Cube Sleuth (31 page)

I glide up beside him and slide my arm around his waist. He gasps, but then my touch calms him. He’s got such a tiny frame. I would kill to have a waist like this. His whole body weighs as much as one of my fat thighs.

“I can help you get home, Frank. I’m a friend. What’s your address?” My voice in his ear is probably like God’s voice in mine. I can see his street and his front door in my mind but I don’t know where it is.

“Thank you.” He grips my arm, tells me his address.

When we turn right on L Street, he asks if I know his son Michael.

“No. I’m just here to help.”

“What’s your name?” His breath smells like hot tea with honey.

“Lina.”

At his front door, he offers me twenty dollars.

“I’m good, Frank. Get inside and get warm, buddy.”

He smiles with crinkly eyes, his hand patting my cheek. I miss my pop-pop, which makes me miss my dad, a feeling I haven’t allowed myself to have in years.

“You’re my angel.”

I smile. “Not even close. But thanks.” I back down the steps as he shakes his keys out of his coat pocket. “Your spare glasses are in the drawer under the microwave.”

Frank nods in disbelief, giggling. “Definitely an angel.”

Life as a psychic is like walking through a museum tour listening to a guide through headphones—except no one around you has those headphones. Every new place is vaguely familiar. Every person I meet seems like someone I saw in a picture a long time ago. Maybe in the night my mind dreams of everything that will happen the next day, and when it happens I’m living it and remembering it simultaneously.

I walk away from Frank’s house with a rare sense of relief. I thank God for that little gift of being able to help him so I could feel happy. So much of my work involves death and violence that any happy ending is a welcome change. God, thank you for this stupid smile. I’ve missed the sensation.

Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do. I’m completely fulfilled in life. So few people can say that. I’ve saved lives, rescued children, brought closure to grieving families so they could move on. But I spend my days up to my forehead in other people’s pain. I haven’t forgotten why I do what I do, but there’s no joy anymore. It’s pure obligation now.

I need a vacation from my damn vocation.

Dave Terruso is a novelist and screenwriter who lives in Philadelphia.

He is also a stand up comedian who has opened for Maria Bamford, Gilbert Gottfried, Dana Gould, Richard Lewis, and Charlie Murphy.

He is also-also a sketch comedian praised by
TIME
Magazine
. His duo Animosity Pierre were official selections of the 2010
Chicago Sketchfest
and the 2010
San Francisco Sketchfest
.
He is also-also-also co-founder of
Philly Sketchfest
, an international sketch comedy festival.

You can find him online at:

www.daveterruso.com
Twitter
:
@DavidTerruso
Facebook
:
/DaveTWriter