He Walked Among Us by Paul Fleischman
Author:Paul Fleischman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Argo-Navis
* * *
He slept under the bushes bordering the back of the elementary schoolâs main building, out of view of dog-walkers and porch-sitters but not unnoticed by the local mosquitoes or out of earshot of the nearby freight trains, which were active as hamsters during the night. He woke up for the seventeenth and final time groggy and bitten. Head on his forearm, he watched the sun rise. It was the first time in three and a half years, it occurred to him, that he wouldnât begin the day with a briefing. Instead of a whirlwind tour of the world, his eyes took in a spider, delicate and daffodil yellow, busy with its web just above him. He wondered if it was making repairs due to his intrusion and felt a strange solicitation for its welfare. The creature was one of his constituents, unlooked upon until now, an attic trinket heâd unknowingly inherited. He sent it the thought, Iâm your president. The message caused no pause in its work. Mind blank, he observed it. There was nothing else he needed to be doing. The realization descended upon him like grace. Had Teddy Roosevelt felt the same in the Sierras? Time was passing, but not in the increments his aides kept such exquisite track off. He picked his camera off the leaves where heâd laid it and snapped a picture of the sunrise. Then he took one of himself and viewed it, using the camera as a mirror. After getting used to the false mustache and glasses, the sight of himself without them was jarring. His hair was still short and brown, but the rest of his face was too recognizably his. He needed to reattach the mustache. Dried tomato juice streaked his chin. Meditation gave way to listmaking. He needed a shower, hot coffee, a hat, cash, a cellphone, a clean shirtâ¦None of these would be waiting in the groceryâs dumpster. It was time to look elsewhere.
He got up and washed his face at the schoolâs water fountain. In the sandbox he spotted a half-submerged cap. It was small, orange, and showed Spiderman on the front. He couldnât afford to be choosy. He ripped the headband squeezing into it, then walked the three blocks to the center of town where he found what appeared to be Medinaâs only bankânot simply closed on a Sunday, but shuttered by the FDIC. Heâd planned to call Bianca and have her wire him money here. Were the locals using pelts for currency? He crossed the park toward the library, a sturdy dowager of pale brick, and stopped before the sign listing its hours:
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