“Is he dead?”
“I don’t think so.”
“How would you know?”
“Because,” Liesl said, her voice ringing with authority, “I saw my Grandma after she died, and she looked just like that.”
Devon kicked at a pebble, not looking at the man on the bench. “Why’d he die here? I thought people died at the hospital or something?”
“People die everywhere, Devon,” Liesl sighed. “You should know this by now.”
Devon said nothing. Liesl was almost a whole year older than she was, and had older siblings, so Devon trusted she knew more. Devon didn’t have to like it, though.
“Who do you think he is?”
“You mean was?” Liesl shrugged. “I don’t know. He was probably just sick or something.”
“Come on, Lisel,” Devon whined. “Where is your imagination? You used to be fun.” She couldn’t bring herself to look at her friend’s face.
There was a pause, then Liesl sighed gustily. “Fine. I bet he was a spy.”
“A spy?”
“Yes, a spy. He was an American agent, sent to infiltrate an enemy country, like Alaska or something.”
“Isn’t Alaska part of America?”
“Do you want me to play or not?”
“Yeah. But maybe pick an actual country.”
Liesl glared. “Fine. He was sent to Russia, to spy on their king.”
“Don’t they have a – sorry…”
“He went to spy on the king, or president, or whatever they have in Russia. But he met a Russian spy, and they fell in love. But this other spy broke his heart, because he wouldn’t betray Russia and come work for us.”
“He fell in love with another man?”
“It happens, Devon. I’m trying to tell a story here!”
“Sorry…”
Liesl tilted her head, considering the dead man. “He was so heartbroken, that when he came back to the U.S. without the love of his life, he quit being a spy, and moved out here. Years went by, and one day he was walking by this park, and it was pretty and reminded him of his lost love, so he sat down on this bench, and because of his broken heart, and that he is like, super old, he died.”
“Or,” Devon jumped in, “maybe he was a criminal, on the run for something he did years and years ago. He, like, robbed a bank, or something, and was the only one to get away. He lived off the money, until it just ran out. And, his partner just got out of prison, tracked him down, and killed him with some kind of poison he learned about in jail.”
Liesl shook her head. “He looks more like a spy to me.”
“Or,” came a rumble from the man on the bench, “he’s just an old man who fell asleep on a park bench.”
They squealed, and his creaky laughter chased them as they ran to Devon’s mother, who sat with a book across the park.
“Kids these days,” he said, shaking his head. “Not so different. Still scared of the Russians.” He lifted his head, feeling the sunlight on his face, and absent-mindlessly scratched the skull tattoo on his neck.
© The Lightning Tower, 2020