Course Correction

Holding his broken eyeglasses, he stared around the room. Without them, the images of the other people looked strangely like reflections in a fun house mirror. The blurry image of the mural on the far wall caught his attention once again.

Using one lens of his glasses as a magnifier he began to examine the mural. The place was filled with murals, all different scenes, all by the same artist with the same style. This one was of a beach, with a long path leading up to some houses. He studied the tiny people walking along the paths. Petite stick figures of little men and women painted with a dark almost black, brown paint without features. He wrestled with the question of which direction the people were headed. Were they going to the beach or headed home? He wanted it desperately to be a beach on the Mediterranean, some exotic playground of the rich and famous. Maybe one of the stick figures was Grace Kelly.

“Tell me again. Tell me the story of how you got here.” A small man tugged at the art connoisseur’s side. “Tell me again.”

The others were milling about the room, some eating lunch, some talking and two women were dancing with one another to an imaginary orchestra. The little man whispered, “Hey, they are lesbians.”

“It was a beautiful day and I was feeling pretty good, so I decided to visit the museum.”

“I love museums. Bones, dinosaurs, bones, rocks, and bones.”

“Wrong kind of museum Short Stuff, this was an art museum, you now like paintings, statues and old things.”

“I like to paint,” he looked around then whispered, “I can draw a naked lady. Give me a crayon.”

“Whose story is this?”

Short Stuff sat there embarrassed with his hands across his face hiding his eyes. “Your story of course, you tell it. You're at the museum.”

“Yeah, I’m at the museum and kind a like, gettin' bored. So I come across this section where they have all this armor, you know like King Arthur. Can you guess what they were doing?”

“No. Nope.” He started to laugh.

“They were cleaning the exhibit and had left the case open. So I snuck in and started to examine the armor up real close.”

“Like you do with the picture of the seashore?”

“Sort of. I stood there for a moment and as I was looking at it a thought occurred to me. What would it feel like to wear a suit of full plate armor?”

“Weren't you scared?”

“No, I was excited.”

Short Stuff started to giggle.

“Not that kind of excited.”

“King Tut alert.” Short Stuff slid away unnoticed. A large olive skinned man in a fez, breathing heavy and taking small shuffling steps stopped and began to shake his head.

“I don't know what you see in that painting. It’s just a mural painted by some high school kid.”

“Hey, King Tut.”

“Don't call me that! I asked you all not to call me that.”

“Kingsie, didn’t you tell us that you were preparing for the afterlife like the Pharaohs? Weren't you the one who told us about withdrawing all your money in one dollar bills? Didn't you roll them up in to dollar tubes and then start stuffing them in to the different holes of your body?”

Disgusted he shuffled away in well worn slippers sliding across the polished floor. A slim woman in veiled hat sat down, asked for a cigarette then snapped her fingers as if calling for a waiter.

“Hey Cupcake, whatta you need?”

“I need you.” She leaned in close, he could smell the garlic from lunch on her breath. “I need your help.” She spewed off some words in what sounded like French as the two women dancers began a tango and danced close to their table. “I don't want them to know our plans.”

“What if they speak French?”

“I hadn't thought of that.”

“What’s the plan?”

She looked around. “Where's the fat man?”

“King Tut?”

“He is always watching me, that vile man undressing me with his eyes. Do you like my breasts? He likes my breasts. Tonight when everyone is asleep we will make our move. Watch the fat man; he wants to get his hands on my jewelry, the thief.”

“Jewelry? Is it worth a lot?”

“Shhh,” she held her finger to his lips as she looked side to side to assure that no one was listening. “I can tell you everything that you want to know, but not here, not now. Once we are free, then and only then.” She nodded to the tango dancers then danced her way out of the room, turning she blew a kiss.

Short Stuff came back and sat at the table. “Dead battery.”

“What?”

“Speed Racer had a dead battery in his chair. He was stuck in the hall, sideways and screaming. Then King Tut tried to get by and climbed over Speed and got jammed. The nurses came running and the fat man started swinging. King Tut got taken away to isolation. Isolation.” Short Stuff shook his head.

“So I am at the museum and with no one around I put on the suit of armor. It fit pretty well, although it was kind of tight in the crotch.”

“Chafing, you'll need some baby powder.”

“There I am walking around the museum in armor, I get a sword from a display and start to pretend that I am King Arthur. Swinging the sword this way and that, well I lost my balance and toppled over.”

“Hee, hee.”

“Like a heavy metal turtle lying on the floor trying to stand up and that's when the police came.”

“Busted.”

“So I am here for observation.”

“Observation,” Short Stuff shook his head. “Welcome,” he raised his glass of ice tea, “welcome to Champs Pacifiques.”

“Hey, did you know that one of those little figures looks like Grace Kelly?”