“Mister Johnson,” called the young blonde in scrubs, from a doorway.

There was no answer. 

“Mister Johnson,”  she repeated, slightly louder. 

Still, nothing.  

Fred Johnson, couldn’t register his name being called, because of an earlier encounter that changed him forever.

Fred arose at his usual time of 6:00 am.  He had a routine, and since his wife passed, he’d stuck to it religiously.  After a cup of coffee, a shit, shower, and shave, Fred would walk to the store to get a paper.  He liked to read the paper with his second and sometimes third cup of coffee.  His late wife would always criticize him for having that third cup of coffee, so now he usually had three.  

On the way to the store, people passed him.  Fred looked into the faces of the humans that surrounded him on his walk.  He observed a multitude of lackluster beings with preoccupied narcissism.  Some were taking pictures of themselves, other people, or even their food.  Others were just walking or standing, head down, melded and melted into the little screen. Not as much as an ‘excuse me’, when someone bumped into you.  This saddened Fred. 

When he made the left toward the corner store, he noticed a multitude of people with heightened energy out front.  Some were screaming and others were holding signs.  Others were just milling about.  He started through the crowd into the store.  The mob began calling Fred names, such as, kidfucker, childfucker, monster, lunkhead, etc.  Someone actually threw a cup of hot coffee on him just before he entered the store.

“Goddamnit!” Fred threw out, unlike himself, as he got the door shut behind him.  “What in the hell is going on out there, Gerald?”

Gerald halted slicing some Tavern Ham to address him. 

“Fred, it’s fucked up, man.  It’s all fucked up. Three little neighborhood kids come in like they usually do, but they had a new kid with them this time.  No big deal right?  Well, he went home and told someone that I gave him, and all of the boys, my meat.”

“Well you did, didn’t you?” Fred inquired.

“You’re always giving me samples.”

“Yeah.  Yeah!  I guess you’re right, Fred.  Goddamn, I’ve got nothing to worry about.  Shit, thanks man.  Take the paper, free of charge, and you can go out the back.”

On the way back to his residence, Fred saw a starving, little kitten.  He knew the nicest Asian lady, just up the block, that would love to have it.  She ran a shelter, and Fred actually helped her print and hang her flyers around town.  She loved animals, enjoyed feeding them, and was a tremendous cook as well.  Fred enjoyed many dishes made by her in the past.  Each being a delicious, but interesting culinary experience to say the least. Very exotic and international, as Fred described it. 

Now back home, he finished his third cup of coffee and went to the bedroom to jack off with his late wife’s panties.  After that, he usually napped, or watched old home movies. 

A reminder went off on his phone.  He stopped his video and looked at the screen.

‘DOCTOR 1:45’

He then clicked, ‘will arrive’ to confirm his appointment.  This wasn’t something Fred planned for, but this was something he had to do.  He wanted his brain fixed for years now, and this could be his time.  The treatment that he needed was now made available, and he was anxious to get it under way. 

On his way to the doctor, he thought about his late wife Eva.  She was the calm to his storm. One that kept him grounded.  Satiated to an extent. 

Fred pondered her death.  He wondered if he ultimately had something to do with it.  This sat particularly heavy on him at this moment. Their pastor gave him an elixir to give to her, but adversely, it made her worse.  She became very ill, and never recovered.  He prayed about it daily. 

Fred couldn’t be bothered by that at this moment.  He was about to be reborn to an extent.  This was the first doctor that offered true promise, a future. Fred made the corner with the doctor’s office now in sight.  This brought a smile to his face, just as a speeding bus smashed his entire being into complete, cellular nothingness.

The small girl, then summoned, a bellowing, stern, yet slightly agitated, “Mister Johnson.”