Alone in a Crowd (standard:other, 3114 words)
Author: Eutychus	Added: Sep 18 2003	Views/Reads: 3361/2293	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
During a weekend bike ride, a father and son pause to visit with a reclusive old man.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

called for introductions and working his way into asking a total 
stranger for a favor, “can we borrow some water?” 

The old man turned and looked more than a little surprised. 

Dan held his hands up in a gesture that was part surrender and part
shrug, as if to renounce any responsibility for his son's lack of tact. 
“I'm sorry if he scared you,” he said as an afterthought. 

“Naw, he didn't scare me. I knew you was there. I just didn't ‘spect you
to take notice of me,” the old man said as he slowly got up and 
extended his hand. “My name's Galen Budley and you're welcome to some 
water. Hose is on.” 

“I'm Dan Stevens and this is my son Mike. Thanks for letting him fill
up. You know, I'm a little surprised myself to find you here. For all 
the years I've been driving past this place, I don't ever recall seeing 
you out and about in your yard.” 

Galen smiled sadly. “I know. The yard is always cut and the house gets
paint when it needs it, but there's never anyone around. Damnedest 
thing, ain't it?” 

“Certainly is,” Dan thought as he watched Michael drink from the hose
and then fill his bottle. “I suppose you and I are on different 
schedules and I just never manage to see you. But still...” 

“You're right, there's more to it than just that, but it will require
some explanation. Do you watch much television?” 

“I guess so.” 

“What do you think of commercials?” 

“I guess they are a necessary evil. They pay the bills for the networks
and give me a chance to get a bowl of ice cream.” 

“You know, they are very good examples of directing the thinking of the
viewer. Have you ever seen a car advertised that was not in motion?” 

“How about the early Infiniti commercials?” 

“Alright, I'll give you that one. I remember those. Hell, they didn't
even show you the car. It was like ‘Come test-drive our commercial'. 
But that didn't last. Now the cars are not only seen in the commercial, 
but they are seen moving. Advertisers know that the mind retains moving 
objects better. And pop ads will sometimes have someone white water 
rafting or skydiving. The movement in the ads locks the product into 
memory. And when the product isn't something associated with movement, 
like a service of some kind, the spokesman is usually visible so that 
you have the chance to focus on his moving lips.” 

“Are you saying that I never noticed you because you move slower than a
skydiver?” 

“No. I'm laying a foundation. Advertisers have made a science of
directing your attention to a particular place. They use color, motion, 
sex, and contrast sharp edges on soft backgrounds. They'll exploit any 
of a dozen ways to draw attention to the important parts of the 
commercial. They have a pretty reliable formula they use to get you to 
remember their product.” 

“How does that connect with things?” 

“Well, I just have to assume that if there are ways to get someone to
notice something, there must also be ways to get them not to. Ask the 
folks in the military about this one. Camouflage, radar-dispersing 
coatings and exhaust diffusers on bombers, these all do precisely that. 
Over the years I have come to believe I possess a psychic gift of 
sorts.” 

Dan's eyes got slightly wider and he shifted his stance so that he put
just a bit more space between Galen and himself. 

Galen raised a reassuring hand and said, “Look, I know what you're
thinking...” 

Dan smiled and said in his most patronizing tone, “Of course you do.” 

“Alright, that wasn't the best way to put it. I meant a different
definition of the word than the psychic hotline uses. I meant a gift 
that has more to do with the mind and soul than with physical reality.” 


Dan took a tactical glance around the property to determine where his
son had gotten to should he decide it was in their best interest to 
make a quick exit. Michael was standing next to the doorway leading to 
the basement of the house looking with interest at something in the 
grass. 

“So you aren't necessarily a fan of John Edwards or Kenny Kingston?” Dan
asked, seeing just how far he could push his distain for the psychic 
“profession”. 

“Hell no. They feed off the insecurities of people who really ought to
know better. I mean, if those folks who invest in a ‘Psychic Advisor' 
neon sign in the front yard could really predict the future, they'd be 
living in a much better neighborhood. The future they foretell is bound 
to be a counterfeit one, and any peace their clients receive is short 
lived. I know of only one source of peace that counts for anything in 
the long run, and even knowing Him won't make you immune to the effects 
of the world.” 

Dan did a slight double take and decided that he had heard Galen
capitalize the ‘h'. “Then if you have as much respect for these 
charlatans as I do, what makes you think you have a psychic gift?” 

“Because that's the best way I can describe it. It's not something that
I do intentionally, in fact I can't will it to happen or not happen. It 
goes beyond my physical abilities to control, so I say it's psychic in 
nature.” 

“So what do you do?” 

“I blend in. I simply cease to be noticed. And there are definite and
serious problems associated with this sort of ability. This, too, is 
part of my argument for the false nature of popular psychics. My 
experience has shown that psychic abilities are detrimental to the 
person who has them.” 

“In what ways?” 

“I've never been married or even had more than an informal relationship
with a woman. I was never noteworthy enough to be noticed for the long 
term. I could make with the snappy repartee as good as anyone else, I 
suppose, but any impression I made was shallow and all too quickly 
forgotten. I view that as a major setback in life. Love cannot force 
itself upon someone. Love is persuasive, not coercive, and if I am 
there one minute and invisible the next, what can I do but live with 
the situation? For myself, I cannot be like Jesse Jackson jumping onto 
the bandwagon de jour speaking with authority about topics that I know 
nothing about trying to get people to pay attention to me in a 
desperate bid for significance. That just isn't me.” 

Dan smiled and the laughter that bubbled up from Galen's comment about
the preacher turned pundit became a snort. Even as he appreciated the 
humor, he considered Galen's “problem”. If he wasn't just making up a 
story to entertain, then his situation could be a difficult one. Dan 
considered all the time spent in lines only to be disregarded once your 
turn arrived. How long would it take for Galen to get service in a 
restaurant and when he did, would his order be forgotten as easily as 
he was? 

“What'd ya find there, boy?” Galen called over to Michael. 

“Did you know you have a gun laying in your yard?” Michael asked. 

“No cause for concern,” Galen said to Dan when he noticed the father
stiffen at the reality of his son being that close to a gun. “I use it 
to prop up the basement door. It's German, a serviceable seven point 
nine two millimeter machine gun manufactured by Bergmann in the mid- 
nineteen teens, but it hasn't operated since I acquired it. I keep it 
around as a remembrance and a reminder. It is rusted solid and wouldn't 
shoot without being completely retooled.” 

“Remembrance and reminder? Isn't that a little redundant?” 

“Oh no. It serves as a remembrance of the only time my little gift
worked to my advantage and reminds me of the dangers involved in using 
my gift. Mike, go ahead and bring that over here.” 

Mike hefted the gun to his shoulder and marched over to where the older
men stood. He handed the gun to Galen and waited for some story about 
the weapon. 

“So where did this come from?” Dan asked as he came to agree that the
gun was little more than a doorstop now, the rusted metal and rotting 
wood of the stock quite plain up close. 

“Argonne Forest. It was one of those classic encounters worthy of All's
Quiet on the Western Front or The Red Badge of Courage. My two buddies 
and I were walking towards a small village when we found ourselves face 
to face with a half dozen German soldiers who were no older than we 
were. Things got tense and threats that no one for whom they were 
intended could understand were exchanged. 

“One of the Germans tossed down his weapon, this gun, and pulled a close
quarters combat knife. He lunged at Pete as the others considered their 
guns. As Pete and the German kid scuffled on the ground, I reached down 
and picked up this gun and walked right past the small squad of 
Germans. Dave, my other buddy, had jumped onto the pile and probably 
saved Pete's life. As the rest of the Germans cheered their comrade on, 
I circled around and spoke the only German I knew, and asked them how 
much the beer was. The reaction was one of such surprise that I'm not 
sure whose weapon discharged. But when I heard a shot fired, reflex 
took over and I fired into the group. Best as I can figure, one of the 
Germans jerked his trigger finger when he was surprised by my sudden 
presence and fired into the dirt because none of my friends were 
injured. I killed six people who might have killed us in return, but I 
did it by getting the drop on them. It was hardly a fair fight, and 
I've always had mixed feelings over the incident.” 

As Michael listened to the story, he was troubled by images of the
encounter. He felt the tension of the moment, the sudden surge of 
adrenaline produced by the sound of a weapon discharging too closely, 
and the terror and exhilaration of returning fire in a just cause. As 
the story wound down, he felt a full body shiver and shook off the 
sensations the story had brought. 

Galen noted the reaction and nodded to himself. 

"Galen, how did you manage to shoot the Germans and not your friends if
they were in your line of fire?" 

"As soon as the shot was fired, the scuffle broke up and they separated.
They weren't anywhere near where I fired." 

“Galen, do you have a phone?” Dan asked. 

“'Course I do. I even have an answering machine, not that anyone ever
calls.” 

“Can I borrow it for a minute? You just can't get a Nextel signal in
this part of the world and I really ought to let my wife know what has 
happened to us.” 

“Feel free. Phone's jest inside the back door. You do know how to dial a
phone with an actual dial own it, don'cha?” 

“I think I remember. Thanks.” 

“Mike, did my story upset you?” Galen asked, turning his full attention
to the young man. 

“It wasn't your story. It was the way I imagined it.” 

“You have a pretty good imagination sometimes?” 

“Yes. Sometimes the things can seem so real.” 

“Tell me, Mike, was it you or your dad who first noticed me?” 

“It was me. I'm sure Dad looked right at you and never saw you. I had to
point you out.” 

“I thought as much. Most of the people who noticed me over the years
were the sort who thought they had vivid imaginations. But what they 
never suspected was that they were beginning to tap into a psychic gift 
of their own. What they would credit to their imaginations was really 
picking up on either the thoughts or emotions of others.” 

“Hm. That would explain some things.” 

“Such as?” 

“Well, if it is sensing thoughts, then there aren't many people who
think in complete sentences.” 

“You've had other experiences?” 

“Yes. I've caught myself imagining Mom and Dad. I imagine an image  of
them together at a time when I know they aren't together. They seem to 
think about each other a lot, but I don't quite understand all of the 
pictures.” 

“This is an area best discussed with your Dad, I think, but there are
some aspects of life that ought to remain private. As I said earlier, 
such gifts can be dangerous things if you use them wrong, so you need 
to be cautious. You also need to understand that there are limits to 
these gifts. A teacher will be concentrating on something other than 
the answers to a test when giving the test, so your best course of 
action is always to study.” 

“Mike, your Mom says we have forty five minutes until supper, so we had
better get going,” Dan called from the doorway. 

“Guess we have to take off, Mr. Budley. I'll think about what you said.”


“It's always a pleasure to speak with a polite young man such as
yourself. Feel free to come see me any time.” 

“Galen, how do you manage that?” Dan asked. 

“Manage what?” 

“One minute you are talking like Gabby Hays and then the next, you sound
like an essay by John Kenneth Galbraith. How or why is that?” 

“I think it's part of the blending in I do. Evidently, if you were
likely to not notice someone, it would be a seemingly ignorant slightly 
doddering old man. That one is easy for me to fall into, I'm sorry to 
have to say.” 

“Well thanks for the water, the conversation, and for keeping an eye on
the boy.” 

“Never a problem. Stop back any time. I'm always around, even though it
might not seem that way at the time.” 

Michael remained unusually quiet for a good part of the ride home. Dan
respected his introspective mood after they finished discussing Galen's 
stories and pondered elements of his phone conversation with the wife 
ten minutes earlier. When he inquired what she had been doing to occupy 
herself while they were out biking, she had filled him in on the 
details of a randy portion of a piece of contemporary women's 
literature. 

“I almost had to take matters into my own hands. If only you had been
here...” she had said breathily. Dan entertained the image for a few 
moments until he noticed Michael looking at him oddly. 

“Something the matter?” 

“No, nothing,” he said and considered the down side of psychic
abilities. As the image faded, he comforted himself with the knowledge 
that he wouldn't have to snoop for Christmas presents any longer. 


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