Cary Freeman walked with a constant, uneven rhythm along the sidewalk in front of the stores with a dark blue backpack slung over his left shoulder and a reusable grocery bag in his left hand. He moved at a leisurely pace and looked into the store windows on his left as he passed them, but the rest of the time he kept his eyes on the ground ahead of him. It was a nice afternoon, a little cooler than average, but that was good, and there were plenty of people out, busy living their lives. Some were on their lunch breaks and trying to squeeze in some errands, a quick trip to pick up cleaning or drop off papers along with grabbing something to eat.
Cary was amazed that there could be so many worlds existing independently, but almost never touching. It was like a well-run ant colony or something. Except ants had a common bond and goal, but people – people acted as though they were all strangers on their own paths. Watching what most people did made Cary believe that, with the possible exception of a few moments each week, when they were comfortable and safe, sitting with their feet up and their stomachs full, most people never considered the common good, never thought of their real place in the universe.
Cary Freeman thought about these things, he thought about them more than most. That made him different, not better necessarily, but, well in some ways, yeah, better. He felt that he understood his place in the world, his function. At least he thought about the world. He felt he was more of a quiet leader-in-waiting, but of whom or what he couldn’t say. There can be no more lonely and useless position than leader of a group that feels no bond, no relationship, no cohesion. Cary Freeman knew what irony was, he knew really well about irony.
Take his name, he hated it, "Cary." It was his mother's idea. She picked it out long before he was born. She loved Cary Grant and so her only child would, of course, "carry" that name. His mother hadn't understood irony. She saw only disappointment and personal insult.
As he passed a pet shop he stopped and looked through the plate glass. There were seven puppies in two open top glass enclosures. Four small, fuzzy, tan puppies, maybe retrievers, were piled, asleep, amid wood shavings and toys in the right-hand enclosure. On the left, two mostly black, shaggy-haired puppies were playing tug-a-war at the rear of the box, using a small piece of rope with knots at the ends. The third one, black with a white blaze on his little chest, sat, ears up at the window, looking straight across into Cary's face.
Things slowed down as Cary and the little dog considered each other slowly. Cary felt as though he and the pup were taking the time to judge each other fairly. It started at the surface and continued deeper. They looked for signs of commonality and understanding, for indications of balance and justice, and even whether the other had the rare abilities to admit weakness, to forgive and to apologize.
Cary was aware that people were passing behind him and that everyone one of them was staring down at the strange sight as he and the dog had their silent conversation. He was used to people looking at him, especially behind his back. It no longer bothered him, especially not at this moment. Not while he was connecting with another, what? soul? -- well, dog. He chuckled at the thought and the puppy cocked his head at Cary's reaction and then dropped his ears and wagged his tail with what might have been either enthusiasm or the shared thought. Cary didn't seriously think the dog really understood, but he appreciated that the dog would laugh with him out of courtesy and respect.
Cary blushed and felt that he'd insulted this animal by arrogantly assuming that sharing something with a "dog" was beneath his own "exalted status" as a human being, while the dog had shown only respect and humility. He looked down in shame. This puppy had given him a gift, a lesson.
Cary nodded to the dog and turned to back in the direction he was going. Maybe, if things worked, out, maybe he could come back and buy that puppy. Was it right that he should do that? He'd never dared to have an animal depend on him before. His mother had told him more than once that he couldn't take care of a pet properly. His mother had said many things like that. He missed her, but in many ways, he was glad that she was no longer living. He loved her but she only ever told him about the things he could never do. She seemed to enjoy telling him about what he could never have. He knew he had limits, but sometimes it could be fun to ignore a few of them, just for a little while.
The dog had given him much to think about.
He reached the corner and paused waiting for the light. Jeez, his feet were burning and itching like crazy again. He had to get something for them. Maybe after he finished at the bank.
The bank was just across the street on the corner. There was a digital clock incorporated into the sign above the double glass doors that said "South Valley Credit Union" and time was 12:34. "1234," he thought, just that simple. He turned his head as far as it would go to the left and heard his neck crackle in his ears. He glanced up at the stoplight with its "Walk/No Walk" sign. He waited patiently while a few people joined him at the corner, all pointedly looking somewhere else.
The light clicked, the sign changed to "Walk" and off he went, across the crosswalk, following the white dashes that marked the left side. Up onto the sidewalk and through the glass doors into the lobby. He walked to the end of the short line of people formed between the blue velvet ropes looped through chrome stanchions.
A couple minutes later he was standing at the teller's counter and his head barely cleared the countertop. A woman said, "May I help you?”
Without hesitation, he slipped the note onto the counter and removed the revolver from the shopping bag.
"Oh my!" He heard the teller say in a hushed, confused voice. The people in line behind him began talking to each other.
This might be a little tougher than he had thought and his feet were starting to bug him again.
"Could we pick this up a little bit?" He said as he raised his left eyebrow as high as it would go to fix his gaze on the teller. It wasn't easy with the large twists in his back. He had vaguely hoped that they'd think it was a clever disguise. After all, it wasn't very often that you saw a hunchback rob a bank.
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