The Greatest Smugness

The day was one of wind, blown with dreams and wishes. It was just about when the light was greeting the oceans of shadows that I saw the man. His hair, lightly caressed by the sun’s color, blew violently in the wind. It seemed to be stabbing me. Yelling to me, run, run! But I didn’t. if only for the fact that my toes wiggled with the wind and my stomach twisted from the cold. Perhaps from fear too. Perhaps.

When he sat down on the rusted bench which was practically surrendering to old age, a short foot away from me, it shivered in protest. Instinctively, my head turned the other way and my hands went squeezed between my thighs. The fact that he didn’t so much as glance in my direction smoothed my shoulders to a natural position yet shot my suspicion to the highest intensity.

He laid down a leather suitcase between us, prospectively on his left. The suitcase was so, so near that it brought sweat to my brow and a trembling to my hands and arms. The look on his face was one that was all too chillingly familiar to me. The set jaw. The perfectly arched eyebrows. The smug nose. Mocking eyes. They teased me to a point of nausea. His tailored suit, hatless hair and short coat didn’t instill any more warm feelings toward those rich folks.

Papa would have lowered his drained head and passed quietly. Mama would have curtsied respectfully and smiled while the leather shoes clicked and the pride crushed the cement calculatedly. But not me. Oh no. I don’t bow my head in submission. I don’t smile politely while money and food that I’m lacking is passing right by me. And that’s why I’m alive.

And that’s why the man to my right is to my right. Shivers rip through me. Waves of shivers. He can have me arrested. He can have me jailed. I can only imagine his face when he reached into his pocket two days ago, smugness aloof, and found his wallet missing. Perhaps the smugness cowered in face of his fury. Perhaps society sent it back though feigned this time. Oh, curse society. Curse those who set society the way it is.

Betraying my pride, I glance over to Mr. smug guy. He seems to be engrossed in the click-clack of the horses racing and the spin-spin of the buggies following. What a strange man. Perhaps if I were in his place I would have the security to leisurely inspect the world when my wallet was stolen by a little, dirty boy.

Light is slowly fading as if on beat with my racing heart. Perhaps he is waiting for the cover of darkness to pounce on me or… perhaps he already called the cops and is waiting patiently for them to arrive! I should run away. Far, far away. I should simply disappear. Or… I should face them! I should walk to the police station with my head held high perhaps pretending the chains on my hands were golden and the cops were my body guards. Or I should…

The man rises. That’s it! Here it comes! I clutch the side of the bench with trembling fingers, all scenarios of heroism distinguished. But the man simply looks toward his right, his left, squints is almond eyes, brushed a hand through his exposed hair and with an air of triumph, his leather shoes tap-tap way beating the threat away. His hands are slightly higher than naturally positioned in result of his raised shoulders and they glow a glorious glow even as they are… even as they are bare.

With a twiddling sensation of premonition, I slowly cast my eyes downward. His leather suitcase sits at my side as a dark mystery. A rich man’s suitcase… it glares at me, waiting silently, inviting yet flashing keep out! Keep out!

Adrenaline courses through my veins. I feel like I could jump to the sky. I feel like I could yell and run and take over the world with a ferocious roar! But I keep my mind in check and slow as a growing tree, my hands reach for the suitcase. The entire world is pumping along with me. Somewhere deep inside, in places I don’t dare reach into, a conscience lightly tugs. But I’m holding the suitcase. And it’s opening. He can have me arrested. He can have me jailed.

I peer through the open slit. Clean, fresh new shirts lye in waiting. Wrapped, warm loaves of bread greet my eyes. Beautiful apples! Rich-colored oranges! Blessed veggies! More! And there’s more! Forgetting the public location, I yank open the suitcase and excitedly search trough its content for more treasures. Books! Games! Pants! More shirts!

And there, under all the crystals and gems sits a small, crunched note on parchment. Suddenly remembering that I’m trilling over a stranger’s suitcase, I lift the note to my face and read.

For you my son and-

A gust of wind breathes through the streets and yanks the parchment out of my weak fingers. My hair and lashes yank along with it. By the time I scramble to go after it, it’s already long gone, sucked along with the merciless blows.

It could have said a lot of things. I sit down again and lean my check upon the side of the suitcase. It could have said …and for your family. Or …and don’t ever steal again.

But I will never know, for the gentle note and its smug owner have disappeared in the winds of aggression and oceans of shadows.