Mikey blushed, dismissing with a wave of his hand. “Thanks. That’s just my way of getting through the day. There can be a lot of ugly out there, George. Singing is my kind of force-field. Are you familiar with Green Lantern?”
“The bar... on Thomas Circle?”
“No, the comic book.”
“Oh. I was more of a Marvel guy.”
“OK. Then, Sue Storm—TheFantastic Four?”
“Now, we’re talking.”
“Remember how she could blast transparent waves or surround herself with an invisible, impenetrable, bubble? Well, that’s why I sing; it’s my superpower. It also brings happiness to folks, temporarily anyway. Sometimes it’s the memories, sometimes it’s the spontaneity, sometimes it’s both.”
“What if they don’t like it?”
“Then it keeps them away.”
George laughed. “Sounds like you, uh, wield your power well.”
“I like to think so. Life is short, George... too short to be miserable or let other folks affect you that way.”
“That’s a valid philosophy.”
“It’s also cheaper than therapy.”
“Your mouth to God’s ear. Well, Mikey, I look forward to seeing you daily... and thank you, in advance, for all that you do. Oh, and I promise—once I get cooking for real—I’ll put aside some samples for you.”
“I’ll hold you to that!”
Silence ensued,Mikey missing his exit cue. Both had enjoyed each other’s company but, being relative strangers, had little else to say. Mikey broke the silence before it got awkward.
“Do you mind if I ask you something?”
Uh, oh,George thought. Hereit comes.Twice in one day.I should have known better, working in The Circle.
“What sign are you?” Mikey asked.
The question was innocuous enough in context—considering his prior new age references. It still felt like a pickup line, though—even if you weren’t living in the 1960s.
“I’m Cancer. July seventh,” George answered.
Mikey’s eyes went wide with excitement. “I knew it! I just knew you had to be Cancer. You have very kind eyes. My horoscope today said that I was going to meet someone influential... and you being Cancer explains a LOT. We’re probably close in age too. Are you single, George?”
There it is.
“Widower,” he answered—using his own superpower.
“Oh, man... I’m so sorry. I had no idea,” Mikey said, shot down. “I’m such a doof. I get excited sometimes and I ramble. I didn’t mean to pry, George. Honest—”
“It’s OK, Mikey. It’s not as raw as it used to be. It’s been a few years.”
Mikey was shaking his head, slowly. “I should have known. It’s in your eyes—something deeper. I recognize it now. I’ve seen it in my mother’s eyes. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
“Thanks.”
“And I’m sorry I keep saying I’m sorry. God knows you’ve probably heard it enough already.”
“Yeah.” George smiled. “There’s only a handful of responses.”
