By Eric Rasmussen

Apparently the after-school club meets in an old Chinese restaurant? Colin parks out front, takes a deep breath, and tries one more time to tie the tie Heather gave him. It’s a lost cause. The fabric is too slippery or something, so he balls it up and throws it in the back. It’s fine. He’s not interested in any of the kids who would find such attire appealing, anyway. 

The entryway features a big gold Buddha, and just past an empty fishtank, under a mural with mountains and dragons, about twenty children sit at tables, doing their homework or coloring. A few of the older ones stare at their phones. A woman in a blue Buddies 4 Life t-shirt meets Colin at the hostess station. “Can I help you?” 

“I hope so,” he says. “Otherwise I’m fucked.” 

Twenty heads shoot up and twenty pairs of eyes sight him in. The woman covers her mouth with her hand. 

“I meant ‘screwed,’” he says. He scans the room, desperate for redemption. “I brought a tie. It’s in the car. Do you want me to get it?” 

The woman shrugs, the kids return to their homework. The smell of old General Tso’s chicken settles into Colin’s clothes and it’s all he can do to not run out the door. 

Colin’s ex-fiancée once told him he was incapable of thinking about anyone besides himself, but this is how he’ll prove her wrong: kids. Feeding them, cleaning them, keeping them company—they’re basically selflessness magnets that will confirm she made a huge mistake when she moved out while he was at the card show in Mankato. He got the idea from a social media ad that promised “A Meaningful Way to Give Back” and “The Most Rewarding Time You’ll Spend All Week”—an open house for new mentors at a local after-school club. Speed dating for grown-ups looking to bolster their resumes or burn off excess love and affection. Getting a dog would be easier. Evidently some people are allergic. 

Colin pauses and smiles, just like he practiced in the mirror at home. “I saw an ad that said you need volunteers.” 

“We’re always looking for extra help,” the woman says. 

“Are you going to line them up or something?” 

She laughs. Colin doesn’t. She explains, “Maybe it’s best to wander around and see if you make any connections.” 

“What should I be looking for? Pleasant smell, good teeth?” 

He’s actually kidding this time, but she doesn’t laugh. Instead she sidesteps him to greet a group of college students who just arrived. “We’re elementary education majors looking for extra experience,” one of them says, and the woman claps and squeals. None of the kids look up. 

Colin charts a path through the tables with no idea what he’s looking for. A blonde girl with big cheeks and puffy bangs growls at him. A redheaded boy with glasses makes eye contact, but as soon as Colin’s within earshot, the kid says, “Nice shirt, Gaylord.” Colin says hello to a couple others, and they say hi back, but when he’s unable to think of any follow-up they roll their eyes and return to their work. By the time he reaches the edge of the seating area and realizes this is a giant waste of time, a chubby boy in a white polo, maybe ten years old, waves him over to his table in the corner. 

“What’s your deal?” the boy asks without looking up from his coloring book. 

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m trying to impress my ex-fiancée.” Colin crosses his arms. “Why? What’s your deal?” 

The kid attacks a tree’s foliage with swipes of his green crayon. “I need to find a way to teach my old business partner a lesson, but I’m stuck here every goddamn afternoon.” 

Colin doesn’t know how to react—could he get in trouble for laughing? But it occurs to him, if he claims a funny one, he could impress Heather and be entertained at the same time. Win/win. 

“How does this work?” he asks. “Do I sign you out with the woman in the t-shirt?” 

“I hope you’re kidding.” The kid sets his crayon in the book and closes it. “There’s paperwork. Background checks. I’m a precious commodity.” 

For a moment the fear this isn’t going to work envelopes Colin. He can’t breathe, his vision wavers. Heather won’t move back in, he’ll never see her again, the nights will keep getting longer and darker, forever. He has to try. He crouches down so he’s eye-level with the kid. 

“What’s your name?” he asks. 

“My friends call me Artie.” He opens the book and picks up the crayon again. “But you can call me Arthur.” 

                      * 

Arthur Konwinski, nine years old (ten in August). Fetal alcohol syndrome. He never met his father. One of his mom’s boyfriends shook him so hard when he was six months old he spent two weeks in the ICU. Four years later, a different boyfriend supplied the pills that led to her overdose death. Now Arthur lives with his incoherent hoarder grandmother. Still, he does okay in school. He says he wants to be an entrepreneur when he grows up. 

“The thing about the ex-business partner is strange,” explains Denise after Colin finishes his application. “We think it’s an ongoing delusion, maybe a coping mechanism for his early life trauma.” She hands Colin the Buddies 4 Life Mentor Training Manual and Arthur’s personal information folder. “It’s probably easiest to play along, but that’s up to you.” 

Her office is in the restaurant’s walk-in cooler, decorated with white Christmas lights and posters of tropical beaches. “What am I supposed to do with him?” Colin asks. 

“Part of the process is finding things to bond over.” She leans back, grabs a t-shirt like hers off the metal shelving, and passes it to him. “What did you like doing as a kid? I’d start there.” 

                       * 

So, the next afternoon, Colin takes Arthur bowling. The kid watches with curiosity as Colin rents shoes and finds a ball with child-sized finger holes, but when it comes time for the first frame, Arthur just stands next to the ball return. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” Colin says. 

“I have no idea what I’m doing.” 

“You’ve never bowled before?” 

“When I was young we didn’t have the money, and by the time I could afford it I thought it looked stupid.” 

“You’re really funny.” Colin approaches but keeps his distance. Kids spook easy, right? “I didn’t know young people could be so funny.” 

“I didn’t know grown-ups could be so pathetic.” Arthur’s white polo, the same one as yesterday, is closer to yellow, like it’s been bleached too many times. Also, he needs a haircut. “Are you going to show me how or not?” 

Colin demonstrates the approach, backswing, and follow-through on the adjacent lane. It takes a few frames, but kid gets the hang of it and ends up bowling a 77. Colin beats him handily, with a 154. 

“Nice job creaming the third grader,” Arthur says as he ties his street shoes when they’re done. “You must be very proud.” His fingers move slowly, like he’s still reciting the bunny-ears rhyme in his head. “What’s next?” 

“I have to take you back to the club.” 

“We’ve got two hours. If you dump me at that Chinese restaurant early, so help me god…” 

“Fine. What do you want to do?” 

“Ice cream. Kids love ice cream.” He stands up, smooths his shirt, adjusts his collar. “Lead the way.” 

                      * 

Colin orders vanilla while Arthur opts for a neon blue flavor that doesn’t reference any actual food. “Electric Razzmatazz Blast.” They eat at a table in the middle of the line of other customers. 

“You’re not much of a talker,” Arthur says between bites. 

Colin shrugs. “What’s your favorite subject in school?” 

Arthur sets his spoon down. “Math is fun, but I really like art. It’s the only time I feel good about myself. Being creative helps melt away the bad things that have happened in my life.” 

“Really?” 

“Of course not.” The kid picks up his spoon again. “My favorite subject is lunch. It’s every kid’s favorite subject.” He scrapes the top of his treat and pops it in his mouth. “Tell me about this lady you’re trying to impress.” 

“Heather? She’s a dental hygienist, and she’s also the most amazing woman I’ve ever met.” 

“Yeah? She hot?” 

“Of course. Super hot.” Colin likes the vanilla here better than the shop down the road. It’s got hints of oak, with floral undertones. “I asked her to marry me on our second date. She said yes, and neither of us could tell if we were kidding, but a year later she moved in and I thought we’d be together forever.” 

“Let me guess. You fucked it up.” 

“If I did, I have no idea how. I was at a card show in Mankato, and when I got back, she was gone.” 

“Baseball cards?” 

“Fantasy gaming cards.” 

“Jesus.” Arthur’s cheeks are peppered with freckles. Don’t kids lose those at a certain age? “What was her explanation?” 

“I haven’t talked to her since.” 

Arthur shakes his head and circles the spoon around the base of his dish for one last mouthful. “Believe me, I’ve got problems, but not half as many you.” He licks the back of the utensil like a dog. “Are we doing this again tomorrow?” 

“If you want.” 

“Do you mind if we skip the bowling? My shoulders aren’t what they used to be.” 

                       * 

You know those girls who come on too strong? The ones who dance at parties when everyone’s sitting around? The ones who get back at their high-pressure families by dressing in black and getting tattoos? The ones who swear too much and act tough because deep down they’re terrified of everything? That’s Heather. Colin asked her out after she cleaned his teeth. They went bowling. She said he was weird and funny, then asked if he wanted to come back to her place to see the rest of her tattoos. It was the best night of his life, until the next time they hung out. Their third date was better yet, and as far as he could tell the quality of their time together increased daily for almost two years until he got home from Mankato to find a note on their bed. I moved out. Call me when you learn how to give a shit about other people. 

                       * 

The next afternoon Arthur’s waiting in the club’s parking lot. “About time,” he says as he flops into the passenger seat. 

“Should we let them know you’re leaving?” 

“Already done.” 

“How about today we try mini golf?” 

The kid pretends to consider the option as he buckles his seatbelt. “Solid idea, but I’ve got a better one. Let’s visit Talbot & Bryce Interiors. The one downtown, not the one by the mall.” 

“The paint store?” 

“It’s not just paint. They carry an array of luxury fixtures and accessories to meet all your home styling needs.” 

Colin types Talbot & Bryce into his phone and directions appear on the car’s screen. “I don’t have any reason to visit a store like that.” 

“You live in some sort of structure, I assume?” 

“A duplex.” 

“Then you’ve got all the reasons you need.” Arthur fishes in his pants pocket, pulls out a Capri Sun, stabs it with the straw, and takes a sip. “I would’ve grabbed you one, but Denise said they’re only for the kids.” 

“Really?” 

“Honest. I swear.” 

                       * 

Arthur pushes through Talbot & Bryce’s front door like he owns the place. He takes a right at the display of ceramic tile to enter the bathroom design center, which features a full wall of showerheads. They all work. Pick one, press a button, take it for a test drive. Maybe this is why Arthur wanted to come here. The cleanliness and elegance represent the sort of life he wishes he had. But the kid doesn’t pay attention to any of it. He keeps marching until he reaches the toilet showroom, where he stops and acts interested in a model with a heated seat and a bidet. 

“See that lady over there?” he asks, indicating with his eyes the saleswoman across the room behind a computer. “That’s Donna. I hired her, and we got along great until John slept with her. After that she barely looked at me.” 

Colin laughs before remembering Denise’s advice. “Sounds like a challenging situation,” he says. “Who’s John?” 

“John Talbot. My partner.” The phone rings and Donna turns to grab the receiver, which is the opening Arthur’s waiting for. He dashes past the remaining toilets and takes another right to arrive in a service hallway with a pair of bathrooms, a drinking fountain, and, at the end, a door with a keypad. 

“Are we supposed to be back here?” Colin asks. 

“Definitely not.” Arthur approaches the keypad; he has to stand on his tiptoes to see the numbers. After a few taps, the light turns green and the door clicks. Arthur opens it and Colin follows him through. 

“How did you know the code?” Colin asks, but the kid’s too busy glancing in offices and peeking around corners. As their pace increases, Colin wonders what the Buddies 4 Life manual says about committing light misdemeanors with a mentee. He grabs Arthur’s shoulder and whips him around. “Tell me how you knew the code to that door.” 

The kid’s cheeks are red and his mouth is slightly open. He breaths like this is more work than he expected. “I co-founded this company forty years ago. I know everything about all twenty-nine branches in twelve states.” 

“Listen, buddy.” Colin crouches down. “I know this delusion helps you cope with your past, but it doesn’t explain how you knew the security code.” 

“Delusion? You must have talked to Denise.” Arthur leans to see past Colin’s shoulder. “I would explain, but this is the exact time Nellie from purchasing takes her afternoon walk, so can you please just follow me?” He weasels out of Colin’s grasp and dashes to the end of the hall, where he throws open a door and jumps through. By the time Colin reaches him, he’s standing in the middle of an enormous office with shoulders slumped and eyes closed. The nameplate on the mahogany desk reads “John Talbot.” 

“Bastard’s not even here.” Arthur shakes his head. “He’s probably out golfing. I’m shocked this place hasn’t collapsed already.” To their left is a bookshelf filled with awards—Chamber of Commerce recognitions, regional sales acknowledgements, golf trophies. Arthur knocks them all to the floor. “Let’s get out of here. I can’t take the smell of this place.” 

Colin doesn’t understand. The whole building smells great. Rose, citrus, and what is that? Lavender? A few moments later, Nellie passes the office in bright white tennis shoes, but she doesn’t see them. A few moments after that, they sneak out. 

                       * 

Denise has doubled the number of Christmas lights encircling the walk-in cooler. Now a low buzz reverberates around the metal room. 

“Kids can be very convincing,” she says, “but I’m confident Artie is not the reincarnated owner of a chain of paint stores.” 

“They sell way more than just paint,” Colin says, but she doesn’t care. He doesn’t blame her. His evidence for Arthur’s past-life identity is flimsy at best, especially since he can’t admit to breaking and entering with a nine-year-old. “I’m not saying it’s necessarily reincarnation, but there’s definitely something weird going on.” 

“Everyone has make-believe stories that help make sense of their lives.” It’s so bright in the office Denise squints. “Also, I don’t understand the specifics. Did someone in the afterlife instruct him to haunt his ex-partner?” 

“He said he doesn’t know how he knows, he just knows.” 

“And the real-life Arthur Bryce died four years ago. I looked it up. Our Artie is almost ten. I don’t think you can reincarnate into already-living people.” 

“I have no idea what the rules are.” 

Denise stares at the file folders on the desk in front of her. Colin’s and Arthur’s. She’s probably deciding if she needs to fire Colin, because, let’s face it, he sounds crazy. Colin sits up straighter. “I’d love to keep hanging out with him,” he says. “I don’t actually think he’s reincarnated. I was just trying to relay what Arthur said, and I’m not always very good at talking.” 

“We all struggle with communication sometimes.” Denise’s eyes well with compassion. She extends her arms across the desk, palms upturned as if Colin is supposed to hold her hands. She wants him to reach out, but he doesn’t. 

                      * 

When Colin picks up Arthur the following Tuesday, the kid has a plan written in crayon on the back of a coloring book page featuring Darth Maul and Jar-Jar Binks. “This time, we go to John’s house and wait. That’ll be way less complicated.” 

“I have to drop you back at Buddies 4 Life by 5:30. Denise was very clear about that.” 

Arthur sneers. “You’re supposed to be my most trusted friend. Cover for me. Make something up.” 

John Talbot lives south of town, where the mansions are hidden in pockets of forest like sleeping beasts. Arthur doesn’t know the address, but he knows the way, and he calls out directions like a driving instructor. “Right at the stop sign.” 

“What sort of lesson do you need to teach this guy?” Colin asks. 

“Regular stuff. Do unto others. Money isn’t everything. Keep going over this hill.” 

“Like the Ghost of Christmas past?” 

“Jacob Marley. Doesn’t matter. Left after that tractor.” 

Colin puts on his turn signal even though they’re alone on the road. “If you’re successful, do you get to rest in peace forever?” 

“I wish.” Arthur plays with the button for the window, allowing bursts of air into the car. “I’ve got school tomorrow. Math test on Thursday.”  

Three turns later they arrive at John’s house, and Arthur points at the street out front. “Park there. I’ll be back when I’m done.” 

“I think I’d better come with,” Colin says. 

“No chance.” He waves the coloring page. “That’s not part of the plan.” 

John Talbot’s driveway is protected by a massive iron gate, but Arthur knows this code, too. He jogs to the keypad on the metal post, types in the numbers, then shuffles across the lawn to the house. 

Colin reclines in the driver’s seat and waits. After tiring of cell-phone solitaire, he scrolls through his pictures. It’s weird how there are hundreds of all the regular stuff—holidays, family, notable sunsets—and then suddenly it switches to exclusively Heather. Them cooking, her making funny faces, them visiting the Twin Cities, her sitting across from him at too many restaurants to count. If he deletes all the pictures of her… When he deletes all the pictures of her, there’ll be this giant gap, as if he didn’t experience anything worthy of a photograph for almost two full years.  

Nearly an hour later Mr. Talbot arrives. After he passes the gate, pulls into the garage, and closes the overhead door, Colin tries to catch a glimpse of him and Arthur through the mansion’s windows, but the photographs are too distracting. His and Heather’s first Christmas together. Their second Christmas together. Their trip to Universal Orlando last fall: he zooms in on Heather’s face, and the glaring Florida sun reveals freckles on her cheeks that he hadn’t noticed before. People don’t always grow out of them, after all.  

After another forty-five minutes, Colin looks up to see Mr. Talbot standing on the front porch with Arthur, who’s holding a donut. They talk for another minute before John leans down to give Arthur a hug. The kid’s hands are covered in chocolate frosting; he leaves fingerprints all over the back of John’s Talbot & Bryce polo. After they straighten up, Colin swears he sees tears in the old man’s eyes. 

Back in the car, Arthur pops the last of the pastry in his mouth and wipes his hands on his pants. 

“Mission accomplished?” Colin asks. 

“Did you not see the hug?” 

“Was it hard?” 

“Not really. A few personal revelations convinced him I was telling the truth and we were off to the races. Can you believe he was thinking of selling the company?” 

“I can’t.” Colin completes a Y-turn to head back the way they came. “What now? I called Denise. She doesn’t expect us back until 7:00.” 

“You really have to ask?” Arthur shakes his head. “Ice cream.” 

Even though Arthur just finished a donut and Colin is certain the Buddies 4 Life program would prefer mentors emphasize healthier eating, he heads towards downtown. Arthur interlaces his fingers behind his head. “I’m on a hot streak. I need something to cool me down.” 

                       * 

The parking lot in front of the good ice cream shop is full, and the line spills out the doorway. “Should we try the other place?” Colin asks. 

“It has to be this one.” Arthur strains against his seatbelt to hunt for a spot, eyes wide, almost frantic. “What about around the block?” 

Eventually they find parking in front of a Mexican grocer three blocks away. Arthur hustles down the sidewalk like they’re going to be late for something; Colin can barely keep up. 

“What’s the hurry?” Colin asks 

Arthur slows, pulls up his pants, and pauses like he’s searching for a response. “If they run out of that blue one, I’m going to lose it.” 

“They have other flavors.” 

“Sometimes when you know what you want, you just have to go for it.” 

A couple minutes later they reach the creamery to discover why it’s so busy: a fundraiser for a high school football team. The players mill around the sidewalk in their uniforms, handing out coupons and soliciting donations. Colin leads his mentee through the scrum of people, but as soon as he passes the shop’s front windows, he freezes and jumps back, nearly knocking Arthur over. 

“What the hell?” the kid asks. 

“We have to go to the other place.” 

“Why?” 

“There’s someone in there. Heather. Heather’s in there.” 

Arthur crosses his arms. “I know. I called her. She needs to see how much you care about the youth of America.” 

Colin had only laid eyes on her for a second, sitting at a table enjoying a vanilla cone, but he could tell she had gotten a new tattoo on her shoulder. And a new haircut, long on top and shaved on the sides. She’s more beautiful than ever, and Colin worries he only has a few moments before he disintegrates into the cool fall breeze.  

Arthur leans to see in the windows. “Is that her sitting against the wall? Nice.” He faces Colin. “Did it ever occur to you that I’m supposed to teach you a lesson, too? What if you’re the real reason I’m here?” 

“Why would a former millionaire business owner return from the grave to help fix some pathetic nobody?” Colin asks. “Is this really all for me?” 

“If you believe it, it might as well be true.” The kid tries to grab Colin’s shoulder but can only reach his elbow. “Now be honest. Why did Heather leave you?” 

Colin’s “I don’t know” comes out like a reflex before he pauses and swallows. “It was my fault. Sometimes I ignore her.” 

Arthur steps back to allow an enormous lineman to pass. “Attaboy. Now we’re making progress. What else?” 

“She does most of the housework, and I take it for granted.” 

“Being honest is the first step.” Arthur pulls a Capri Sun out of his pocket, squeezes it, spears it, then slurps it down. “What else?” 

Before continuing, Colin peeks through the window. Heather has half her cone left. He still has time. 

---

Eric Rasmussen teaches high school English in western Wisconsin, runs the upper-Midwest journal Barstow & Grand, and handles fiction for Sundog Lit. He won Jabberwock Review’s 2024 Nancy D. Hargrove Editors’ Prize, Blue Mesa Review’s 2022 Fiction Contest, and has published stories in Third Coast, North American Review, and The Florida Review, among others. MFA: Augsburg University