The Proverbial Mr. Universe Read Free Page B

aspired to become.
    Olivia dug into her purse, took out her last ten-dollar bill, and handed to him. Her caffeine suicide would have to wait since the coffee shop across the street only took cash.
    “Sorry, it’s all I got.” She smiled and started to walk toward the entrance of her building.
    “Mademoiselle! Wait, I have something for you.”
    Her inner voice told her to keep on walking, but for one reason or another she stopped and walked back toward him. Something told her she was going to regret this.
    “For me?” She frowned and waited for him to remove a folded paper from his pocket and handed to her.
    At first, Olivia hesitated, trying not to get too close. The thought of where that piece of paper had been made her stomach churn, but Olivia didn’t want to seem rude. She unfolded the paper, a few sentences scribbled on lined paper. It was quite a task to read since the penmanship was awful. She looked around once more before reading it to herself.
     

     
    She looked back at the man on the street. “Cute, did you write this?”
    He shrugged and smirked. “Surely, mademoiselle, do I look like I did?” He laughed.
    Olivia frowned. “So who did?”
    Apparently this was meant for her, addressed to the girl with the red scarf. Coincidently she always wore a red—well more like red pashmina—scarf draped around her neck.
    “Mr. Universe.” His smile widened even more.
    Looking over her shoulder, she thought maybe this was a joke. She saw those shows on TV where they play tricks on people on the streets with a secret camera hidden in the nearby bushes or something.
    “This a joke, right?”
    “Don’t worry. You’re lost. The best of us are, but you will find your way. The universe is everything, all that is tangible and all that is not. Sometimes it’s easy to get lost in the scheme of things. The world is wondrous and mysterious, but he will reveal himself to you when he is ready.” He paused. “We are all connected, but we don’t realize how. You, me … we’re all connected … somehow. Sooner or later it will all be revealed to us.”
    “Right … okay, thanks for …” She held up the note and started to make her way back to the entrance of her building.
    “We are all on stage, my dear. Sometimes we forget our lines, but luckily an offstage helper can whisper our lines to us until we get back on track.”
    She arched her eyebrow. “An offstage … helper?”
    This man was messing with her. Or just plain crazy. Olivia glanced at the time. She was now forty-five minutes late.
    “Metaphorically, of course. Someone to guide you when you’ve lost your sense of direction.”
    “Hmm … right … got it.”
    He got up slowly and walked past her. “Don’t stop looking at those stars,” he said without turning around and continued on his path.
    Olivia looked down at the piece of paper he had given to her moments ago. Chills ran up the back of her neck, but it wasn’t from the crisp cold air. It was something her grandfather use to say to her.



 
     
    N ick Montgomery’s eyes fixed on the void—a big, white void to be exact—hitched onto an easel right in front of him. He ran his fingers over the coarse fabric. It almost depicted his life these days: deserted, inhabited, vacant. A shell of a life as opposed to what it once was. Sitting quietly, he waited for it to come. He knew better. When a stream of morning light trickled in from the basement window, he looked up. His posture slightly fell, raking his hands back and forth through his hair. Maybe it was a bad idea trying to get back something that might never come. The artist got up and walked towards the door, picking up his keys from his desk before exiting his studio.
    Later, Nick found himself sitting in a café when he caught sight of a girl. His heart dropped when he realized it wasn’t his girl—well not his girl per se, not yet anyhow.
    He didn’t even know her, but he had a strange notion like he should. It would be bold to