An Agent to the Stars
There is a common-everyday sort of man that lives among us, never recognized for anything more than being a secretive Jew in rural Quebec, but he was a terrific opportunist by hobby and trade.
An opportunist as you and I might imagine could be a dive bar bail bonds lender, dive bar tattoo artist, or dive bar suicide hotline operator.
Hymen Shlumitz, has been the worlds only travel agent to the stars for over a decade.
Precisely the time he awoke on a melancholy day, there was an heir of unnatural magnetism in the air. Hymen treated his sores that appeared silently in the dead of night with only mild concern. He examined his body thoroughly, and discovered two identical wounds on either hip that resembled electricity burns. His legs were fatigued, and several times he caught himself from tumbling over by studying himself on the sidewalk furniture he had accumulated over the years.
He hadn’t the capacity to piece together the odd shape that he found himself in. With no other means of reaching peace of mind, Hymen decided that he would simply ignore these strange physical abnormalities.
There are only two things that will awake Hymen from his sleep. One time, as a teen, he recalled being nearly rocked from his bed by an earthquake. From the violence in shaking he was jolted a bit, took a half-eyed check of his alarm clock and dozed back into his mundane dreams of free-refill fountain sodas.
The other was an unfortunate incident involving the long arm of the law. It’s of some people’s belief that all criminals look alike, making a stereotype an irrepressible target whether they have committed a crime or not. On this particular evening, Hymen proved the contrary. A relatively plain and miniscule man, he was objectified as a neighborhood rapist, per the depiction of his newest neighbor. Or she thought enough that he fit the description from the newspaper. It was her civil duty to take a chance of sheer embarrassment to reach heroism. Unfortunately, the rapist continued to rape for some time afterwards, but Hymen was dragged out of bed in cuffs and later released after clearing his name in a very short cross-examination.
A night in the spring of 1991, Hymen was startled when he realized that his meager home was rattling on its hinges. It shook so violently that he worried his roof may cave in. It didn’t and the shaking stopped for a moment, in it’s place a bright light filled his bedroom. The light had no direct source, it just seemed to randomly collect in areas of his room. A buzzing noise gradually increased its intensity, and in a mind-jarring flash the light disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. Hymen removed various types of excreted bodily fluid from his bed, found a dry patch of mattress, and fell back to a shallow sleep.
When hiking for thistle-brush on a summer’s eve, Hymen witnessed an odd anomaly streaking across the sky, he figured it to be nothing more than a meth-addicted stork or disengaged missile, but it made no obnoxious squawking or whistle of Dixie tunes. He followed the object along it’s meandering sky path, to and fro, with the intent of a tennis voyeur. The strange distant flying thing was moving methodically closer and all the while dizzying Hymen into a trance. He fell to his knees and awoke seven days later with terrible bug bites and a sore mouth. This occurrence marked something remarkable for him. He hadn’t taken this in vane. No, Hymen wondered how he could possibly have been the target of so many strange circumstances in his life. He was just a simple man, living in near solitude under no pretenses of the hustling world. And that was when he realized; that he was a man, living in near solitude under no pretenses of the hustling world, living some sort of kooky nightmare every few years.
After moving to an even more remote stretch of land hardly reachable by even the most sturdy-winged mail carrying pigeon, Hymen prepared everyday for what he saw as something both amazing and special. Then finally, it arrived, an overwhelming noise of a revving and exhaling engine that hovered above his wooden domicile. It was a noise unlike any Canadian made machine, he knew it. Charging to his front door, he crashed through it and threw his arms wildly into the air. He exalted with timid pleasure, “Please wait! Please wait! I’d like to make you a deal!”
When invisible bees seem to sting in places that no bee has traveled, noises render out of nowhere and resemble strange combinations of known sounds, and bodily orifices are traveled in and out of in memory-lapsing sleeps; you know that Hymen has been entertaining guests within you.
The once Québécois hermit with a curse, has become the entertainment agent of intergalactic thrill seekers within our galaxy and beyond.