A Helping Hand

“A Helping Hand”

         Stan grunted as he went over the case file. His client was guilty, no doubt about that. Three witnesses and a security camera had caught him breaking into the store, though Stan had since decided he would defend the guy. It had been more a crime of necessity, not one of malicious intent, as anyone would do the same if starving on the streets of New York. Of course, most people would probably do a better job at not getting caught as well.

         Stan took a break from his work, swiveling his chair around to look out the huge window dominating his office. Balton and Dirks Law Firm was located only two blocks away from Times Square, and the street outside was usually bursting to the seams with traffic. The proud street lay at a standstill, however, closed off due to the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.

         The sweet jingle of a ring-tone sounded from his pocket, catching his attention. Stan sighed as he pulled out the cellphone.

         “Hey honey,” Stan intoned hopefully. He and his wife had been having issues with their relationship of late, mostly having to do with his work.

         “You better not be working.” His wife's voice sounded grim. “I went home to take the turkey out of the oven, and you weren't there. So where the hell are you?”

         Stan cowered around the phone as though to hide his office from it. “I...no, I stopped by the store to pick up some of that...uh...spiked eggnog you like.” He prayed his lie took.

         “I see...” Stan could sense her disbelief. “Well dinner's on in twenty.”

         “Okay hon' I'll be ther-”

         The call cut off short.

         Stan stared at the phone glumly. His wife was pissed, and would probably start another yelling match whether he was late or not. That was no reason to give her a reason, however.

         Grabbing his jacket, Stan left his office, giving a quick nod to his secretary on his way out the door.

         “Wife?” Shirley inquired, sympathy etched on her face.

         “That obvious, huh?” Stan asked. Shirley merely nodded.

         Stan exited into the small hallway separating the firm's offices, and bumped into a rather solid figure.

         “Whoa, Stan, easy there,” the figure said, startled.

         “Ah, sorry Jerry. Just kind've in a hurry.”

         “No problem,” Jerry Dirks replied with his customary, charismatic sway. Stan watched as his partner's face took on a purposed, pained expression. “I didn't realize you'd be leaving so early today though. I was actually having a bit of trouble with-”

         “Sorry Jerry, not today,” Stan said hurriedly. He wasn't one to say no to his partner, but he couldn't be late. Not this time.

         “Right. I expect to see you tomorrow, bright and early,” Jerry called after Stan as he slid out of the building.

         The morning was typical of New York autumn, Stan's breath visible in the chilled air. He turned left down the empty street, toward Time Square. He'd have to get a taxi on the other side of the parade, his only hope of getting to his house near Central Park on-time. Not that he'd be likely to make it anyways.

         Stan cursed at his luck under his breath as he walked, hands tucked deep in his coat's pockets. He never understood why his wife even called it Thanksgiving dinner when they always started their feast before noon, finishing before he usually took lunch. Of course, she liked to start the meal as the parade was ending, never suffering a lapse of festivity. He could recall the way she smiled into her wine last year as her favorite floats would cross the television. What the hell was he doing missing that...

         Looking down the street, Stan could make out a few of the floats turning the corner at the square. There was a huge Scooby Doo hovering over the crowds, its gaping jowls big enough to swallow a car. A marching band followed closely behind it, playing the great Dane's theme. And behind that flew a large Snoopy balloon, garbed as the red baron, a single paw outstretched. His wife always favored the big beagle, believing it to be good luck. He was going to need every ounce of luck if he was going to make it to dinner.

         Stan stopped in the middle of the street, shutting his eyes in frustration.

         Please, just one break. That's all I ask...

         A sudden gust of wind rushed down the street, sending a thick chill down his back. Hundreds of screams followed, startling the lawyer.

         Opening his eyes, Stan watched in shock as the Snoopy balloon, caught in the gust, tore away from parade, and began gliding low down the street toward him, its outstretched hand ready to scoop him up.

         Stan seemed to wake up as the float set off car alarms making its way down the street. Turning around, he bounded in the other direction, determined to outrun the monstrosity. He could hear the beagle overtaking him, however, and yelped as a huge snowy paw rammed into the back of his knees, tripping him backward into a huge palm.

         Stan could feel the balloon begin to ascend now that it had caught its prey. Feeling himself slip, he tried to grab hold of the paw, but the slick material slipped out of his grasp. Just as he was about to fall to the increasingly distant asphalt below, his arm caught one of many ropes tangled around the beast's wrist. Stan quickly wrapped it around his arm, and watched as the world shrank below him.

         His heart beat wildly against his ribs like a frenzied prisoner as the float gained altitude, now over about half the height of the taller buildings. Another gust of wind began blowing the beagle in the opposite direction, thankfully slowing its ascent, but causing it to cruise through Times Square and beyond.

         Stan saw people pointing at him from below as he dangled from the canine's paw like a charm. He sure as hell didn't feel lucky.

         “Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god...” Stan stammered as the balloon floated over New York. It didn't help that he was rather terrified of heights. He closed his eyes, doing all he could not to faint.

         His eyelids blessed him with a single overwhelming thought.

         DOWN!

         Unfortunately, he had no idea how to reach the safety of the ground. Well, no survivable way at least.

         Stan opened his eyes in desperation, looking for something to use. Nothing. He did, however, manage to spot the tip of a tall building coming straight for him.

         Panicking, Stan tried to swing his body in order to shift the balloon, but he might as well have been tying to shift a mountain. He closed his eyes in anticipation for the impact.

         A rising gust of wind caught the float from below just as it was about to hit the building, causing it to clear the roof by mere feet. Stan could hear a ripping sound as an antenna slashed the beagle's belly open, giving way to the hiss of escaping gas.

         Stan could feel the balloon descend, but Snoopy's arm was beginning to droop as well. Opening his eyes, he was shocked to see Central Park coming up to meet him. The float made is final descent smoothly, dumping Stan in a clearing of grass.

         The lawyer lay down on the ground, glad to feel the earth beneath him. He got up slowly, shaking hard from his flight. Snoopy's maimed body fluttered in a nearby tree, a feeble attempt to take flight once again. His arm waved in the wind, as though saying goodbye. Stan would have smiled had he not nearly needed a change of pants.

         A crowd had already begun to form around him and the float, his journey having been visible for miles. Stan quickly ran past the onlookers, ignoring their exclamations. He was sure the media would catch up with the balloon soon, and he didn't want to be caught in a net of interrogations. He had somewhere to be.

         Running across the street, Stan made his way to a medium size apartment building, and shuffled inside. A plethora of smells greeted him, most noticeably turkey. Bypassing the slow elevator, he quickly ran up to the third floor, and flung himself into his apartment.

         His wife stood at the kitchen counter, startled at his sudden appearance. Her face quickly turned stern, and she put her hands on her hips.

         “Your two minutes late. You know, I'm not even sur-” She was quickly cut off as Stan embraced her around the middle and kissed her passionately. She looked up at him after they surfaced, speechless.

         “Well...that was...” She beamed at him, tracing a finger down his cheek. “So how did you get here so fast?”

         Stan stared into his wife's eyes, glowing with a light he hadn't seen in months. He would truly be giving thanks for that.

         “Lets just say someone offered a helping hand.”