William James Penn could have gone by William or James or Willy or Jim or Jimmy but what ended up sticking for him was Penn. His uncle called him Penn at a Thanksgiving party some years before and it stuck. His mother swore that she and his father and little sister called him Jim before that but Penn never could remember all that and thought of the notion as hogwash because while his mother didn't often lie, she'd sneak one in now and then if you didn't watch her and his father slipped up one night over one pint too many and referred to him as Little Willy and then corrected himself once the reality of his own words hit him through his barley haze. Penn enjoyed the lesson of his mother lying a bit, though. After all, if your mother can lie to you, anyone can and would. So now, he better understood the world. Many folks doubted his sense of reality since he kept his nose snug between book pages most of the time. He soaked up science and chemistry like a glowing sponge. He mostly let others speak which usually provided him leverage. Listening and calculation made for a richer life. But then one day, Penn's brain flipped a switch, and all calculation vanished.
Penn left his university around four o'clock that afternoon. He'd run into his little sister who reported to him earlier that someone had stolen her locket with a picture of Mom and Dad in it. She even cried which didn't come naturally to her. Penn walked down the street with his friend Roger who talked about class, but Penn focused on the two boys walking up ahead. They were always hanging around the university but never seemed to be in class. They had long hair and long goofy faces, and they chuckled and shoved each other and made faces at the passing traffic. And then one of them twirled a chain in the air with a locket attached to it.
Penn said, “Good day, Roger,” and sped up toward the scoundrels. He opened his brief case and removed the Derringer pistol from his dad's safe and slipped it into his pants pocket. He snapped the briefcase closed. The scoundrels crossed the street as if they knew he was after them. But there was no other way to do this. He raced across the street after them and turned the corner. They crossed over another street. Penn sprinted toward them. A car rumbled toward him.
Blonk!!
Penn kept on. So, the car was forced to stop. The driver shook his fist out the window. “Stupid nerd!”
The scoundrels disappeared into the forest behind the next row of Colonial-style homes. Penn followed after them. They ducked down behind a sycamore tree. They whispered to each other, but they faced away from him in the other direction where a group of unsuspecting teenagers played touch football. The one on the right held the locket up and watched it dangle. It was definitely his sister's locket. Penn leaned forward and aimed the Derringer at the back of the scoundrel's head.
Swishish!
Penn was flung back away from the scoundrels and into a ditch. Penn frowned up at his assailant. Roger dove on top of him and pinned his arms to the grass. He spoke into his ear. “Look at you. The big shot student with a limitless future ahead of you. You'll have the Rolls Royce and the tenured professor job and the gorgeous wife and look at you. You're throwing it away to kill that nothing back there.”
Penn shoved against him. “They took-
“I know they took her locket. They're scum, sure. But there are bigger things for you out there. You've got to tamp this temper down. Has anybody else seen it?”
Penn bit his lip. Blood spewed down his chin. He blinked a few times. “I...oh, hell, I don't know.”
Roger held him in place.
Penn swallowed. “It's not good. Is it?”
Roger shrugged. “I always go for a jog. Why not join me for a jog and maybe it will get better?”
“Yeah...okay. I didn't even...know...”
Penn joined Roger in a jog around the university campus. He pictured those bastards with his sister's locket and then sped up into a sprint, leaving Roger in the dust of his loafers. Then he slowed until his lungs pumped a little back into his system. Roger jogged up beside him and said, “Atta boy, Penn. Run it out.”
Penn leaned on his knees and breathed. Then he fell onto his ass on the sidewalk and lay on his back. Roger sat beside him. A few minutes of huffing later, Penn rose to a sitting position. “Man, I can't believe I almost did that. If you hadn't been there-
Roger sat his briefcase beside him. “It's okay, man. I'm here for you. Geniuses need friends, too.”
Penn patted his friend's shoulder. “Always.”
“Besides, how am I going to get MY Rolls Royce and tenured professor job and gorgeous wife without your help?”
Penn chuckled. Then he wiped his lip and said, “I'll get the locket back but I want you with me. Two on two is better. And no Derringers.”
“You've got it, pal.”
***
Forty-eight years trickled by. Roger now stood next to Mrs. Penn and the Penns' only child, Willy Penn, Jr. in the center of the cemetery on a gray day, the kind of day fitting for a funeral. The priest spoke about Penn's sixty-six years on earth and how many students he taught to go on and become engineers and how many friends he'd made and how many folks he'd inspired and of course, what a tremendous husband and father he'd been. Mrs. Penn shed a few tears but kept her composure for the most part, as did Willy, Jr. Penn's sister had a tougher time, leaning on her husband and clutching that locket to her chest. Roger had already done his own weeping in private in the few weeks he knew the end was about to come since some diseases grow quietly in the shadows and defy science and technology, happy to remind us all about our time and how it's more limited than we realize. Roger stood there, though, proud to have been Penn's friend for all these years and much prouder to have been there for him when no one else was watching. Only he would know how Penn nearly threw his life away that day and Roger felt fine about dying with one big secret. That was fair enough.
***
A car passed by the cemetery. It was a black car that would certainly fit in well with any funeral procession. The driver resembled his car, dressed in a black suit and wearing a black hat. It was funny. Most people looked at him like he belonged there, no matter where he was at the time. He believed it was the hat. It just put people at ease. The driver idled to the stop sign and a person waved to him and he waved back and sped on. It was the hat for sure. People were so damn stupid.
The driver stopped a few streets over and waited. He yawned into his fist. The passenger door opened. A guy slid inside, dressed in a white jumpsuit with the occasional dot popping up. The dots came in red and yellow and orange and blue and green and purple. The driver said, “What time is it?” The passenger said, “Why, I believe it's my birthday today.”
The driver, Eyedell, tore out of the street, getting the black car to burn serious rubber. “So let's get some cake!”
The passenger, Birthday Cake, cheered.
Eyedell drove them through a few subdivisions, puttering through like a trusty, black-hat-wearing lad. Birthday Cake rubbed the corner of his mouth as if he had icing there, although he did not and said, “Doesn't anybody have cake on this street? Where is their festive spirit? What's wrong with them, Eyedell?”
“The bakers may be running a tad late today.”
Birthday Cake studied his finger, still looking for his imaginary icing. “The candles on this cake are flaring up. Maybe we should cut out the bakers and peek in a few garages for cakes.” He pulled a chef's knife from his pocket. The blade ran seven inches with an amateurishly serrated edge consisting of an odd mixture of grooves and curves. “Or maybe we go through the front door.”
Eyedell kept his voice low. “Now, Birthday Cake, we both know the one place that we get no birthday cake. Don't we?”
Birthday Cake rubbed his lip.
Eyedell's voice grew louder. “Don't we?”
“Don't talk to me like I'm a child.”
“No, of course not, but it is true. There's no cake in the gray place.”
Birthday Cake slipped the knife back into his pocket. “Keep driving. There has to be. Ah...”
Eyedell grinned. “Ah, yes...that's a start...”
Eyedell parked a few houses down from the target where two TV boxes sat there in the noon sun. Eyedell popped the trunk. “Just one now...they'll be far less likely to call the police...” Birthday Cake hopped out and sprinted over.
***
Roger stopped at the intersection and slumped a bit. He'd never turn onto this street again and drive by Penn's house and wave, thinking he could be in there alive. He got to share the street with his best friend for forty years. There's nothing better than having that extra anchor in life there just down the street year after year. But that was not going to happen anymore. Another car pulled up behind him. So, he turned onto Owl Blink Cove. He passed by his own house, the third on the right and paused at the sixth house up ahead on the left, the now former home of Penn. He watched Penn come out of there how many times when he picked him up on their commute to work? He ate dinner with Penn and Mrs. Penn and Willy, Jr. thousands of times along with his own wife and daughter. The house would always be colder now. That was natural. Oddly enough, though, Roger still picked up on a hint of warmth still pouring through. It may have been all of his memories or maybe it was his setting on the heater in his car or maybe...it was the package left on Penn's front porch.
The package must have been left during the funeral. Mrs. Penn mentioned how she and Willy, Jr. had been there just this morning. It was probably for Penn, and this would be the last thing he'd ever receive. Roger pulled into the driveway and opened his door. Then he paused.
It's the last package poor Penn will ever receive...
His family should get it for him...
But someone could steal it...
There have been thieves on this street lately...
No...
His family should have the honors...
Roger climbed back into his car and backed out and took a long look at the house and the package. Penn's widow and son would be coming to his house for a remembrance in a few hours. They'd been staying with her sister and would probably continue to do so for a while. He could make sure and tell them about it then, so they could get it before some scoundrel took it. And he would do it. Because that's what best friends do.
***
Eyedell cruised through another street in the nice, black car in his nice, black hat. He tipped the hat to a few folks, and they waved in return. He waved back and flashed his friendliest grin. He'd perfected that grin years ago but forcing his mouth up a little bit more than natural which gave him that extra dose of charm and the probability rate of success soared after this little tweak. He reached the stop sign and tipped his hat once more and then turned right.
A few miles down the new street, Eyedell said, “Okay. Get up.”
Birthday Cake rose from the floorboard in the passenger seat to the point that his eyes cleared the dashboard but that was it.
Eyedell said, “Sit up all the way. You're not a child.”
Not physically anyway...
Birthday Cake stayed at the same level, scanning the passing houses for more “cakes”. Eyedell told him to rise again. That one TV back there would do okay, but it meant no real money. They needed to hit at least a few more houses for the work to amount to anything.
Birthday Cake pulled his knife again. “We need to make it happen.”
Eyedell hissed. “Put that away, damn it. I'll find another one.”
Birthday Cake squeezed the knife. His hand shook. His head trembled. Eyedell sped up and raced under a red light, cutting off another car. Birthday Cake swayed and bumped into the door. The knife fell to the floorboard. Eyedell steered them into one alley and then another and then into another and then out another and then he tore down a straightway and turned onto a side street. Then he cruised on up to the next stop sign and shook his head. “Well, I guess we check on old reliable then.”
Owl Blink Cove, sixth house on the left.
Birthday Cake grabbed his sleeve. “We have to go now.”
“Right.”
“Cake!”
“Right. Ow.”
Eyedell drove a few blocks over to Owl Blink Cove and then puttered by the house where a package sat in the driveway. They'd taken five packages from the place over the past year and it's best not to strike twice but the old man who lived there never retaliated, even at least one time when they knew he was home. The package could contain a number of things, hopefully a power tool or some jewelry. Birthday Cake bounced in the seat. Eyedell grinned. He parked a few houses up and said, “Go get that cake.”
Birthday Cake raced from the car toward the porch. There weren't many people outside on the street today. The weather wasn't bad nor was it too hot or cold. Ah, but people could be funny, as well as lazy. And they could change their minds.
“Come on, Birthday Cake.”
Birthday Cake zipped toward his car.
“That's it.”
Birthday Cake paused, holding the box.
Eyedell said, “What is...what are you doing?”
Eyedell looked in the direction of Birthday Cake's focus. There was nothing there. In the next house up, some geezer gazed out the window but that wouldn't matter...if they got going now.
Eyedell beat on the passenger window. “Come on.”
Birthday Cake jogged over and climbed inside. Eyedell turned the car around and eased down the street. Birthday Cake held the package in his lap, staring at it. Eyedell said, “Well, open the damn thing.”
“I need my knife. Is it okay?”
“Of course it is. Go ahead while I turn around up here.”
Birthday Cake took out his knife and stabbed the packing tape.
***
Roger sat at his dining table where Mrs. Penn and Willy, Jr. joined him with one on each side of him. The two empty chairs beside them looked so hollow and alone for his friends and of course, the chair at the end had looked so empty for the past five years. The quickness of death could be jolting but a mortal man cannot prevent death every time. Still, he put on a smile, and they did as well, swapping stories about Penn. Roger pointed to Willy, Jr. and said, “I bet you didn't know your old man...”
Wait...
The package on Penn's front porch...
Eh...after this story...
Willy, Jr. said, “Is something wrong?”
Roger shook his head. “No, no. I just lost my train of thought. I've got it, now. So one time your old man showed me he could box.”
Mrs. Penn laughed. “Oh, now, Roger. Don't feed the boy lies.”
Willy, Jr. chuckled.
Roger said, “No, no lies. Penn could take a beating.”
“You said he could box.”
Roger covered his mouth.
Willy, Jr. laughed, and his eyes shined.
Roger said, “Well, slip of the tongue. But you see, Penn and I were in the faculty lounge during, I believe our, sixth semester maybe? And well, in walks this big fellow and I do mean, big. He reaches over and grabs Penn and starts wailing on him. I spring up and grab the big fellow's arm but it's like a tree trunk, you see. He flings me off and goes back to pounding on Penn, but I keep trying and getting knocked down and the big fellow finally says that Penn can't have his Suzie. Penn and I both say 'Who?' at the same time. The big guy pauses and asks about Suzie. Penn says, 'The new captain of the football team's girl?' The big fellow nods. Penn spreads his hands across his one-hundred-and-thirty-pound frame and says, 'Do I look like a football captain'?”
“So, he was after the wrong guy.”
Roger pointed at him. “He should've gotten expelled, but Penn pulled a few favors and kept him around. And you know all of those great meals we've shared from Dynamite Steakhouse?”
Willy, Jr. lit up. “Yeah.”
“Well, we've never paid for one of them.”
They all shared a laugh.
Roger leaned back. “That's what was so great about Penn. He could have a temper, but he had such restraint. Such...wisdom when it came down to what really mattered. And family, well, that is all that matters.”
Mrs. Penn hugged Willy, Jr.
Willy, Jr. hugged his mother back and said, “Yes. Dad taught me that.”
Roger said, “And speaking of that, I meant to tell you two earlier. When I was coming up here, I saw a package on Penn's porch. Did you guys check it out? I was hoping it was something memorable.”
Willy, Jr. said, “It's fine.”
Roger watched him. The boy looked right at him. “Knowing Dad, it was just another book.”
Mrs. Penn grinned. “Leave it to Penn to buy a new book with a day left to live.”
BLAM!!!!!!!!
Roger jumped.
Willy, Jr. jerked.
Mrs. Penn hugged Willy, Jr.
Then Roger jogged to the front window.
A car sat against the curb a few houses down. Flames danced from the roof. There was no screaming or struggles. Whoever was in there was burned to a...oh...wait...the package on Penn's porch...it's...it's...NOT...not there...
Mrs. Penn stared out the window and covered her mouth.
Willy, Jr. wore no expression.
Penn was lucky to have a friend like Roger.
But not everyone is so lucky.
Roger dropped into his chair and resigned himself to being buried with two big secrets, which didn't seem fair.
The friendship between Penn and Roger was truly moving. Roger was a good friend and basically saved Penn's future! And that ending.. "poetic justice" is what springs to my mind :)
PS.: this story reminds me a lot of a novel I wrote. Maybe you could take a look once I publish it. I’ll let you know haha ;)
PS. 2: There's something inherently funny about a man who calls himself "Birthday Cake." I just can't stop laughing.
Thank you for this riveting story, Parker! Cheers!
Love this Parker! Dear Penn. 🩷