A Tale of Two Abel's

Abel passed ever so quietly through my doorway, barely
making a peep. While crossing the threshold, which
heroically guarded my place of safe haven, an easy wind
accompanied him. It whisked across my cheek, coaxing me,
unsuccessfully, to hear the forbidden secret it was trying to
reveal.

Abel's small, deep set, steel blue eyes bore the look of a
directionless wanderer. I sensed that society had tagged him
an outcast. And now, due to his lack of self worth, he assigned
himself an anonymous identity. But I was quite certain that all
characters could be read, with his being no exception
to the rule, or so I thought.

Capturing my attention were his feet. They seemed unsteady
as they did a funny little jig, a kind of mini-march, as if hot
coals were searing their way through the rubber soles of
his work boots. Perhaps it was caused by the reflection of
his own inner uneasiness. Of this I could not be certain. But
the thought of it made me feel pity for the man.

Decorative tattoos ran up and down Abel's extremities, with
more purpose and direction than his very own, a lyrical
nitrogen explosion, a substitute for secrets longing to be
exposed, a circumvented anger, a puff of airless smoke.
There were bleeding, blackened letters imprinted upon
his flesh, of which I couldn't decipher. I didn't look that
closely. I didn't want to.

This was Abel the laborer, with hammer in hand, trying to
keep his appointments straight, hoping to create a semblance
of order in his dizzying, disorderly world.

After my brief but self satisfying effort to surmise his
character from top to bottom, I assigned Abel several
mundane repair projects, and expected him to make good
use of his time through heavy work and toil.

I then stepped into my kitchen, addressing the freshly
brewed cup of coffee and neatly opened newspaper,
both of which were right where I had left them just a few
short minutes before. Then I saw it! Amongst the tiresome
array of ads, opinions and legitimate articles, a familiar face
sat neatly wedged into the lower right hand corner of the
page. Plain block letters were hovering just above it. A
simple statement announced, "WANTED FOR MURDER."

In that moment, as my eyes focused on the familiar eyes
of my anonymous stranger, Abel stared back at me from
the corner of that page. I sat still and quiet as the ticking
of the clock slowed and my coffee turned to tepid mud.
Then the walls closed in as a shroud of darkness fell.



Abel rises from dust and ash, suitcase in hand, crossing
candy coated thresholds, liquifying them into darkened,
molten substances. Destined to melt even the most
hardened of hearts, his big, brown, lullaby eyes remind
me of those I once saw in an old silent film, stirring
adolescent fantasies which till then, had never been
touched.

Abel has arrived and wants to sell me something- something
hidden deep inside his plain, black, rectangular suitcase. I
am curious and want to see what he is offering. But an acrid
odor is seeping through its cracks. And besides, I was
always taught to never trust a stranger.