The Prophet of God woke on Saturday morning to the sound of birds singing in the blackberry vines tangled around him and the warmth of the spring time sun. He stretched his arms and legs and pushed up to a sitting position, wiping the remains of sleep from his eyes. A curious bee hovered in front of his eyes for a moment, then went away. He felt pleasantly rested, like he’d been enjoying wondrous dreams all night, which was entirely possible. He never remembered his dreams.
Beside him, a yellow labrador walked over to lick his cheek with a quick delicate tongue.
“Good morning, buddy,” he said and rubbed the dog’s ears. “I don’t suppose we can get out of this today, can we?”
The dog licked his cheek again.
“That’s what I thought,” he said. “I bet you’d like some food.”
The dog’s ears perked up and he began a gentle pant.
The Prophet pushed himself to his feet and filled a dish with kibble from a small bag he kept in his backpack. He poured water from a bottle into another bowl, then used the rest of the water on his face and to rinse his hair. He dried off with a tattered towel—also from the backpack—and used a brush to groom his hair.
By the time he’d finished, the dog had eaten and watered.
“Ready?” the Prophet asked the dog. “Let’s go then.”
He left the backpack where it lay and walked out to the sidewalk, the dog by his side.
The Prophet walked several blocks through the heart of the city. It was Saturday, so traffic was lighter than it had been on the days previously, but it was still a matter of degree. There were too many cars to his liking, too much noise, too much exhaust. Personally, he preferred the mountains and forest. But he wasn’t making this journey for himself.
The lab walked along beside him, easily matching his pace, waiting at the intersections just as the Prophet did. It was like the dog had walked this way many times before. Or he knew the journey as well as the Prophet.
After a few blocks, they came to a fairly large street fair, occupying a couple of plaza blocks near the city center. One block hosted a farmers’ market where local growers offered vegetables, herbs, fruit, and flowers for sale. The other block featured artists and crafts people. Street performers busked around the edges.
And there was food. The air was scented with everything from burgers, to tacos, to fry bread and ice cream. The Prophet took in the scents and realized he hadn’t eaten yet today. He also had no money.
That would be cared for in its proper time.
The Prophet merged into the crowd of people wandering between the booths. No one paid any attention to him. He was among families with young children, clutches of college-aged women in shorts and skimpy tops and herds of college-aged men trying to impress the college-aged women. Ageing hippies mixed with cowboys in crew cuts and Wrangler jeans. Seniors in Bermuda shorts haggled over the price of tie-dyed tee shirts with women in dreadlocks.
At the edge of the fair, a young man with long hair and a scraggy beard strummed an acoustic guitar and sang a Nirvana song. His guitar case sat open in front of him, a few stray coins scattered across the velvet lining.
“Very nice.” The Prophet clapped when the song was finished. “I apologize, but I don’t have any money.”
“No worries,” the musician said. “And thank you, my brother.”
“You should play some Neil Young. It’s what your audience wants.”
“You think so?”
“Try it. You’ll be surprised.”
The Prophet turned away as the young man began picking out “The Needle and The Damage Done.” Already, a couple of young people drifted toward the musician.
The Prophet stood on the edge of a small crowd gathered to watch a couple of street jugglers perform. They were entertaining, keeping up a witty dialogue along with their feats of timing and balance. It had been more than an hour since he’d first arrived at the market.
“Excuse me. Sir?”
The Prophet turned to find the young musician standing behind him, his guitar case hanging from one hand.
“Oh, hi,” the Prophet said.
“I just wanted to thank you for the advice earlier,” the musician said. “You were right about playing Neil Young. I made more tips today than I made all last week.”
The Prophet smiled. “Everybody likes Neil Young.”
“I guess. Anyway, I wanted to give you this.” He held out a ten dollar bill. “My way of saying thanks.”
The Prophet started to protest, then accepted the money. “Thanks. I’m glad I could help.”
The musician thanked him again and left to catch his bus.
The Prophet looked at the money in his hand, looked at the dog. “You want a burrito or a burger?”
The lab preferred a burger. His stomach didn’t much like spicy food.
The young women got lucky when Emily found a parking spot only two blocks from the Farmer’s Market. They locked the car, hung stylish bags from their shoulders and started walking in that direction. Without saying a word they’d both worn the unofficial spring uniform of college women everywhere: pastel tanks, denim shorts, and flip-flops. Their hair hung loose, Nikki’s dark brown, Emily’s lighter, stirred by the gentle breeze.
The spring sun shone bright and warm. The trees along the sidewalks were in full leaf, offering shade and sibilant rustle with the breeze.
Nikki could hear the music and muffled buzz of crowd noise from the market.
“So.” Emily slid her arm through Nikki’s. “What’s going on with Nikki? She hasn’t been herself lately.”
Nikki made herself smile. “I’m okay.”
“You and Brian having problems?”
“Brian and I are fine.”
“Dying from cancer?”
“No. No cancer.”
“Preggers?”
“Nope.”
“Don’t tell me you’re stressed out about that philosophy paper next week?”
“Well, I haven’t even started it yet.”
Emily made a dismissive sound. “Piece of cake. You’ll knock that out in a day or two.”
“I know.”
“Seriously though,” Emily said. “Whenever you’re ready to talk about it, I’m here for you, okay?”
Nikki smiled. “I know.”
“No matter what it is. Day or night.”
“I know.” Nikki hugged her friend. “Thank you.”
The Prophet of God bought a cheeseburger with the works—lettuce, tomato, onion, pickle, ketchup and mustard—for himself and a plain hamburger for the dog. He carried both burgers (the dog following closely, eyes never leaving the wrappers) to a raised brick planter that everyone used as a bench. He tore the dog’s burger into bite-sized pieces and spread them across the wrapper on the ground. The dog didn’t waste any more time.
The Prophet ate at a more leisurely pace. He had nothing to do for a few more minutes and he enjoyed the burger’s flavor and texture. So he savored the experience as college students and families around him did the same with their burritos, burgers, and frozen treats. Music and laughter filled the air. No one paid him any attention.
The dog finished his burger, licked his lips, and laid down contentedly at the Prophet’s feet.
The Prophet ate, careful to avoid dripping anything on his clothing, and watched the street bordering the south edge of the Market.
Nikki and Emily wandered through the produce section of the market, looking, but not buying anything. As much as she liked fresh vegetables, they were pretty much out of her budget, except for special occasions. She and Brian were college students. They lived on Ramen, yogurt, and Taco Bell.
Some of the fruit looked really good though. They had plums and Nikki loved fresh plums. But she stayed strong and walked away.
The craft section of the market was more fun. Neither of the women had much money to spend, but they could admire the clothing and imagine which of the artworks would look best in their little apartments. Emily, an unapologetic candle freak, made Nikki spend a solid thirty minutes sampling each and every scented bees wax candle in one booth before she finally decided to shell out five bucks for a lavender-scented votive.
“How many candles do you have now?” Nikki asked as they wandered away.
“Almost enough. Candlelight is so relaxing. Beats the heck out of air fresheners.”
Nikki laughed. It felt good to laugh. It had been a while.
The Prophet of God had just finished his burger and cleaned up the remains, when the lab lifted his head and peered at something to the left, ears perked up. His tail thumped the ground.
“What is it, buddy? Is it her?”
The dog chuffed. A soft sound, like a half-hearted bark, mostly in the throat.
Two young women, college-aged, wearing shorts and flip-flops were strolling toward them along the edge of the food carts. One was blonde, the other dark-haired. They were smiling, chatting, enjoying a lazy Saturday.
The Prophet, however, knew different. A chill darkness enveloped one of them.
It was why he was here.
The Prophet stood. The dog pushed itself up to its feet.
“Okay, buddy. Show me.”
Nikki looked up as a gorgeous yellow lab scampered across the pavement toward her. The dog’s tail wagged so fiercely, it was taking the hindquarters with it. This wasn’t an aggressive dog; it was a baby, asking to play.
“I think you’ve made a friend.” Emily laughed.
“I think you’re right.” Nikki squatted down on her heels to greet the dog. “Well, hello! What a pretty boy!”
The dog stopped in front of her, tail still wagging and when she offered her hand, barely sniffed, before enthusiastically licking it.
Nikki laughed and rubbed behind the dog’s ears as he turned to press his body against her.
“Buddy! Buddy! Oh, man, I’m sorry.” A tall bearded man with shoulder-length hair and worn jeans walked up. “I just looked away for a minute.”
The dog looked up at him, but didn’t move away from Nikki.
“I hope he didn’t scare you,” the Prophet said. “He isn’t dangerous.”
Niki smiled and shook her head. “He’s a big teddy bear.”
“Yeah,” he smiled. “He might lick you to death.” He grabbed the dog’s collar and gently pulled the dog away from Nikki. “Come on, let the nice lady get on with her day.”
“He’s beautiful.”
“I know.” The Prophet met the young woman’s eyes over the dog’s head. “He likes you too. He’s glad you’re here. I’m glad you’re here.”
She just gazed at him, tears shining in her eyes.
“It’s really that simple.”
He pulled the dog away. It quickly fell in place beside him as he walked away from the women. For a while they walked in silence. Only when they were out of earshot, did the Prophet look down at the yellow lab. “How did we do?”
The lab looked up at him, wagged its tail.
Pleased, the Prophet walked away from the Farmers Market, adjusting the straps of his backpack. Music leaked through the windows of a car passing on the street. The Prophet smiled at the familiar notes of “Heart of Gold.”
“Everybody likes Neil Young,” he said to himself and began to hum.
He strode down the sidewalk alone.
