The Man in the Shadows

It was the tallest building in the smallest of Southern cities. Every morning, the 45-year-old mid-level corporate executive would enter its rotating doors and head up to his commanding corner office.  Like the fine Swiss watch on his wrist, his routine was extremely precise.

8:45 a.m. — Pull up in the executive garage.

8:47 a.m. — Exit his black BMW with his Latte and head toward the sidewalk.

8:52 a.m. — Spin around the rotating doors.

8:55 a.m — Ride the elevator up 22 floors.

8:59 — Enter his office, look out at the city he helped control and fire up his computer.

It was a routine he had perfected.  Come rain or shine, he would hit his marks daily. By 9 a.m. he would in his chair ready to seize the day.

But not today.  A wrinkle in his routine threw his day into chaos.  And like a butterfly flapping his wings on one side of the world causing a hurricane in the Gulf, the chaos would change his life forever.

The homeless man appeared out of nowhere.  He guessed he could call him homeless, or he could have been shelter-challenged or whatever the proper term was these days.  The executive was so startled that he dropped his latte, leaving a Mickey Mouse-shaped spill on the sidewalk.

“Pardon me,” he said huffily to the man.

The homeless man just stood there, staring at the man silently and not moving.

“Um, I said pardon me.” The executive looked at his watch.

The homeless man looked at the executive and said with a raspy voice, “I’ve been watching you.”

The executive felt a chill run up his neck and that wrapped itself around his brain.

“Um, pardon me.”  The executive tried to cut left and then right. The haggard man continued to block him.

“You walk past me every day.  I’ve been watching you.”

“I think you’ve already said that.  I don’t know why you are watching me, but I’d appreciate it if you’d get the heck out of my way.”

The old man then said something odd.  “I’m proud of you.”

The executive looked at the old man. “Great. Now, I’m going to be late for work.  You don’t want me to be fired, do you? I’d hate to be fired. You wouldn’t be proud of me then, would you?” Sarcasm dripped off his lips like acid.

The old man said, “Do you know your father?”

The executive recoiled.  “THAT is none of your business.”

“You think he’s dead, don’t you?  He’s not. I know him.”

The executive stopped for a minute and looked again at the old man.  “Can I buy you a cup of coffee.”

The old man just backed away from the executive and into the shadows of the alley.

“WAIT! COME BACK!”  But by then, the old man was running.

Several more days passed as the executive continued to look for the old man.  He called all the local shelters and soup kitchens but tried to find out more about him.  No luck. “This is my city, ” he thought. I should be able to find one man.

The executive picked up his iPhone and called a familiar number.

“Butch, this is Steve. I have a favor I need you to do for me. Yeah, it’s an investigation. No, not of my wife.  I don’t think her spin instructor is nosing around any more. Meet me at Spurlock’s Donut Shop and we’ll talk.”

Two weeks later, a call came in from Butch.  The police have something for you, Steve. And you’re not going to believe this.

Steve’s BMW pulled up to the base of the Interstate bridge and joined three cop cars and an ambulance.  There was a cardboard house and a covered body.  He had found the old man, but a day too late.

“Natural causes, the best we can tell,” the sergeant said. “But come in here, I have some things to show you.”

Inside the cardboard hovel was hundreds of paper clippings — of HIM.  “Was he a stalker?”  The cop shook his head.

“This might explain it to you.”  It was a letter written on the back of a flyer for the downtown deli in his office building.

“Dear Steve,

Like I said before, I am very proud of you.  I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you as you grew up. I was always on the periphery, on the edge and in the shadows. But I was too unstable to be a good dad. Yes, Steve – like Darth Vader, I’m your father.

After the war, I couldn’t take the peace.  My nightmares crept into the day.  The day I hit your mother, I knew I had to go.  Drugs and drink followed.  These aren’t excuses — they are just sign of my human frailty. I took odd jobs and quietly found ways to support you.  Remember that anonymous scholarship to college and law school?  I was the janitor at your wedding. I delivered flowers to the nursery when your son was born. I’ve been there. You just never knew it.

Last month, I began coughing up blood. I knew my time was short.  I approached you the other day just to let you know how damn proud of you I am.  I’m sorry I didn’t have the courage to tell you the truth.  I guess I’m best at being a coward.”

Tears flowed down the executive’s face as his hands shook.

“Tell your mother I am sorry.  I still love her and will love her for eternity.  I just ask one thing of you, Steve. Be a better Father than I was.  Be a man and step up to your fears.  And Happy Father’s Day.”

The executive openly sobbed under an interstate bridge in a small Southern city.  He then walked up to the body, lifted the sheet, kissed the old man on the forehead and said goodbye the only way he knew how.

“Happy Father’s Day, dad. Happy Father’s Day.”