The young man stops at the door. The door window is darkened. Nothing shows from beyond. Small ads and posters overlap each other. Michael steps back. The building is small and looks like any other well-worn hangout, but it has a feeling of a peaceful, relaxed atmosphere. Michael enters, "Please, be here."
Soothing music lightly fills the air. It is early day. Looking around, Michael sees two people in the place. One behind the counter and one sitting at the back, near the only window which looked out. Michael's heart started to beat more. Sure this would be another deadend. No, no, no. All the answers he has gotten so far. Approaching the bartender, who's back is to him, Michael says, "Hi."
Michael's throat develops a small lump. The bartender has the face of an angel. With the sweetest voice, she says, "May I help you?"
After a short pause, Michael begins, "Yes, you can. But I do have to say I now know where this place gets its name."
"Palace of Angels. How's that."
"You look like all the angels I ever saw, and better."
The bartender smiled after a small giggle and thinking, "Boy, like I haven't heard this before." "Thanks. What will you have?"
"A glass of water, please. I am on a journey and it has been dusty." The bartender giggled, again. "I am looking for a man named, Ray Adams. I have been looking for him for several weeks. If I hear another 'no', I am not sure what I am going to do."
The giggle grew to a chuckle. "I know Ray. Well, Uncle Ray. But, my memory is a little dim right now. Again, what will you have?"
Michael noticed the man in the back. The man's face looked over to the counter for a moment, but turned towards the window and dropped. Michael thought about taking the chance and asking the man and saving some money, but decided not to gamble. "I will take some green water."
"I think I know that one," the bartender replied, as reaching for a glass. Handing the water to Michael, "Here you go."
Michael grabbed the water. The bartender took the twenty in his hand. Michael directed his eyes to her eyes. She turned her head towards the window and nodded. The man in the back had gotten up and was walking towards a back door to the beach. The man was of average height. Michael thought he would be so tall. The man was chubby. He had to be lean. The man looked rugged and rough. He had to be robust and charming.
With a shaky voice, Michael asked "Is that him?"
"He is out the door, now. But, that's him."
Gaining his composure and thoughts, Michael hustled to the back door. Looking around, Michael saw the man quick walking down the boardwalk. Racing after him, Michael thought, "Should have known this wouldn't be so easy."
After a few blocks, Michael could see that the man was becoming winded. "I got you, now," Michael said with a smile. In that instance, the man darted across the road lining the coast and into a small apartment building. Looking up and down the road, Michael crossed and entered the apartment building. The apartments ringed the courtyard which had a small swimming pool in the middle. Wasn't a fancy place, but well taken care of. Michael stopped by the pool. Thinking. "Guess I can check with the apartment building manager. Let me think." Thinking some more. Soon Michael's face bloomed with a smile from ear to ear. "I got it."
A large knock rung from the door. The door opened, but was stopped by a length of the short chain. "Please, let me alone. Don't know how you found my apartment, but please, let me alone," a crackling voice pleaded.
"I remember reading an article from a college paper about you and you mentioned your lucky number was eleven," Michael answered with a proud voice. "I need to talk to you. I need some advice. I have to talk to you. I have to. Please."
The door closed, with the sound of a sliding chain following after. The door opened wide. Michael entered. The man sat at a small table by the front window. Michael reached out his hand to shake, but the man just sat with his hands on the table. Michael sat.
"Sir, I have been looking for you for several weeks. I am so glad I found you. My name is Michael Smith. I have read your stories from your college days. Couldn't find any after that, but maybe you can help me find them somewhere." Michael paused for a reply. There wasn't one. "There is just something from your stories that reached my heart, my soul. I knew I had to find you. I had to read some more of your stories. After searching and searching, I couldn't find any. Please, help. Can I see some of your other stories."
The man raised his eyes to meet Michael's. The man had such blue, cold eyes. "Yes, I am Ray Adams. I am the man you are seeking. But, I don't have any answers for you but one. Beware of the PigeonHolded Dilemma. There might be other names for it, but I prefer PigeonHolded Dilemma."
"Pigeonhole. I heard the term before. Ernest, William, Charles, Edgar, Jane, F. Scott, Agatha. I know it somewhere," Michael thought. "Mark. Yes, Mark Twain. He said it somewhere." "Mr. Adams, please, what do you mean. I know Mark Twain used the term somewhere, but what does that have to do with a dilemma? Never heard that before."
With a sad look, Mr. Adams stood and walked to a door and opened it. He stood back and pointing to the room, "There. There is your PigeonHoled Dilemma."
Michael walked to the doorway. It was a small room. Looking in, he saw a small desk against the back window. He saw a computer and printer. A filled trash can with several rolled up sheets of paper on the floor nearby. Wooden mail box shelves lined the side walls. Papers filled most of the boxes. None were empty. Many were full.
"There is your PigeonHoled Dilemma. I have never finished another story after college. The stories flow through my mind constantly. During the day, when I am awake; during the night, as I sleep. The stories don't stop," Ray said with struggling tones to his voice and tears forming at his eyes. "I have started millions. I have never finished another. Please, go."
Seeing Ray's other arm pointing to the front door, a bewildered Michael started walking out of the apartment. He sensed Ray's pain and suffering. Michael had so many questions to ask, but knew this was not the time. As the door closed, Michael wondered if he would ever get some answers to his questions. Another day.
- Stephen Q. Lewis
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