Flights of fancy characters

Ron stood in line for Security for gates 1-2 at the San Diego airport. He had not flown for a few years and was feeling a bit uncomfortable at the thought of open public spaces. Filing forward with the rest of the cattle on a Saturday morning, Ron looked across the terminal counters in time to see a cartoony monk mascot walking towards him from the security line for gates 3-10.

He had been in line for 20 minutes giving him enough time to see the security line preparation video with the large lego man and monk helping people prepare for a speedy walk through the security line to their gates. Being a bit paranoid about handing his bag to strangers, Ron had decided to carry on and admittedly over-sized bag. He felt the mascot's eye target in on him.

With a goofy cartoon-like voice, the monk walked directly upto Ron and shouted the way a man with a giant foamy head who can't hear well would. "Awfully big bag you've got there, friend. Are you sure you wouldn't rather check that?"

"No." Ron stared forward in an attempt not to continue the conversation. The attempt would fail.

"You know, everyone has a right to have space on the plane for regulation sized baggage and the ability to move through security quickly." The freakishly large head with the friar tuck style bald spot wobbled left and right as Ron was judged by a man paid to wander an airport dressed like an idiot.

"What about my right to not be hassled by a moron in a giant head? Maybe I only own one bag and this one has my medication in it that I will need during the flight. Very logical reasoning to me, but you don't look to be a man who has made all the necessary intellectual decisions in life not to end up here." Ron stepped forward with the line movement. The mascot took two sideways steps with his comically large shoes and continued in the silly voice.

"That's too bad, sir. I'd hate to see someone as pleasant as you in bad physical health. Maybe I can help you carry your bag through." A large hand made of a mixture of cloth and foam reached for Ron's bag before being slapped away.

"No. I can take my own bag." The man two spaces in line ahead of Ron looked back with some concern. A man two spaces back from Ron looked on with amusement. The rest of the line seemed unfazed by the conversation.

"Well, maybe I can help you prepare for the x-ray machine. Your watch should be in a bin. Let's get that off." The big hands waggled chunky fingers at Ron's wrist. Ron turned to face the oversized puppet man for the first time.

"I said no." His tone left no uncertainty to his aggrevation. The monk put his hands on his hips mimicking Ron as the two men watching before now shared a concerned glance towards each other.

"Well, that's a might large belt. That buckle will surely set off the metal detector. Let's get that off of you." Before he could turn away, two giant gloves had grasped onto Ron's belt and begun tugging as if to rip the belt off like a cheap band for a bar's drink specials.

Ron reached up without thinking and slammed both fists down on top of the mascot head. "Routabegga!" Ron shouted at the mascot as he knocked the mascot's hands from his belt and the two men watching earlier tackled the giant monk to the ground and secured him in handcuffs.

Ron found himself dragged from the line by a member of airport security where he was lead with the mascot dragged by the two men from the line into a secured interrogation room.

The mascot was tossed to the floor across from Ron. The two men stood with hands on the gun holsters on their hips staring at the crumpled cosutmed character. "Were you just going to let him take me off to meet his parents before you stepped in on this guy? What the hell?"

The man closest to Ron with the name Rodgers etched on his holster cleared his throat. "We had the situation within our control. This man had no weapon on him or a way of retrieving on from within the suit without being obvious about it. We are sorry if you do not think this way too. We're only here to protect you from real threats, not from any asshole bugging you today."

The man next to Rodgers with Smith etched on his holster snickered at his partner's comments. The TSA representative walked to the mascot and reached for the head.

"I'm sorry about this guy. The airport usually screens these guys pretty regularly for the signs that they have lost the patience for a surly customer or the sense to leave them alone." TSA agent Tonga grabbed onto the large nose of the mask and hoisted it off quickly possibly expecting a dramatic Scooby Doo-like reveal of a villain.

The beheaded monk squinted his eyes at the bright lights in the room and began rubbed the back of fis head with his large cuffed hands. The motion made the cowlick of hair in the back stick up even worse than usual. Rodgers and Jones thumbed the safety snap off of their holsters when the cuffed hands went up initially, but Ron waved them back while shaking his head.

"Jimmy! What in the hell are you doing here?"

Once Upon A Not So Green Lawn...

"Time travel." Jimmy Tiffin stared wide eyed as he said two words to his neighbor Ron Canton. The spray from the nozzle on the hose continued its attack on the flower bed as Ron let the words sink in. The water began to fill up the open tulip bulbs before the assault was cut off at the source.

"What are you talking about?" Ron had moved into the Payton Estates neighborhood with his wife two months back and Jimmy Tiffin has been the first one to greet him as he arrived. Likewise, he had started the conversation off with similar randomness.

"You've seen my sister, Sheila. She's married to Jack Kenton from the auto body shop. I've told you about him. He's a bit off sometimes, but he's faithful, so she doesn't complain. She's sure she can bring him more into the social scene, but it's going to take a little time."

"Yeah. I get it. The whole Rome wasn't built on the bay thing." A barrage of water slaps at the chain link fence at the edge of the yard as Ron squeezes the trigger a couple of times to feed the browning grass connecting his yard to Jimmy's yard.

"I think you mean Rome wasn't built in a day, but yeah. She thinks she can change him. I don't think there's anything wrong with him myself. I've stopped by and seen him laughing it up with the other guys at the shop without any awkwardness, so I always figured it might just be he's not yet comfortable completely being himself around new people."

"Not everyone is as upfront to everyone they meet as you are, Jimmy."

"You don't have to tell me that." Ron's mocking tone falls on deaf ears once again. "Well, I go to talk to him minutes after he's done joking around and he's stiff as a board again. I start talking to him about how my boss, Fran, just laid into me about being too social at work. She says it puts other people off and that I don't stop talking long enough to let other people tell me they have work to do. I think that's crap, but I can't tell my boss or she'll fire me or make me work second shift where only the nutties come out. You know what I'm talking about."

"I know the type." Ron stares more intently trying to allow his body language to tell Jimmy to walk away, but Jimmy continues on with his story.

"Exactly, so I'm going on about Fran and I say to Jack, 'Can you believe that?' and he just stares past me and yells, 'That thing's gonna fall on you, Trent!' like I'm not even there. After that he looks back at me and says, 'What were you saying? I don't remember what you just said.' Can you believe that? He can't remember what I said over the past three minutes. So I'm about to lay into him when I hear a loud noise behind and one of the other guys yells out in pain. Turns out this guy Trent had hung a quarter panel of a Buick on a hook on the wall to paint and the hook pulled out of the wall and dropped the chunk of metal onto his foot. Crushed his left foot and he's been in an air cast for a week now."

"I guess he should have listened to Jack then."

"Yeah. But why listen to the guy when you've done something that way so many times before. So I looked at Jack and said, 'How did you know that was going to happen?' You know what he says to me? He says, 'I just saw it coming.' Can you believe that? Saw it coming!"

Ron stood watching the water drip out of the bottom of the tulips before looking up and realizing Jimmy had stopped talking. He wondered how long he could stand there before Jimmy forced the conversation forward again, but he figured Jimmy could wait longer than Ron's patience. "And?"

"What do you mean 'And?' It's so obvious. He drifted off into the future for a few minutes and saw what was going to happen. He stood there as I spoke and the world opened up its chest of secrets to him and looked in wide eyed. He saw, in those minutes, what was going to happen to Trent before it happened. He saw it. Don't you see? He can see into the future."

"You think he's tele...kinectic or whatever?"

"Clairvoyant is the word and yeah. I do. Think about it. He lost the time while I was talking and he gained the time coming after that where Trent was going to have the quarter panel fall on him. It's like the Golden Man story or more notably like that show Lost."

"You mean he's really on an island no one can find?"

"No. His mind shifted times. While I was talking to him, his current mind switched with his future mind so he was able to see the things he would remember seeing later, but because his future mind was there while I was talking and likely confused by the situation, he lost the entire conversation. His current mind wouldn't remember it because it never happened for that mind. It's less confusing on the show, trust me."

A crash is heard behind Ron as he turns to see the paper boy lob a newspaper and decapitate three stems from his rose bushes in front of the house. Ron takes the hose with his right hand and aims it under his left arm spraying mercilessly into the face of the paperboy. Swerving to regain his site, the front tire of his bike slams into the fire hydrant and tosses him headlong into the side of Jimmy's truck. The boy lay there clutching his head while Jimmy stared.

"So you think he can see into the future?" Unfazed, Ron tries to speed the conversation to a conclusion.

"Uhh. Yeah. I figure that's why he's so weird around people because he knows he may not be there completely while they talk and then he'll just be the asshole that hears but never really listens to other people. So I'm thinking we should have a poker night and invite him over. I'll tape the game in secret and watch his face. To make sure I can track if he knows what I'll have, I will mouth what cards I have to the camera so I'll remember later. Then we'll see if he can see into the future."

You're going to do all of this while we're playing for real money?"

"Of course. How else could I convince him it's real?"

"In that case, I'll be there. Not to spoil this perfect plan, but why don't you just ask him if he can see the future or, more directly, ask him in more detail about the incident at the shop. That way you wouldn't have to ponder these things with other people around and you could put your mind at ease." The paperboy stood up rubbing the back of his head and flipped off Ron as he grabbed his bike. With deft accuracy, Ron sprayed him again in the face and he slipped sideways smacking forehead on the bumper of the truck and fell to the ground again.

"Why would I deprive you of these conversations, Ron? I don't see you socialize yourself with anyone on the street. I fear I'm your only friend." Jimmy smiled a proud smile at the thought of being so important in someone else's life.

"This conversation makes me want to slit your wrists." Ron shakes his head incredulously.

"I think you meant slit YOUR wrists."

"I said what I meant. So if I'm so antisocial like Jack, why don't you think I can see into the future too?"

Jimmy tilted his head confused. "I don't know. I guess I've never seen an instance where that would have been called into question. Are you able to see into the future?"

Ron laughed heartily and openly at Jimmy. "Of course not, Jimmy. If I could, I would see you coming."

"I don't get it."

"I know you don't, buddy. Talk to you later." Ron walked towards his front porch dragging the hose behind him. Reaching into the rose bushes, he scoops the devastated roses into his left hand and, dropping the hose, grabs the paper with his right. Standing on the porch looking at the reflection in the glass of the front door, he hears the paperboy's bike ticking along and racing to a higher speed to get away. Ron turns and spirals the newspaper through the front get and into the front tire of the bike. He's halfway way through the front door as hears the paperboy swearing loudly on the front sidewalk.