary.

Then a bit of movement in the window directly above the school entrance drew his attention. Mr. Carlyle slipped his hand into the pocket of his metallic blue and red jacket, he found what he was looking for.

Seconds seemed to pass but in reality it was far less.

Like Luke above, Mr. Carlyle was now also waiting for the right time to act to prevent mayhem not to cause it. “Wait, wait”, thought Mr. Carlyle, “Now”.

At that very moment, Luke Nelson gave a final shove and the can of yellow paint spilled out of the window, falling toward the unsuspecting Ben below.

Also in that moment, Mr. Carlyle, his hand still in his pocket, recited something and was gone but then, so was the falling can of yellow paint. Where Mr. Carlyle had once stood, just behind Ben was now empty space. Where the can of yellow paint was falling and spilling through the air was also empty space.

Ben turned to see why Mr. Carlyle was lagging behind him, but there was no Mr. Carlyle. Taking a few steps toward where he last thought Mr. Carlyle was, Ben started to yell out for him.

Then a voice from the school doorway called out calmly, “Ben, come on in, don’t lag behind”. It was Mr. Carlyle.

“But… How”, Ben was stuttering. “Mr. Carlyle weren’t you behind me? And now… there…How”.

“My dear Ben, “said Mr. Carlyle, “You really must pay more attention to what is going on around you. Bad news though, I just saw the principal, the Student Advisory Committee had to be cancelled. Not enough interest. I’m so sorry Ben”.

Still confused, Ben stammered, “Who? Where did… er… you see Mr. Biggs? You couldn’t have had enough time.”

“Ben”, said a calm Mr. Carlyle, “I’ve got all the time in the world. By the way, have I told you about the nice yellow paint I just bought to redo my kitchen?”

And he smiled. Ben, who was still confused, followed Mr. Carlyle down the path from the school, back to his car, just as Officer Vache was arriving.

“Good afternoon Officer Vache”, said Mr. Carlyle, “I think you’ll find Principal Biggs holding Luke Nelson up on the second floor. Apparently, he broke into a storage closet”.

“Thanks Carlyle”, said Officer Vache with just a touch of annoyance in his voice since this little school break-in would cut into his afternoon nap.

Driving Ben back home from school, Mr. Carlyle could see the obvious disappointment in Ben’s face. “You sure looked forward to the Student Advisory Panel, didn’t you Ben”, said Mr. Carlyle.

“Yeah, I’m, disappointed”, said Ben, “I really thought, no, I knew that I could make a difference”.

“Well Ben, I was going to mail this to you and Mary but I think that it’s best I give it to you now”, and he handed Ben an envelope.

Opening it, Ben read out loud, “You are cordially invited to join me for dinner…”

“Here’s an invite for Mary too”, Mr. Carlyle said” perhaps you could drop it at her house”?

Turning up the road to Ben’s house, Mr. Carlyle continued, “It was supposed to be a congratulations dinner on your new job at the school but well, now I guess it will just have to be a few friends getting together. Is steak good? How about four-thirty, next Saturday?”

__________________________

Next week...

The Travelors Log: 1832 AD - A Shirt of Brilliant Yellow

The Traveler’s Log - 486 AD - I Will Flee This Dying World

486 AD – North Central Gaul

It’s cold, raining and the Franks will be upon us within days. Fires signaling their advance through villas and farms around Noviodunum grow nearer. Syragius’ public face encourages his men to stand firm and repel that Franks, but in private his preparations to flee continue. As the walls are breached, his plan will be in motion.

Good news, I have chosen the next location to secure my goods. A Roman place would not do, that world is disappearing. Also I could not choose barbarian lands, no history or stability in their ways. Visigoths, Franks and others, constantly moving, relocating. They sometimes destroy the older cultures, sometimes merge but always change, too transient and unsure for my liking.

Yesterday, I met a curious little fellow claiming to be a Celtic nobleman, Amon of Dyfed. I must say we had many laughs over how he chose the worst possible time to travel through Noviodunun back to his village on the southern coast of Briton. Over much wine, he spun marvelous tales of life in Briton, and of his wife Anna and newborn son. In friendship he presented me with some brilliantly colored cloth, rich, thick and of a vibrant yellow. I accepted and in return gave him amulets gathered from my time in Egypt.

Among his tales, this Amon of Dyfed delivered an interesting bit of information, news of a sanctuary, a tidal island, not much more than a rock but almost inaccessible. Here, his countrymen are building a refuge from the Saxon’s threat they face in Briton.

I’ve listened eagerly to his tale of this sometimes island, sometime peninsula, steep and rocky. By evenings end, I decided that this shall be where my goods from this stay are to be preserved, a place distant from the crumbling structures of Rome.

Tonight, I leave Syragius forever and accept Amon’s invitation to travel with him. I will not die defending the lost Roman cause. I will live and when my time here ends, I will pick a new destination and continue my journey.

Amon has entered the hall and is urging me to leave now, Clovis and the Franks will be at the south wall by dawn.

I will flee this dying world.

__________________________

Next week...

Chapter 4: You Are Cordially Invited To Join Me For Dinner

Chapter 3: Maybe Mr Carlyle Wasn't Crazy But He Sure Was Close

81 Years Ago

Al Parker, nicknamed Salty because of his habit of practically burying everything he ate in salt, had been neither a good or bad boss. Like everything else in Owens Farm, he was barely noticed by townspeople. In fact, he was barely noticed by the miners who worked for him.

If it weren’t for the large trucks emptying his house, within days of the mine closing, he never would have been noticed at all.

Perhaps feeling a bit of remorse at the closing of the mine, Salty Parker tried to find the mayor to express his regret at leaving. Quickly though, he had second thoughts when he noticed what could have been just about every mine employee marching up Elm Street to where he lived. This type of passion and energy was highly unusual in a town like Owens Farm.

Assessing the situation and realizing that he never had to set foot in Owens Farm again, Salty Parker’s remorse of just a few moments before turned quickly to self preservation. Jumping into his car and speeding off, Salty Parker gave little wave to the mob gathering in front of his house.

Several tried to pursue but Parker was quickly over the hill, never to be seen again.

“Burn it” screamed the mob and it was in this moment that Chief Harry Sager and several other police officers of the Owens Farm Police Department performed one of the few real acts of policing they ever had to do.

Running up from the police station, because Owens Farms only police car was getting an oil change at the new service station on State Route 123, the puffing and panting officers positioned themselves between the mob and the house.

Double over and desperately trying to get his breath, Chief Sager finally got out, “C’mon guys put the matches out. Nothin’ gonna burn today”.

And with that it was over. The mob’s passion had instantly gone.

Apparently the blandness of the town of Owens Farm, grey buildings, grey personalities, carried over into a kind of grey passion. Not hot, not cold but just quickly dissipating. Nothing was forgiven but the moment of revenge had dissolved. And the moment of usefulness for the town’s police officers disappeared too.

Chief Sager decided that it was time for lunch and went down to the restaurant on Main Street. After that, perhaps the police car was ready. The mob went back to their homes accomplishing nothing but then nothing was ever accomplished in Owens Farm.

And with this, the last official of the Eastern Mineral and Mining Associates left town and the large bland house at the end of Elm Street sat vacant.

# # #

The house around the corner from Mary’s house and just at the end of Elm Street had sat vacant ever since the mines had shut down many decades before. It differed from other homes in Owens Farm only by its size but not by design.

While it bore the gray siding so prevalent in Owens Farm, it had at least twice the number of rooms of any house in town. This large home was the former residence of Al Parker, the last manager of the Eastern Mineral and Mining Associates.

For a while, several citizens from the next town, just over the ridge, tried to make a small hotel out of the abandoned house but with no business in Owens Farm, there was no need for folks to stay over night in the town.

Abandoned for many years, the house though remained in very good condition. Since it was the nature of the people of Owens Farm to not poke their noses into other people’s business and, the big house at the end of Elm Street was, other peoples business.

Periodically a neighbor or two would mow the grass of the big when it just got too long and looked out of place. Remember, that the good folks of Owens Farm didn’t want anything to stand out and look out of place, so mowing the grass regained the conformity that made everyone comfortable.

Years passed and now, today, nobody was quite sure who the owner was and nobody in town ever really cared to find out, as long as the house fit in.

# # #

1 Year Ago

The big house at the end of Elm Street had been vacant for over twenty years but now it was going to get a new life. Mr. Carlyle was moving in.

Mr. Carlyle was an average size man who had sort of a confidence about him that said, without words that he been to many places and experienced many things. He had white hair, just long enough to blow and wave when the winds picked up. His eyes seemed to completely know his surroundings even though they were often gazing off in an entirely different direction.

What really set off Mr. Carlyle and that which made him totally different from other residents of Owens Farm were his colorful clothes. Perhaps colorful was an understatement for Mr. Carlyle liked the brightest of bright colors, often with bold patterns and prints.

The day Carlyle moved in, most of the town took no notice of his arrival, at least for a few hours. Even the flashing of his bright jacket as he stepped out of the taxi brought no notice except for the two children peering from an upstairs window that could see the large house at the end of Elm Street.

“Move on over BD, it’s about time I looked out of my own window”, said Mary giving Ben a quick but firm punch in the ribs”

“Ow. Watch it Mary, those ribs are still sore from Luke’s punches”, Ben muttered as he moved out of the small window.

“That guy isn’t very tall”, said Mary. “I bet I’m as tall as him. Is his hat bright green”?

Still rubbing his sore ribs, BD moved back to share the window with Mary but a large moving truck blocked their view of Mr. Carlyle and the large bland house.

“That’s a large truck, wonder if he’s got a wife and kids coming?” said Mary, jockeying with Ben for a better position at the window.

“My turn”, shouted Ben and he gave Mary a little shove pushing her out of the window, the chair she was sitting in and onto the floor.

“BD, for that your never getting another look out of the window”, declared Mary.

“Look Mary, let’s just go for a walk. Perhaps in the direction of the moving van and casually check out the stuff he’s got”, said Ben backing away from Mary.

“Sound good to me” said Mary. “It saves you the humiliation of being pushed out of the way by a girl”.

Those words instantly cut deep in Ben for in his mind, it seamed that had been beaten, stepped on and thrown around by just about everyone in Owens Farm.

Starting to lash out at Mary, he saw her smile and realized that Mary was not mean to him. It had all been in jest, gentle ribbing among friends.

Running down the stairs and through the kitchen Ben and Mary were off to do a little spying on the new neighbor.

“Back soon mom”, Mary shouted as she and Ben left to head for a not-so-quick walk by the moving van.

As they turned the corner onto Elm Street, something did not seem quite right to Ben, something that he could sense but not yet answer. “Mary, something’s just plain different here?” he said.

Mary had sensed it too as she got the first glimpse of the moving van in front of the big house at the end of Elm Street. “Yeah but… wait I know. BD it color. Look at the moving van”.

True enough it was color. Ben and Mary slowly walked toward the moving van and were both speechless. There before them was the most colorful collection of furniture, paintings, trinkets and do-dads that had ever been unloaded in the town of Owens Farm.

Near the tree in the front yard was a brilliant, fluorescent yellow table positioned next to an orange lamp shaped like a yawning hippopotamus. There were multicolored couches, a desk of brilliant green and seemingly endless rainbows of kitchen utensils, boxes overflowing with all shades and manner of household goods.

“Blue cabinets and purple chairs”, said Mary, “I don’t believe it. The people in this town are going to flip”.

“Yeah, they’ll chat it up at the diner for a few days and then forget about it like folks around here always do”, said Ben.

From their position down the street, they could see clustered together on the lawn, more color than was to be found anywhere in Owens Farm. Ben felt that surely aircraft flying over the grey hills and town could spot this blaze of green, blues, red, oranges and any other hue that could be imagined.

“Let’s get closer”, whispered Ben to Mary who was now standing silent at the endless parade of colorful items being unloaded from the moving van.

Running down the street, Mary and Ben had now given up any idea of casually strolling by and examining the household now moving into the big house.

In awe at the colorful explosion around them, they had not even realized that they were now running up the front walk of the house. Finally they stopped halfway between the porch and the street and reveled at the color surrounding them.

In awe, Ben and Mary started wandering between the boxes the moving men were piling on the lawn. The colors filled their senses, overshadowing any idea that they had about staying out of other peoples things. A red box over there, a purple box here and in a box that was partially open, they saw brilliant figurines catching the rays of the sun and reflecting a sea of color in all directions at once.

“Mary” cried Ben as he stood up with a jolt. “Do you notice anything about these things? About the colors I mean. Do you notice what’s missing. Look. Look carefully”.

Mary stood, faced Ben and was immediately startled by the figure standing behind Ben.

“Behind you, watch out” she shouted. And taking a quick step away from the figure she tripped over a small fuchsia table behind her and fell into the bushes.

Ben spinning around was too startled by the looming figure. Starting to run, he tripped over Mary trying to untangle herself from the bush that now held her captive.

The figure walked to the edge of the porch, bent over slightly. The mouth beneath the angular nose drew a slight breath and said firmly, “Of course something’s missing. I don’t like grey”, and the he smiled.

Mary and Ben lay motionless in the now flattened bush as the figure came down the porch steps and offered a hand in assistance.

Mary squirmed away from the hand breaking several branches before she tumbled into the boxes stacked on the lawn. Ben squirmed and now also became deeply tangled in the bushes.

“You know of course that it is polite to ask before you go poking through things belonging to others”, said the figure pulling back his hand and now standing on the lawn.

Ben cringed at the words coming from the figure of a man standing before him. This is going to be worse than anything Luke ever did to me, thought Ben. And poor Mary, she’s never had to face a thing like this.

Mary though was silent, imagining a fate that was going to be quick and most likely painful or at the very least embarrassing, like a call to Officer Vache or her parents.

Of course anything one imagines is almost always worse than the reality of the situation.

The figure again extended his hand, smiled and announced, “My name’s Cleophus Constanius Carlyle, been called that for some time now. Glad to meet you. I figured that the townsfolk I would meet be upright citizens. Well, at least they would be standing upright”.

Ben took the Mr. Carlyle’s outstretched hand and with very little effort was gently pulled out of the bushes.

Picking pieces of the bush out of his clothes Ben said, “Sorry about the bush sir. I broke it, so I’ll replace it sir”.

“First don’t call me sir. My full name is a mouthful so Cleo will do although an occasional Mr. Carlyle might be nice. And second while the green of evergreens is pretty, it’s not bright enough for me”.

Motioning to the shrubbery around the front porch, Cleo continued, “I’m ripping these out and putting plants that are a little more colorful. So, no need to replace what you broke, this time anyway”.

Ben having completed the removal of all twigs and branches from his clothing said, “My name’s Ben but friends know me as DB and this is…”

“I can introduce myself” said Mary, lifting herself from the pile of boxes she had knocked over. “Mary Moore, Sir… Mr…. er Cleo. I live just around the corner and DB and myself were just so fascinated by the colorful things you own that we had to come over and well sorry we were pests but this color just can’t be found in Owens Farm, apparently we lost our heads and never should have gone on your porch without you permission and…”.

“Hold it little lady. Take a breath”, Cleo said with a chuckle. “Everything is all right. Now if you will excuse me, I’ve got a bit of brightening to do. Come back and visit anytime. You’re more than welcome.”

With that Mr. Cleophus Constanius Carlyle turned and walked back into the house. The movers resumed their jobs and Mary and Ben stood there for a second before strolling back down Elm Street.

“What do you think he means by ‘brightening’ Mary”, said Ben.

Mary could not imagine but already the bright packaging and household goods were starting to draw the attention of Owens Farm. The newly repaired police car slowly rolled by with Officer Vache sternly gazing out the window and wondering what manner of folk were now moving into Owens Farm.

Just before turning the corner onto Mary’s Street, Ben gave a little look back over his shoulder at the house at the end of the street. “This could be fun Mary. This could be fun”, and he smiled a little smile.

# # #

The next several months answered the question about ‘brightening” than Ben had asked Mary. With in the month, Mr. Carlyle had painted the outside of the large house at the end of Elm Street in the most dazzling array of colors every seen.

Lime green shutters lay against siding painted orange-red. The porch was redone in purple tiles with cyan blue highlights. Doors were done not in just one color but in the entire spectrum of colors. Sometimes violet hues to red other times red hues to violet.

Even the concrete sidewalk, right up to the curb was painted in the brightest colors available. The roof look like something out of a fairy tail as its array of color caught the sun at varying angles from sunrise to sunset providing a magnificent light show for the neighbors.

But in the beginning the neighbors did not appreciate or even want a ‘magnificent light show” and the grumblings were loud.

A least one family had threatened to move from a house near Mr. Carlyle’s home and relocate to the other side of Owens Farm but that required more conviction than most folks in Owens Farm had and soon the grumblings were silent. The citizens of Owens Farm just muttered under their breath to each other about “that” house at the end of Elm Street.

Mr. Carlyle tried but he could not endear himself to the citizens of Owens Farm. He invited neighbors over for barbeque but every one had excuses and other things to do. He offered to donate a new police car to the town but was politely but surely rebuffed. His first time attending a meeting of the Owens Farm City Council had others at the meeting sitting as far from him as possible. Mr. Carlyle was sure that if they could move to another room, they would. The meeting was the shortest ever on record.

Mr. Carlyle always dressed as flamboyantly as the house in which he lived. The shoes he wore were often of different, but always bright colors. Sometimes his pants were as green as any worn by a Leprechaun. There were red vests covered by blue jackets.

The only things that never changed were his flowing white hair and the affection he had developed for Mary and Ben.

As for Mary and Ben, they found Cleo fascinating for he brought color to their young lives in the grey town of Owens Farm.

They often stood on the sidewalk in front of Cleo’s house and played a little game to see who could find what was the latest color added to the house. Cleo would often come out sit on the porch and talk with them for hours.

They talked about the weather, the possibility of new road construction on Main Street and a hundred other un-important, but very friendly, neighborly things.

Sitting on Mary’s porch one Sunday afternoon, Ben and Mary watched Cleo drive down the street in his multicolored car, wearing almost glowing clothes. Cleo gave a hearty wave to Mary and Ben and turned onto his street.

Mary leaned to Ben and said, “Well he did say he didn’t like grey”.

Ben thought to himself, maybe Mr. Carlyle wasn’t crazy but he sure was close.

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Traveler’s Log - 486 AD - I Will Flee This Dying World