Free Don't Kill The Messenger by Joel Pierson Page B

believe it.”
    “Thank you,” I say. “Yes, it would be lovely to think that there’s value in every human life. But look at the world. Six billion plus. I’m willing to accept that there’s potential in every human life, but when you choose to throw away that potential, all bets are off. Do you know why you have that worst fear of yours? That fear that so many people everywhere feel every day?” She shakes her head. “It’s because dying without making a difference is the default situation.”
    “Explain?”
    “We go through our lives every single day, searching for Meaning with a capital M. What is the meaning of life? We shout this to the heavens, to a God who may or may not be picking up his voicemail messages. And in the meantime, most of us scurry about, to our jobs, to our homes, to our TV sets and our karaoke bars and our Internet porn, and we miss the bigger picture. There’s meaning everywhere, and 99.999 percent of the time, we’re not even looking at it.” And then it hits me. “Holy shit.”
    “What?” she asks, apparently fascinated at my diatribe.
    “I think I know why I was chosen.”
    “You do? Why?”
    “I wasn’t psychic or anything like that before this whole thing started. I couldn’t tell you that your card was the two of clubs if you were holding it up in front of my face. But then, from out of nowhere, I get these messages, and I realize that I’ve been picked to deliver them. And I realize now, just this minute as I’m talking to you, that it started right about the same time I truly understood the things I was just telling you about. Don’t you see? I wasn’t picked because I had some special gift. I was picked because I saw through the bullshit and realized a truth that I would need in order to do the job.”
    As I voice this thought, it makes infinite sense to me, and it is a colossal relief. For months, I have been repeating the why me mantra without any sense of an explanation. But here it is, and what it took was someone to tell it to.
    “So what will you do, now that you know?” she asks.
    “I don’t know. I guess I’ll keep doing what I’ve been doing. Knowing why doesn’t change what I have to do. It just gives me some much-needed understanding, and for that, I thank you.”
    “Me?” she says, surprised. “What did I do?”
    “You gave me someone to tell it to.”
    She smiles at this. “Well, you’re welcome.” After several very peaceful seconds, she then asks, “Can we stop somewhere for dinner soon? I’m getting hungry.”
    “Reach under your seat,” I tell her.
    She reaches down and her hand finds plastic. With a loud crinkle, the object emerges, and she looks at the bag in distaste. “Funyuns? Eww. I wouldn’t give these to an animal.”
    “Well, see now, I would, and there’s the fundamental difference between us. Although I’ve learned that deer don’t like them.”
     
    Given the tightness of time, dinner has to be delivered via drive-thru. I have never been a huge cheeseburger fan, either in or out of paradise, but it’s what Rebecca is craving, and since time is tight, we certainly don’t have the luxury of choice. So, fun on a bun it is.
    “How much longer until we’re there?” she asks me between french fries.
    “About two hours, at this rate,” I tell her. “Why, you getting restless?”
    “It’s just been awhile since I’ve taken a long car trip. And you have to admit that this has not been the most normal two days I’ve had lately.”
    “Well, considering that I just met you yesterday, I can’t say what the baseline level of excitement or normalcy is in your life. You may be like a Bond girl; I don’t know. The life of an exotic dancer is probably very exciting.”
    She pauses a moment before deciding, “That bothers you, doesn’t it?”
    “What bothers me?”
    “My chosen occupation. You get this … thing in your voice when either one of us talks about it. Why does it bother you?”
    “It doesn’t bother