"An Afternoon in Autumn, When Johnny Had Nothing Better to Do"

Johnny sat at the desk, hands poised lightly on the keyboard. It was a child's desk. Small, brown wood stained with old cheap metal handles on each drawer, dangling like door knockers.

On the desk was a green folder labeled 2005 taxes, a nearly spent spindle of recordable discs, a plastic cup adordned with colorful letters spelling the names of two kids, he guessed, Brian and Ben, filled with some strange, be-ribboned poupourri. The desk was dominated by the laptop computer, large keyboard and screen fitting uncomfortably close to the cheap HP printer with the cables and wires crumpled about in a vain attempt to keep out of site.

To the right was the "in box" on top of the old black steel filing cabinet -- blanketed by a pile of unopened bills and unfiled papers arranged like a still life of a waterfall. The checkbook was balanced, open, in between like a bridge from the filing cabinet to the desk.

He stood, stretching like a calico cat in his orange and black Bengals sweatshirt, and decided he needed a snack. Paydirt -- an unopened box of Thin Mint Girl Scout Cookies. He quietly broke into the package, took three...and then three more, poured himself a glass of milk and shuffled back to the office.

"I sure wish they'd get home soon," he said out loud, to himself, just to hear a voice speak. The words came out in croak, like someone else's voice, and he was startled for a moment, but only a moment.

Johnny ate a cookie, gulped down a mouthful of milk, wiped the excess away with the back of his hand and reassumed the position, fingertips at the ready...asdf...jkl;

A click. A key turning, lock sliding back, like a turtle going into its shell. Door opening with a grunt. Coats rustling, children's footsteps drumming across the kitchen and up the stairs. Heavier footfalls. Her. Down the hall. Toward the office. Door opens. Gasp of surprise.

"Who the hell are you?" she says.

Johnny stood up quickly, dark brown cookie tumbling over his three-day beard.

"Johnny," he said.

"Get...out...of...my...house," she shouted with authority, but he could see she was trembling.

"I was just, you know. Working," Johnny said, trying to be helpful.

"Working? What do you mean, working? Who are you?" She had brown hair and brown eyes and wore a red sweater that stretched over her hips. She wore thin black leggings and New Balance running shoes.

"It's me. Johnny. Don't you remember?" Johnny thought he was going to cry, and was determined not to. She didn't speak.

"In the grocery store. I was right behind you. Told that little boy of yours that Reese's would rot his teeth. You thanked me and smiled. You have a nice smile."

"So?"

"So I thought you'd want to return the favor."

"Return the favor? We chatted in the grocery."

"I needed to borrow a computer."

"Get out. Now. I'm calling the police."

"Oh, now that wouldn't be very nice."

She turned and ran, heading for the kitchen. Johnny grabbed her arm. She spun and socked him on the head with her other forearm, then kicked him in the crotch. He fell to the floor. He heard the tell-tale "beep...beepbeepbeep" of a cordless phone dialing 911 and swore under his breath. The he saw a rainbow flash of light as something hard and resonant struck him in the temple. An old brass tea kettle or something... he'd seen it on the fireplace when he walked in.

"I'm really not very good at this," he thought as he lost consciousness.

* * *

"So ma'am, you really don't know what he was doing here?"

"I have no idea. He said we chatted in the grocery line. I sort of remember. I think it was like a month ago."

"And he was working on the computer?"

"I don't know. He was in the office. That's what it looked like."

"Hey sarge! Come over here," a voice from the office called. The sargeant and the woman entered the office, where a young detective was peering at the laptop screen.

"Did you write this, ma'am?" the sargeant asked.

"Are you kidding me?"

"I don't kid," the sargeant said.

"No, sargeant. I did not write that."

"Well, ma'am, this is one for the books," the sargeant said, and walked out of the office. "I gotta get some air."

"I'll join you," the woman said.

A young uniformed officer tapped the detective on the shoulder.

"What does it say?"

"Hmmph. Read it yourself."

The officer peered over the detectives shoulder and read:

I like to eat, eat, eat...apples and bananas...I like to eat, eat, eat...apples and bananas...I like to eat, eat, eat...apples and bananas...I like to eat, eat, eat...apples and bananas...I like to eat, eat, eat...apples and bananas...I like to eat, eat, eat...apples and bananas...I like to eat, eat, eat...apples and bananas...I like to eat, eat, eat...apples and bananas...I like to eat, eat, eat...apples and bananas...I like to eat, eat, eat...apples and bananas...I like to eat, eat, eat...apples and bananas...I like to eat, eat, eat...apples and bananas...I like to eat, eat, eat...apples and bananas...

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