Still, those two barbarians looked strikingly similar to the two Wults I’d called my companions not long ago.
The procession moved forward, and soon Robin Hood and his merry men replaced the barbarians as they walked along the route. I rubbed my eyes, feeling a headache growing, and realized I must actually be losing it. Was this what it felt like to have a mental break?
“Are you all right?” Doc Hill asked.
“I don’t know. I think I need to sit down.”
I left the parade, walked into the restaurant, and found a seat near the front counter. Mr. Kaufman, the shop owner—a man with a thick mustache who had recently been a client of mine—stood wiping the tables. He focused on us as we found a seat.
“Sit anywhere you like. There’s plenty of space,” he said in his thick German accent. “Unfortunately,” he added after a pause.
Doc Hill led me to a table where we sat.
“You look pale,” Doc Hill said. “Have you eaten recently?”
“No, not since breakfast.”
“Wait here. I’ll grab something for you.”
“You don’t have to.”
He waved me off and went to the counter. I watched the parade continue outside as he ordered. I felt sheepish for making my boss take care of me like this. Still, something must have been wrong with me. Seeing things—or people—that weren’t really there was never a good sign.
But what if I wasn’t seeing things? What if they really had crossed? Would they have come alone?
Oh no. No, no, no… I can’t let my mind go there.
A thin sheen of sweat formed on my forehead as Doc Hill returned with a lemonade and a bratwurst. The spicy scent of sizzling meat filled the air. I sipped the lemonade as he took a seat across from me.
“You really aren’t looking like yourself. Can I get you anything else? A Tylenol, maybe?”
“No, I’ll be fine. I just feel a little lightheaded.”
He eyed me. “In that case, perhaps you’ve been working too hard. Let me think… I’m usually quite talented at cheering people up. Did I ever tell you why I don’t like to be called Billy?”
“No.”
“It started when I was in junior high. I’d been called Billy since I was old enough to remember and never thought it would bother me, until that year’s school annual was released. Under my photo, the caption read Hill, Billy. It gave all my classmates a great laugh. And it gave me a complex. That’s when I decided I’d rather be called William.”
I smiled. “Good to know. I’ll try to remember.”
The blaring of a trumpet came from outside, announcing the end of the parade and the start of the closing ceremonies, including fireworks over the lake.
“Will you be attending the closing ceremonies?” Dr. Hill asked.
“No, you can go ahead without me.”
“I hardly think that would be wise given your current state of health.”
“I’ll be fine. Besides, I need to check on some things in my shop. You can go ahead.”
“I would really rather not leave you alone.”
“Doc Hill,” I said, “I appreciate your concern, but I really do need to go close up. They won’t allow patrons in here after dark, so it’s probably best that you go now. I’m glad you came. I hadn’t talked to anyone in a while, and it was nice to have a normal conversation.”
“Very well, but if I must go now, then I’d like to leave you with a word of advice.”
“I see. And if I take your advice, will you keep sending patients my way?”
He nodded.
“Fine,” I answered reluctantly, “what’s your advice? And please don’t tell me to confront my past, because that is not a possibility.”
“You’re quite sure?”
“Positive.”
“All right, if that is the case, then my advice to you is to forget about the past and move forward. Let go of the things—or the people—that are holding you back. Make some new friends. Go out and have fun. Try to live again. You’ll find that you don’t even remember your old life, and pretty soon, you’ll feel whole again.”
Can you do it? I asked myself. Can you really forget Kull just like that?
“You’re right. I don’t need him anymore. My happiness doesn’t depend on him.”
“Good.” He smiled, then stood. “Shall I walk you back to your shop?”
I glanced at my uneaten bratwurst. “No, I’ll finish up here and then head back. Thank you again.”
He nodded, gave me one last good-bye and good luck, and then walked outside. I watched as he went, his red-feather cap blending with the evening sunlight, until his silhouette disappeared.
I took a bite of my bratwurst and immediately spat it out. It had the overpowering flavor of salt, with a hint of something less pleasant beneath, although I couldn’t put my finger on it. Mold, maybe?
Looking up at Mr. Kaufman, I tried not to let him see as I took my uneaten food to the trashcan and dumped it inside.
“You don’t eat it all?” he asked.
“No, sorry. Guess I’m not too hungry.”
“Ah,” he sighed, still wiping the tabletops. “This is how it is since I opened shop. Trashcan full of uneaten food.”
Perhaps if he actually ate his own food, then he would see for himself why the trashcans were full, but I held my tongue. Who knows—maybe some folks actually liked it.
“Will your booth be open tomorrow?” he asked.
“Yes,” I answered. “Would you like to set up another appointment?”
“If it’s not too much trouble.”
“Not at all. I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”
He nodded. “Perhaps after the morning rush—if there is a rush. Have a good evening,” he said.
“You too,” I answered as I left the shop and made my way outside. I headed through the near-empty lane toward my shop. The cobbled path showed evidence of this evening’s parade. Trampled daffodils and carnations, compliments of the Gypsies, lay strewn about the ground. In the distance, fireworks exploded in hues of green and pink followed by a delayed boom as the sound traveled the distance between us.
I made it to my
