Kikero

Watergate was ruining my life. I was tired of writing about it, and more tired that I wasn’t the one who broke the story. I was a small fish stuck in smallish Omaha. I was desperate for any carrot attached to a stick. That’s when I got the call and met Kikero.

     A small town some distance outside of Omaha, I’d rather not say which, had recently forced their mayor to resign, mob elected a nobody, and allowed that nobody to run the town under martial law.

What was going on? This sounded like the story that would catapult me to prime time. Afterwards, Kikero told me that the less I was to speak of this, the easier my days would go. I’m at the end of my life now, and God made me to be a journalist… so at last I’m journaling. Damn the consequences.

     I drove into the town. It seemed nice enough. I pulled up to a gas station to ask the owner how I could get in touch with this new mayor. The owner was sobbing as he gave me directions.

     

I found Kikero at his desk, rather violently scribbling notes on some old scroll-like page. When I caught his eyes he stood and shook my hand like a gentleman. I noticed how short he was then; must’ve been five foot even. He tip his cowboy cap at me as he introduced himself. Kikero. I told him I was from the daily over in Omaha. He asked how I heard about him. I lied smiling.

     He told me, “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll tell you the whole truth, far more than you need or want. In return for that knowledge you won’t report this story.”

     I lied.  He replied, “Walk with me.”

     We walked. 

“A long time ago I made the worst decision someone like me could make. I chose the wrong side. I knew it as soon as I’d done it. Sometime later I heard a rumor that at the end of my time there was a chance, the smallest chance imaginable, but a chance nonetheless, that I would be forgiven.” Kikero smiled at me as he looked up into my eyes. “So, since then I’ve been taking odd jobs all over the world waiting for the end; for grace.”

     We entered a barn. Inside were thousands of glass vials filled with what looked like water. “There are only so many tears allowed in the world at one time. Problem is, as soon as they hit the ground they don’t count anymore. So I’ve been holding onto them, in this barn. Trying to limit the circulation.” He sighed, “Last week someone snuck in and broke many years worth of progress. I’ve been working hard to get things back to the way they were; scratching that number back down.” Tears began pouring down my face. Kikero snatched an empty glass from his pockets and held it under my cheek. 

     

“Thanks. This will help.”