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“We wouldn’t believe them.”
He slowly nods. “Worse. Betty Lou would debunk it in ten minutes, whether she was right or wrong because she’s got millions of followers, and her opinion is God. Then this other person, the person with proof, facts, video, is nothing but another quack on the internet because Betty said so. So, millions of people didn’t listen, and neither did their friends because Betty is always right. And still that quack who is so certain about their truth, who has bulletproof evidence, begs all the other quacks to listen but no one does because everybody is quacking because of all the microphones. And now, none of us will ever know God exists, and many will still live daily with the crippling fear of dying.”
“That’s so sad and…” I draw my brows, “so true.”
With another exhale, he flicks the cherry off his cigarette and grinds it out. “The sadder truth is that the only way to conquer the fear of dying is by dying.”
“Jesus.”
Sean grins. “You sure? Is He listening?”
I roll my eyes. “You’re killing me.”
“Why the turn of phrase? Does death scare you?”
“Stop playing on my words,” I swat at his chest.
He chuckles, then shrugs while unscrewing his water bottle. “You asked. Just relaying a message.”
“That whole spiel wasn’t yours?”
He takes a healthy swig and then recaps it, darting his eyes away. “No. Not mine. Just another quack.”
“But this is what you believe?”
His eyes meet mine, his gaze intent. “It’s the one that makes sense to me. Rang true for me. It’s how I live.” He leans in. He’s close, so close. “Or maybe,” he pushes the sweat-matted hair away from my forehead and widens his eyes before giving me a blinding smile, “I’m just another quack.”
“Probably,” I say softly. “And you do obey the clock because you have to be on time for work,” I point out.
“Got me there. But my free time is mine. I’m not a slave to time. And if I’m honest, my work time is mine, too.”
“How so?”
He nudges me forward with his hand on my back. “Almost there.”
“You aren’t going to answer me?”
“No.”
“You’re unbelievable,” I grumble. This man is absolutely nothing like I expected, and yet I can’t get over what comes out of his mouth or the fact that I know he means and believes what he says. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone so confident in their skin, so sure of their place. My eyes glide over the perfection that is Alfred Sean Roberts as he walks in contemplative silence beside me.
“So, what’s your superpower?” I ask, a little breathlessly while keeping his pace.
“I’m good at reading people. Anticipating what they want. Yours?”
I spend a few seconds thinking about it. “I don’t know if it’s necessarily a superpower, but most mornings, I can remember my dreams…vividly. And sometimes, if I wake abruptly, I can resume them. Other times I will myself back into them.”
“Pick up where you left off?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s cool, I sleep so hard, I never really remember mine.”
“Sometimes they hurt,” I admit, “so much so that it can ruin a day of my life just from the feelings they evoke. So, it’s not always good.”
He nods, his eyes scouring the trees before looking over at me. “E
very superpower has a price, I guess.”
