Fiction

---

Henry McNag and his dark blue duffle bag crossed the busy street in Chicago. His steps paced perfectly, a clear destination preplanned, and his bag half full, more or less half empty, and half zipped. Brushing shoulders, catching swift fragrances of various women, and the silent crying of his Bluetooth crackling in his ear, eager to speak to him. Ever-quickening his pace, Henry’s eyes were drier than the sands of the Sahara. Ah, he began to squint; boy, how his patience dimmed. With his right hand swinging freely, left clutching the short handles on his load, he blinked. Henry McNag shifted his hand, almost as if it was a repetitive movement, and placed something into his bag.

How far Henry McNag had come with that dark blue duffle bag; the amazing sceneries he had visited, the most imaginative spectacles he had uniquely observed, and the constant rejections by the numerous photography establishments ‘round the world (the “universe” Henry would say), but this interview would be worth it. “Ah, those bugs!” he cried as an insect diverted its flight directly in his right pupil, hindering his stride. Blink. Blink. Blink! He shoved a few things into the open zipper in disgust. As his stride returned to its normal length, he noticed a beautiful building—blink—, he stumbled over a poorly laid piece of sidewalk—blink—, Henry spotted the smallest dog he had ever seen—BLINK—, he wondered how long this interview would be—BLINK—, and he struggled to fit any more into his dark blue duffle bag.

He had arrived at his destination, Twenty-twenty Farsight Avenue. The silver doors with the pull/push signs invited slow and fast traffic, and he accelerated thorough this intersection with his figurative windows open while a gust of air kissed his face. With fervor and confidence flaring, the bag unconsciously slipped from his grasp and the contents scattered all around the floor. Panic—blink—, stumble—blink—, sweat—blink—quickly—BLINK: Attention! Blink! He struggled to hide his scene that was taking place on the polished floors but managed to recover, adjusting his disheveled suit and tie. Gripping the straps to a thousand contents, he gripped even harder to his thoughts “Will I ever be accepted?”

As he approached the granite counter at the receptionist desk, he wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. Peering up at the woman behind the slate of granite and noticing the gold name “Barbara” inscribed on her nametag, he simply stated “I have an appointment with Mr., uh……, Sk-oo-lOw-skEE?” She jerked slightly, knocking some papers off her disheveled desk. 'Kinda looks like a parade', Henry thought.

“Yes Mr. Skulauski will be with you shortly,” she said abruptly.
“Aren’t you going to –OUCH!!—ask my name?” The stinging from the insect still tingled in his right eyelid: BLINK! And something landed in front of the secretary, interrupting her paperwork suddenly.

She paused the carnival happening on her desk to look up, quickly placed the object in a small bag, and say “Mr. Skulauski will be with you shortly.”

“Ok, thanks I guess,” and Henry seated himself to the left of her desk where the mahogany colored chair fit his liking nicely. He sat for about two minutes, babying his eye tenderly. At last, another woman looking very identical to the one behind the counter came from a door to the right of the granite topped check-in. He eased upward and almost took a double take being rather befuddled at the similarities of the women, and she led him into a large room with one chair like the one in the main waiting room, a much nicer desk, and another large and almost “king-size” chair behind the desk.

Bookshelves bordered the room, millions it seemed. Henry’s duffle bag sweat profusely in his hand. ‘Or was that my hand sweating?’ Henry couldn’t tell either way at this point with the confusion slurring his conscious notes together. The man in the King’s chair was disproportionate to his seat, for it nearly towered double the size of him. But Henry was not one for intimidation, so he decided to sit down and casually cross his legs over his lap as the receptionist’s identical twin left the room.

“Mr. McNag is it?” Mr. Skulauski rhetorically asked as he fiddled through his papers.

“Henry McNag, sir, and I’ve come to tell you that—“

“Mr. McNag, I honestly don’t care all that much about what you have to tell me; I want to know what you have to show me. Now please I have your information, your alibi, and your what-not reputation; now please, show me this ‘AMAZING’ feat that has been accompanied to you, as you described on the phone.”

“Sir, I’ve been rejected by so many others, please don’t be another.” Henry crackled from his parched throat. He began to unzip the duffle bag. “Now, Mr. Skulauski, this may be a bit much for an initial interview, but I believe it’s necessary.”

He dumped the contents out onto the desk without precaution, and with a jump of surprise, Mr. Skulauski exclaimed rather demandingly, “What am I to make of all this? These are just thousands of Polaroid pictures! What do you mean by this?” He began fiddling through the thousands upon thousands of snapped pictures.

“Well, sir, I can tell you; I didn’t get these any old way. That is, I didn’t exactly take these with a uh….how can I put it……not with a camera.” Henry shifted uneasily in his seat, having confessed his sins to Father Skulauski.

“Mr. McNag, I am not one for games, please explain yourself.”

“Of course, of course, well, this may be difficult to wrap your mind around but, I don’t take pictures with cameras; I take pictures with my eyes, sir.” Henry gulped his final breath it seemed.

“Yes, yes, Mr. McNag I know the visions that you photographers paint in your minds. How skilled you are with your cameras, and how fast you can switch those lenses, as if they were your own eyes, correct?”

“Sir, I’m talking about—“ BLINK—and a Polaroid picture fell from Henry’s hand onto the thousands of other pictures. “See, Mr. Skulauski! I’m telling the truth!” BLINK!—another picture flew from his right hand.

“Mr. McNag, I am not one for magic tricks; now if this is all you have to show me are your STUPID magic tricks then you are at the wrong place and you are wasting MY TIME!!” grunted Mr. Skulauski.

“But Mr. Skulauski, I—“ Blink! Blink! Blink!! Picture upon picture fell again and again upon the desk. Henry’s eyes, Henry’s hand, Mr. Skulauski’s desk. Henry wouldn’t stop blinking and he was not giving up after all this time. “Sir, I am telling you!” But suddenly, the receptionist came to the door, with a small bag in her hand. The action stopped and the two scuffling men gazed at the woman as if she had fired a gun.

She exclaimed to Mr. Skulauski, “Sir, I think you should look at this, Mr. McNag here dropped this picture onto my desk I scanned it through our systems. The computers couldn’t read the quality or make of the picture. The readings were too high and the contrast and detail froze the computer, I had to override the system from just this little picture.”

Mr. Skulauski glared at the picture through the clear sandwich baggie and took in its finer detail. The color and vibrancy of the picture was so crisp that you could almost see the blackheads on the receptionist's face. Hands trembling, Mr. Skulauski carefully set the picture down on his already crowded desk.

“Do you believe me now?” Henry McNag and his dark blue duffle bag exclaimed with excitement.

“Barbara, could you fetch me a frame, please?” Mr. Skulauski picked the small picture up off the desk and admired it again while shaking Henry’s hand firmly.

---

PLEASE ENCOURAGE AUTHOR BELOW LEAVE COMMENT ON ARTICLE