Mr. Prendergast

Word count 4153


What’s that? Yeah, you can sit down on this here bench. I mean I don’t own it or nothing. What do I look like, the Manager of the Parks Department? What’s that? Who’s it I’m talking with? I’m talking with Mr. Prendergasts that’s who. I know what you are thinking - that I’m just some crazy, homeless guy who’s talking to a fig-a-mint of my imagination. That's what everybody I run into thinks. But I tell you what; since you obviously ain’t doing nothing right now, let me tell you the story of me and Mr. Prendergasts and then you can decide if you think he’s real or not. I doubt you will, don’t nobody else does anyways.

First of all, I ain’t always been like this you know. Used to be I was loaded with all kinds of dough. I had my own cycle-shop; I owned some real estate. I had me a fine looking old lady and four boys (by her anyways). So Okay, I was also messing around with some stuff that wasn’t all on the up-and-up, but then again I had all them mouths to feed. And I wasn’t one of them spoiled rich kids that was born with a silver spoon stuck in his mouth. I was a self-made man. My old man took off on my ma before I was even born. I didn’t have nothing growing up. And let me tell you that while most of the guys that my ma was shacking up was real good at lumping up me and my ma, none of them jerks wasn’t good for nothing when it came time to pay the bills. I’m not cry-assing about the way I was brung-up to get you to feel sorry for me or nothing, I’m just telling you how it was. Anyway, now when I think about the way I was brung-up, I think maybe it was like that for a reason. Growing up that way made me tough, and only somebody tough could deal with somebody like Mr. Prendergasts.

The first time I seen Mr. Prendergasts was a long time ago. I was out with a bunch of my buddies and we was getting good and hammered when I first seen him. He starts right in, yammering all this crazy, nonsense talk to me. I thought this was funnier than hell cause he’s this school-teacher type dude who’s got on this crazy looking red suit; I mean we was in a pretty rough part of town for him to be wearing something like that. I thought he was either drunk or crazy; that or maybe he had some pretty big balls. So I yells over to my buddies, "Hey, get a load of this dude in the red monkey-suit."

Them guys look around for a bit then they say, "What the hell is the matter with you? There ain't nobody in no red suit here." So when I look again at where he was at just a second ago, he’s not there no more.

So later I’m walking home and who’s walking right next to me is this Mr. Prendergasts guy again. He starts right in where he left off, but I’m not in no mood for this bullshit and so I say to him he’s got two seconds to clear out before I beat the crap out of him. He just stands there, all mild-mannered and calm and says to me not to try nothing. He’s a small guy, and you can see I’m a pretty big guy, so I figure it’d take just one punch from me to shut him up. But the funny thing is, just as my fist slams into his face it’s like I’m the one who just got punched in the face. So I was the one who drops to the ground and he’s just standing there like nothing happened.

So he comes over to me and he gets all up close to my face and says, "Don't pull any more of that violence; any act of aggression you attempt upon me will be turned on yourself."

Then he says to me real quiet and real slow that things are going to be different for me from this point on. He says, "Everything you've done up to this point in your life hasn’t done anybody any good except for you, and even that is debatable. All that is going to change. From now on you’re the one who’s going to start paying the prices so that good things can happen to other people. Sometimes you’ll know who these people are and sometimes you won’t. Sometimes you’ll be able to see what good things you've done for them, but sometimes you won’t. At times you’ll be able to decide whether or not you want to pay this price to have this thing done, but then again sometimes you won’t have any say in the matter, but you can be real sure that it’ll cost you something dear to do these things." I pick myself up off of the sidewalk and next thing I know he’s pulled that same old disappearing act of his and he’s gone.

When I finally got home it was already the next morning because I seen that the sun was already coming out. My old lady was waiting for me inside the door. She looks at my face and asks what the hell happened to me. I says nothing happened and that I’m going to bed. She’s not having none of that though. She says I’m not allowed in the house (MY house) anymore and if I need a place to stay I can go live with one of my girlfriends. Then she starts in again with her divorce bullshit. She’s even got the frigging papers in her hand for me to sign. My head is pounding, my face hurts like hell and I’m in no mood for this crap; so I says to her to shut her trap. She won’t stop yammering and she won’t let me get by her so I lose it and I start smacking her around.

Next thing I know I’m laying on the floor with all this blood coming out of my nose. My oldest boy is standing over me, he’s breathing all hard and I can see he’s scared – but he ain’t backing down none neither. He grabs the papers from Linda and shoves them in my face for me to sign. Now I wasn’t scared, I done whupped his ass more times then I can remember. He was getting big, but I could have still taken him no problem. So I don’t know why I signed them papers right then and there on the floor. Maybe it was because I was sort of proud of him. He was the type of kid who was always taking crap from other kids at school and walking away, even though he could have kicked the crap out of them easy. Or maybe it was because I had taken two shots to the face in one night and I was still half-drunk. Could have even been that he sort of reminded me of myself, cause way back in the day I had whupped one of my ma’s loser boyfriends in pretty much the same way (except, of course, I beat that guy up a lot worse). Like I says I don’t know why I signed them papers, but it was the last time I ever went in that house again. And look here, you see how my nose is all bent over? My boy broke it pretty good with that punch. It’s a real pain in the ass for me and to this day I still can’t hardly breathe too good through it.

So you see, most people think I talk with Mr. Prendergasts because I’m some crazy bum, but how could that be the truth - I was seeing Mr. Prendergasts before I was a bum. You get my point? I seen him before I lost my family and all my money. And to get back to my story that was the end of my marriage to Linda. Then the drinking got worse; I had some run-ins with the law. I lost my cycle-shop and all the rest of the property I owned. I wish I could say I was missed at the old homestead, but I wasn’t. My old lady Linda got hitched to some hot-shot lawyer then, get a load of this, she goes and finishes up her schooling and becomes a big time lawyer too.

And them boys of ours was all doing everything by the book too. Not only was they all doing real good in school, but they was turning into a bunch of jocks too. They played football, baseball, hoops - all that crap. Every time I had a chance I’d sneak into the gym or ballpark or where-ever-the-hell they was playing and watch them boys shine. First it was when they was in high school, then later it was when they was in college. They was always the ones who got the ball when the chips were down, and they didn’t disappoint. I used to have a bunch of newspaper clippings about them. You knows stuff like them being on the honor roll or them winning the big game or whatever. But then them clippings got all weathered and coming apart like so that I couldn’t read them no more. Anyways, the boys all turned into upstanding citizen-types with big families and good money-making jobs and all, except for the youngest.

Anyways you should know that while all this is going on I’m wheeling and dealing with Mr. Prendergasts, paying these prices to him so that bad things don’t happen to no good people. Let me give you a for instance. Do you remember some years back when that family was camping in Colorado and they went and got themselves trapped in the middle of nowhere when that freak fall snowstorm hit? Do you remember how that was all over the TV news and everyone said it was a miracle when they was found a week later alive, a little-worse-for-the-wear but all-in-all Okay? Well let me tell you it wasn’t no frigging miracle. Me and Mr. Prendergasts was there in Colorado and I had to pay Mr. Prendergasts in two frostbit toes to save them. And let me tell you that hurt like hell when I did that and now I got myself a permanent limp because of them numbskulls. That’s one price I wish I could have taken back from Mr. Pendergasts. I should of let them freeze to death.

Then there was the time I saved a nursing home from going under with some cracked ribs. I got rolled for my whole day's worth a panhandling too on that deal. You see Mr. Prendergasts had asked me...What’s that? You says you wants to know what happened to Brian, my youngest boy? I don’t like to talk about him none. But you knows what? Maybe by telling you what happened to him I’m doing somebody some small bit of good somewhere. So OK here’s the story on him.

First of all let me just say he was a real good kid, and of all the boys he treated me the best. It probably didn’t hurt none that he was real little when I left his ma and he didn’t hardly remember me too good from when I was still in the house. Anyways, a lot of the time I didn’t have to sneak in to his ballgames; he would come up with a ticket for me. Man, I remember this one game like it was yesterday. They was playing against some big time college and the whole place was going nuts. He was the quarterback by the way. So they’re losing and they’re nearly out of time and they have the ball about at midfield. They was losing by four or five points, so a field goal wouldn’t have done them no good. They needed a touchdown. So with time running out he spreads his receivers out and runs the last play.

So the weak side linebacker, whose been sacking his ass all day long, gets by the tackle and is coming in to give him some more punishment. My boy has to roll to the right to avoid his rush. Problem is all of the receivers on the right of the field is covered good. Now the receiver in the opposite field has a couple steps on his man but that don’t do nobody no good, there ain’t no way anyone could have gotten him the ball. So my boy, whose rolled passed the right hash mark, unloads a Hail Mary across the field on the run. Sure as shit it’s a tight spiral of a rope that’s right on the money for a frigging touchdown. I mean did you hear what I said? That was an opposite field throw of about sixty yards on the run with time running out. I’m telling you half of the quarterbacks in the NFL couldn’t of made that throw and that’s no lie.

And anyways that ain’t even the point of my story. So listen to this. While everybody’s hooting and hollering like they just won the frigging Superbowl or something, what’s my boy doing? His waving like a maniac to the sideline to get some help for his fullback who just got his bell rung throwing that sum-bitch linebacker a block. Anyways, that's the kind of kid he was to a tee. And you knows what else is funny, usually I would a had to pay Mr. Prendergasts something pretty steep to have something good like that happen. But I didn’t have to pay him nothing. Nothing bad happened to me that day or even in the following days after that. In fact all that week I felt the best I had felt in a long time. No, that kid of mine did all that on his own, fair and square.

So some years ago I start to get these nightmares, and I don’t want to sound like no pussy or nothing, but they was awful. In them I seen lots of people dying. I seen their skin burned off. I seen them screaming and hollering in pain. I seen them staggering around with their eyes blinded, trying to find their families. And not only was those dreams that bad, but then I start to have them when I wasn’t sleeping. Right there wherever I was I would see people who I had seen just two seconds ago going about their business, all-a-the sudden dying right around of me. Each time I seen it I thought it was happening for real. Then a minute later everything was back to normal, except of course they was all looking at me like I was crazy cause I was acting all the maniac cause I thought they was dying just two seconds ago.

So the next time I seen Mr. Prendergasts, I asked, "Why am I having all these dreams bad dreams?"

Right away I know something ain’t right. Usually Mr. Prendergasts is all business-like with me, but his face tightens and I can see something is wrong.

Sure enough he starts out saying, "This bad thing that is recurring in your dreams will happen if you don't stop it". That ain’t no surprise to me, but the next thing he says to me is a surprise and it’s like a punch to the gut when I hear it. He says, "The only way you can prevent it from happening, from stopping all of those people from dying is to pay a very severe price."

"What's the price?"

"Your youngest boy’s life."

"No way. It ain’t right for you to ask that of me."

"I don't have any choice in the matter, that’s the only thing that will work."

So I sticks to my guns and I says to him no fucking deal. Then for days afterwards I just does my best to go about my business and ignore him. You want to knows something funny too? - Up until this time Mr. Prendergasts would come and go as he pleased, but from this moment on Mr. Prendergasts wouldn’t never leave me alone again, not even for a second. He's with me all the time now and I knows you can't see him but he's standing right over there behind you right now.

Anyways, the screaming, dying people was all over the place too. Then, get this, some of them start seeing me and telling me that this will all be my fault if I don’t stop all this mess from happening. You know it’s funny but you’d think after awhile I would of got used to seeing them and it wouldn’t bothered me none. But that didn’t happen, I just got more scared and sick-to-my stomach every time I seen them.

Then Mr. Prendergasts says something to me I can’t ignore. He says that my son is sick and that he’s in the hospital right now. So I haul-ass to where he’s at to see if this is true. And let me tells you that all this time my suspicions is growing, and so I’m making plans in the back of my mind to put a stop to this if I think it’s Mr. Prendergasts and this deal he wants to make that’s what’s making my boy sick.

It takes me a few days to get there. At first the hospital people wouldn’t let me in to see him, but when he hears I’ve come around, my boy puts up such a fuss they have to let me in. Linda was in there with him and I could see she wasn’t none too happy to see me. And I couldn’t hardly believe how bad my boy looked. He was always a skinny-assed kid, but there wasn’t nothing left to him but skin and bones. He was pale, he didn’t have no hair left, and he looked like a raccoon with all the dark he had around his eyes. You could see he was in a lot of pain, and from what the nurses had been saying he wasn’t having nothing to do with all the drugs they was trying to dope him up with. Even so, when he sees me he gets this big, old smile on his face and says he’s glad to see me.

So he says to Linda, "I want to see Dad alone." You could tell she wasn’t none too hot about this idea. But then he starts kicking up such a fuss that Linda gets this worried look on her face like this might kill him, so she says OK. So she kisses him on the forehead, gives me a look and takes off.

So the two of us is alone and the next thing my boy says, "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"

I freeze up, and don’t say nothing for a second. I ask, "What are you talking about?"

"Who's your quiet friend in the red suit?"

I get this cold feeling but I’m still trying to play it off. "You must have been talking with your ma about me. He ain’t nobody, just the fig-a-mint of a crazy, old coot’s imagination."

Brian's eyes knit for a second and he says, "No Dad, I mean who’s your friend in the red suit, he's standing there right next to you."

So that was the first and only time somebody seen Mr. Prendergasts besides me. Now you can understand that I wasn’t none too happy about it neither cause it just got my suspicions up more. Sure enough my boy says that he been having all these horrible dreams with people dying in them. He says that me and this guy in a red suit would always appear at the end of these dreams. We would be trying to say something to him but he couldn’t hear us none. So my boy asks us if we have something we want to say to him right now.

I says no, we don’t have nothing we want to tell you, but then Mr. Prendergasts says he does. Right then and there I made up my mind. I pulled out the knife I had been hiding and made my move on Mr. Prendergasts. I stabbed him as hard as I could in the gut. It was funny because I remember seeing Mr. Prendergasts looking surprised, and I ain’t never seen him looking surprised before. What he wasn't looking was hurt, even though there was plenty of blood all over the floor. My son went crazy and started howling for the nurses and came at me dragging his tubes and all with him. He got to me just as I was about to try stick old Mr. Prendergasts again. I tells you he was pretty strong considering how sick he was. He stopped me and a few seconds later all these nurses and doctors and what-have-you come flying in the room. You could tell they didn’t know what in the hell was going on, with all the blood and hollering and tubes and everything. And of course they couldn’t see Mr. Prendergasts none so they either thought that my son had stabbed me, that or I had accidentally stabbed myself.

So there’s another thing I failed at. I couldn’t kill Mr. Prendergasts and I couldn’t kill myself neither. They stitched me up and put me in that same hospital as my boy, except they wouldn’t let me see him. He wrote me a note the next day and he got one of his friends to bring it to me. I still have it. Here it is. I’ll read it to you. It says, “I been talking to our mutual friend and I know what I have to do now. We took you out of the loop and the deal is done. It’s not your fault, none of it’s your fault. Love you Pa. Brian.” When I read that in the hospital I let up such howling and screaming that they put me under. When I woke up they told me my boy was gone.

You knows what’s funny? Sometimes I sees him, my boy, now too. Sometimes I'm real glad to see him, but other times I can’t even talk to him none when I see him, it bothers me too much. In fact, I sees all kinds of people now; other people besides Mr. Prendergasts that other people don't see neither. You knows what I think, I think Mr. Prendergasts took I a little piece of my mind that day along with my boy as his price. That’s what I think. You know it's possible that even you is a fig-a-mint of my imagination. Even you could be just another one of the ghosts that haunts me that ain’t real.

Then again, maybe you're just a regular person going about his business. A person in pain. I mean just about everyone around is a person in pain, right? I wish there was something I could do for you, but as far as paying prices goes, you got here a little too late. I'm just about all used up. I got nothing left to give. I'm sorry about that. I really wish I could something to ease your troubles just a bit.

Anyway, whoever you are, ghost or not, thanks for listening to my story. Most people I tell it to leave right in the middle of it. They don't never get to the end of it like you did. Would you do me a favor and give me a hand getting up? Thanks - God what a wreck I've become. When I was younger I was a bull of a man that nobody wanted to mess with. Now I need help getting up off of a park bench. I ain't nothing like the man I used to be, that's for sure.

I have to be going now. Mr. Prendergasts is telling me it’s time to move on. He’s at the mouth of a tunnel. I can hear noise, like hollering or cheering going on the other side of it. I get this funny feeling that there’s some sort of big game being played over there. Mr. Prendergasts gives me my newspaper clippings back (you know the ones about my boys) and they're like new. I’m about to ask him where-in-the-hell he got them from when I notice he’s wearing a red eye patch. He says, "You're not the only one who can pay a price to make things better for other people."

Mr. Prendergasts says, "It's been a real pleasure working with you all these years." He hands me a football ticket. "This is from your youngest son. He's right over there, beyond those walls playing in another big game. He's as good as new. No need to cry, just get on moving into the tunnel. Just go on through to the other side and you'll see that everything will be all right."

Then he says goodbye.


*Author's note: I have received a lot feedback about the vernacular grammar I used in this story. I have very deliberately decided to leave some of the "grammatical mistakes" (such as the double negatives) in this story, as they help paint a picture of, and define, my unnamed narrator. And speaking of names, let me take a moment to clarify the name of "Mr.Prendergasts." His name in actually Mr. Prendergast (as in the title). The narrator mispronounces his name by adding a "s" to the end of his name. You get the idear.

Anyways, thank youse again for reading my story.