Semi-Daily Scribbles

Mrs. Marian Garza taught 3rd and 4th grade at Cedar River Elementary School. She enjoyed the fresh, eager minds that came through her classroom year after year. Mrs. Garza believed the kids' enthusiasm for learning, and fearlessness in embracing the world around them, kept her young and equally excited about life. It worried her what might happen when she was removed from that environment, left to her own imagination and quiet, residential split-level. She dreaded the thought of retirement. Mrs. Garza's husband, Alejandro, died five years prior from a brain aneurysm. The couple had no children, but their home was often filled with the easy laughter and engaging conversation of Mrs. Garza's pupils and their parents. The Garzas hosted covered dish get-togethers where families were encouraged to meet neighbors and get involved with the community. One family that stood out in Mrs. Garza's memory was the Culvers. Sandy Culver was a young widow with twin boys, Nathaniel and Edgar, and worked long shifts as an ER nurse at County General. It was Alejandro who noticed it first, and Marian teased her husband about needing to get his eyes checked. She eventually understood what he meant. The Culvers didn't speak to each other. Sandy and the boys were friendly, and mingled with their hosts and the other families, but they didn't utter a word to one another. The absence of verbal communication was made all the more peculiar by a nod of Edgar's head, or the tilt of Nathaniel's chin, and Sandy's glance at either of her sons that lingered a few seconds too long. The suspense of whether or not Marian would ever catch the Culvers talking to each other began to keep her up at night. She wasn't sure why it bothered her, other than it was odd watching the Culvers interact amongst themselves. Marian was more distressed over the fact that she couldn't ask the question without sounding insane.

Why don't you speak?

Sandy Culver was offered a better paying job, and the family moved to Michigan just before Nathaniel and Edgar entered the 9th grade. It was the last time Marian and her husband ever saw a Culver again. That is, until the doorbell rang on a Sunday afternoon in July. Marian set her needlepoint down and went to answer it. Standing on her porch was a tall man with dark hair and gray eyes. He looked to be in his 30s, and Marian thought the face was familiar. He stood there, looking back at her, with a pleasant smile. Marian gasped as she felt a stinging sensation on the top of her head. Faces, names, and long repressed fears made her thinking muddled. She coughed; her mouth had gone dry and she couldn't speak.

"That's ok Mrs. G. You always had a hard time telling us apart. I'm Edgar. Is your husband home?"

The question of 'who am I?' never factored into the equation. As I walked down the promenade, counting the reasons why I was qualified for the position of Chief Inquisitor, I realized how absurd it was to worry. The matter of what I am was immaterial. The Evaluators could have contacted any decent thief of secrets, but it was my name they called. When it came to stretching the truth and shocking the system, no one could match my level of inquisitiveness.

The resources I extract are priceless, though the payment I require is simple. Your pain is my gain. With the skills I possess, no one need question the stuff of which I am made. So forget who I am. Who are you, and what did you do to be brought before me?