He was really good at the one thing. People who knew him and who tried to do the same thing respected him for how well he did the one thing.
They liked him because he was superhuman, really, with the one thing, and so he thought that he could do anything. If I would have tried that, he told people, I bet I’d be quite good. Not everyone could do it- the one thing- but he could really do it well. He considered trying these anythings, but, with more and more people interested by the thing, he didn’t have the time to try, especially since being elected leader of the ADPWLTP (Association of Distinguished Persons Who Like The Thing). His knowledge of how the anythings would have gone was enough. Things were looking up.
Waiting in lines became a thing of the past because, well, people who needed not just someone to do the thing, but someone who could do it well, had given him money: He wasn’t an easy thing to find.
He bought new things with the money and made friends who could do the thing pretty well, too – or who at least admired his ability. One he met at a convention liked him for his ability. He might not have known who she was but he liked the way she talked about things, and how her words brought appreciation to details that he hadn’t seen in settings.
She, of course, did not really know who he was (and neither did he) but was fascinated – his talent with the thing was really something. Things grew as people talked about his ability to do the thing, in different languages, and he sometimes caught himself talking to people who did not know him, assuming they did, and how it wasn’t always the case you met someone who could do the thing, and so well. He was even getting better.
One morning, someone asked him what he was doing in the building.
Do we know each other? he said.
He stormed off to an elevator.
Who organized this conference, he said, returning. And why the hell can’t I get into the board room?
This is a motel, said the stranger. You are in the wrong place.*
colour by Sandra Chevrier
words by Liam Lachance