Is your fantasy partner a good person?

Is your fantasy partner a good person?

***

Charlie hobbled across the cafeteria holding a bowl with one hand, his other held in a sling. All around him was the quiet lull of eating from Portland’s homeless. His friends and co-volunteers told him to stay home and heal up like the doctors ordered, but he had promised a woman and her kid that if they showed up to the kitchen on Sunday he would personally take care of them. The accident didn’t kill him, he was going to keep his promise.

He flashed the woman a quick smile, her daughter sliding crayons across the pages of a coloring book he’d brought for her. The little girl had been so excited to color that she barely touched her soup. He slid the bowl in front of the woman, letting out a long hiss as he lowered himself down on the bench. Once he was down, he flashed his eyebrows to let her know he was okay.

“Eat, please.” He urged her, fishing some papers he’d stuck in his sling out, keeping them face down in his good hand as he patiently waited for her to get some food in. Anna, the daughter, lifted the book and excitedly showed him the page she’d bathed in red and purple crayon, ignorant entirely of the lines that made the image of Olaf, the snowman. He smiled, adopting an exaggerated expression of surprise. “Wow! Way cool, dude!” The girl twisted around in her seat with pride, setting the book back down on the table. “Can you eat some more soup for me, Anna?”

“Okay.” The girl dropped her crayon, picking up the plastic spoon, and sipping. The mother, Deshawna, started crying, covering her face as she leaned away from her own bowl.

“Hey, hey.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, gently rubbing it. He set the papers down on the table. “It’s ok. I have some resources here that can help.”

“I’m a shitty mom, they’re gonna take her.” She sobbed, covering her face in her hands.

“Deshawna, you have my word. Okay? Nobody is going to take her.” This woman had received too many empty gestures and false promises. She needed hard, solid facts to ground her. He thumbed through his stack of papers, sliding one right in front of her. “This is the address of a shelter that accommodates children and their parents.”

“They’re gonna call CPS…”

“Yes they will, but homelessness is not enough reason alone to remove a child from custody. You’ll be given a case worker who can get you in cont—listen, Deshawna.” He slid a bus pass from the stack. Maybe he’d get an earful from Tori about buying coloring books, and backpacks, and bus passes, but she wasn’t here. She’s not here. She’s never here. “You can use this to get Anna to school and do your job search. If you keep getting Anna to school, remain sober, and don’t touch any ****, they’re not going to take her from you and I already know none of that’s a problem because you’ve been doing that for three months under the toughest circumstances.”

He placed another paper in front of her explaining the procedure for the shelter. Then another for a job search agency, the name Regina written on it with pen in big letters with an extension number. “You call this number, talk to my friend Regina. I’ve already told her about your situation and she’s been compiling postings for you. This is the address for another soup kitchen closer to this shelter, it’s run by my friend Daniel. Sometimes I volunteer there, too. This is the number of an attorney who can give you a free consultation about your options if you wanted to try and pursue enforcing child support. I’ve seen him win much harder cases than yours.”

Deshawna nodded, still crying and staring down at the stack. “Your life isn’t over. There is a way forward.” She turned and yanked him into a tight hug, squeezing some of his bruises, eliciting a sharp hiss of pain that caused her to release him.

“Shit, I’m sorry—“

“It’s okay.” He laughed, fingers tapping the stack. “If you ask about me in any shelter word can get back to me, but I promise there’s good people at all of them who are willing and able to help.”

“The woman hurts the man.” A stilted voice stated plainly, standing directly behind them. Charlie turned around to see a man who was too tall, too thin, and too hairy standing on uneven feet. “Yet the man does not hurt the woman back. The man continues to help the woman.”

Charlie flashed Deshawna a smile, pointing to the papers. “Follow this, get a win, send me pictures when she graduates as valedictorian.” He winked, pushing to his feet to try and remove the mentally unwell man from the presence of the child.

“The man attempts to predict the future. Can the man predict the future? What will Jens say next, future seeing man?”

“Let’s get you some food, buddy.”

“Incorrect.” The man smiled too wide, then narrowed them too tightly, examining Charlie with deep suspicion. “Unless by stating what Jens would say, future seeing man altered timeline so that Jens would not say what Jens would have said.”

Charlie put an arm around the man, limping him toward a different table. This was a scary character for a kid, but Charlie knew the man likely suffered from a psychological disorder that had been untreated for too long. His accent, though unplaceable, told Charlie the man was very far from home. A lot of volunteers felt uncomfortable with such people, and so they usually directed them to Charlie, who was more patient and experienced.

“No, I wish I could see the future.” Charlie laughed, trying to build a rapport as they sat down.

“The man is missing only one gland if the man would like to see future. Jens does not recommend.”

“Your name is Jens?”

“Yes. Identification Jens forged says Jens.” Jens reached into his pocket tossing an Oregon driver’s license that depicted the exact man in front of him. The date of birth was listed as ‘1’. The name was, in fact, Jens. Just Jens. No last name, no middle name. Aside from those factors, it was indistinguishable from a real ID.

How did a broke, homeless man off his psychotic pills get a fake ID this good? And bad at the same time?

“Okay… Well, I’m Charlie.”

“Okay. Man is Charlie. Jens is Jens.”

“So what brings you here, Jens? What’s your story?”

“Jens asked shaking woman with scared eyes. Shaking woman with scared eyes said Jens talks to Charlie. Shaking woman with scared eyes said ‘Charlie helps everyone.’” The stilted voice very suddenly switched to a perfect impression of Nina, one of the high schoolers who got community service hours at the kitchen.

“That was really good.” Charlie had to say. Was this a comedian or something?

“Jens is excellent story teller.” Jens nodded, hand slapping on the table and dragging the ID back to his lap.

“Right… well, what did you need help with, Jens?”

“Jens wanted by government.”

Not an atypical thing for someone off their meds to think. Charlie nodded, knowing he needed to validate the emotions but not feed into the delusion. “That must be a really scary feeling, Jens. Is that why you’re not home?”

“No. Jens is wanted by government because Jens is not home. Government is just like Earth cinemas—government wishes to experiment on Jens. Waste Jens’ talents on weapons and medicines. But Charlie help Jens and in exchange, Jens help Charlie fix marriage to mean suit woman.”

“What?” Charlie normally wouldn’t pay much mind to such comment, but the timing was really peculiar. And ‘mean suit woman’ certainly could be an apt description of his wife.

“Charlie is monogamous, no?”

“Y-yes,” he shook his head. What was happening right now? “Jens, I’m a little uncomfortable with this conversation.”

“Mean suit woman does sex with fake breasted woman. Fake breasted woman is not Charlie. Charlie is human male who helps people. Fake breasted woman is human female with breasts that are filled with silicone. These people are not the same.”

Charlie slid away from the man, heart pulsing and aching. No. She’s not… and if she was you deserve it. He couldn’t hear any more, though. His heart couldn’t take it. “Jens, I’m gonna get you some resources real quick.”

“Charlie is politely exiting conversation. Charlie believes Jens is psychotic human male and not sane extraterrestrial life existing outside a dimorphism. Jens will demonstrate.”

Charlie was frozen in shock as over the course of seventeen seconds, Jens’ face cycled through the appearance of every person that was currently in the cafeteria. “While Charlie is shocked, if Charlie see man looks like this:” the face morphed into an unassuming middle aged white guy with a receding hairline and green eyes. “Man is America Governement. America Government want that Jens be experiment. Jens did not have clearance to know what for.”

The face shifted again into a square faced petite woman with blonde hair and blue eyes. “If Charlie see woman looks like this: Woman is Russia Government. Russia Government want that Jens makes weapon makes Russia only country.”

The face shifted once more into an asian man with dark hair and a hair and well groomed goatee. “If Charlie see man looks like this: Man is China Government.” The face contorted into a disgusted expression. Voice becoming whiney. “Weeeeeeeird… Jens does not like man from China Government.”

The front doors burst open, Charlie’s head immediately snapping to the source of the noise. Jens did not seem to move. “All three just come in?” He asked, curious.

Leading the group was the middle aged balding man, flanked by the two others Jens had morphed into. Charlie nodded, heart racing. This had to be a dream, right? It couldn’t be real. It was too simple of a plot. Three governments chasing a body morphing alien? “Who runs things around here?” The leading man shouted, lifting his lanyard to proudly display a C.I.A badge. The others were not so blasè, but followed behind him with the same air of authority.

The homeless did not like cops. Or governments. So they all immediately started either busying themselves with their food or started walking towards the door. “I khave twenty dollar bill.” The woman stated loudly with a thick Russian accent. Her hand reached into her bra and pulled out the crumpled bill, holding it in the air.

Reggie, one of the regulars who didn’t ever say a word to anybody, snatched the bill out of the woman’s hand and decidedly pointed at Charlie, walking away with a whistle.

Oh, fuck. “You!” The man with the C.I.A lanyard marched over. His suit was pressed and tailored, but very dirty, as was the case with all of their suits. The woman’s skirt was even torn. They clearly had one hell of a day. Charlie flashed a tight smile, shitting his pants. None of them appeared to have any patience left. “Anyone come in here within the last hour, talking funny?”

“Presenting a fake identification card?” The woman added, pursing her lips.

“Did you see their feet?” The second man asked, making a shameful amount of eye contact.

“Maybe walking not quite right or expressing any features that seemed abnormal?”

Charlie knitted his brow, biting his tongue. This was insane. And very dangerous. But why did the alien bring up his marriage problems? And did he say he could fix them?

I think that if you can help someone, his sister’s voice rang in his ear, then you do. What’s there to think about except how?

“Sorry, you’re gonna have to be more specific.” Charlie shrugged apologetically. He had never lied to police before. It was not an exhilarating thrill like everyone depicted it as. “This is a soup kitchen and we’re in Portland.”

The woman grabbed a bowl of soup off one of the tables and threw it into a wall, hastening everyone else’s exit. “Blyat! I told you we should khave cut through construction zone!” She pointed an accusing finger at the balding man who just sucked in a deep breath, fishing around his pocket for a wallet as thick as a book, business cards spilling out. He yanked one out and extended it towards Charlie. It wasn’t an offer.

Charlie accepted it, noting the C.I.A. crest in the center, followed by a phone number. Special Agent Smith. “The person is a dangerous terrorist immigrant who smuggles **** and steals jobs. Call me if you have any information that might save our nation.”

The woman passed over her own business card. The card bore the crest of the F.S.B. Agent Smit. “We will make worts your time if you call us.” She indicated the listed phone number, giving him a suggestive wink and lifting her skirt slightly.

The other guy looked up from the floor, lifting out a five dollar bill. Uncertain, Charlie reached for it, only for the bill to be tipped away, pointing at his shoes, the man’s eyes locked on to Charlie’s with an unspoken offer. Charlie shook his head and the man nodded, shrugged, and stuffed the bill back into his pocket.

“Thank you for your time.” Agent Smith flashed a disingenuous grin before turning on a heel and leading the other two out one of the side exits. Charlie stood, staring at the exit, unable to shake the thought from his head.

“Are you sure that guy’s working for the Chinese government?”

“Weeeeird!” Jens nodded, having switched to the appearance of a dirty, gaunt, heroine addict, twitching and everything.