Your Loyal Servant

(2) Say What?

Apple touched my arm, her gaze pinned on the man prostrating himself before me on the sidewalk. She asked in a whisper, "Uh, Rose, who is this guy?"

"Clearly a nutcase," I muttered. I tapped my foot on the ground to grab his attention, since his eyes were intent on my shoes. Once he glanced at me, I echoed, "Who are you?"

He just about slammed his face on the pavement as he bowed once more. He announced in a loud voice, "Your loyal servant!" His eyes landed on me, so big and serious.

As I gazed at his earnest face, I felt Apple and Selma look at me in question. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore – I burst into laughter. He just looked confused as I held my stomach and roared.

"Is this amusing to you, mistress?" he asked, his face open and unmarred by life's hardships. It was like this kid just left a bubble or something.

My laugh sobered and I remarked, "I'm sorry, but I can't take you seriously. I mean, my loyal servant?" I snorted. "Good one."

Now he looked confused. "But I'm being serious," he insisted, and the flicker in his eyes almost made me believe him.

Rolling my eyes, I put a hand on my hip. I instructed, "Look, kid, just go home. This isn't as funny as you think. So get off the ground and leave me and my friends alone."

His eyes half shut and he inquired in a half-whisper, "Is this an order?"

"What?" I asked with a perked brow. I shook my head and waved my hand. "Yeah, sure, whatever. It's an order. Just leave me alone with my friends, okay?"

He placed his forehead to the concrete and then stood up, bowing at his waist this time. He stated, sincere, "As you wish, madam." He nodded to my friends, spun on his heel, and walked away.

"What the hell just happened?" Selma demanded, her cell phone forgotten.

As I stared dumbfounded at his retreating figure, I replied, "I wish I knew."

She turned to me, her expression the same as mine: confused and concerned. "And who was that guy anyway?"

"I wish I knew," I repeated. I trembled as though disturbed, which I kinda was.

"How did he know who you were?" Selma was asking all the million-dollar questions.

I yanked on a strand of my hair—bad habit. "No idea," I told her.

Apple's voice was hushed as she tugged on my sleeve and requested, "Can we just forget about him, please? He weirded me out."

"You and me both," I grumbled. I released a sigh. "I hope we never meet that guy again."

We turned and continued down the sidewalk, the opposite direction Mister Creep had gone. Our conversation eventually morphed into something resembling normalcy, but my mind still revolved around my unexpected guest.

What had he said he was? My loyal servant? What did that even mean? And where did he get an idea like that?

The only plausible explanation was it was some dare or initiation ritual. It was something the guys in my neighborhood would pull because they thought it was hilarious. I was positive that guy wandered back to his group of snickering pals.

We sat down at a table and ordered bagels, plus a cinnamon cider for Apple. We spoke of meaningless trifles and laughed away the memory of the strange occurrence, eating until we were full.