Assume: To Make an Ass of You and Me


Patrick Keeling had worked for the U.S. Postal service for twenty seven years. His wife, Karen, had just about lost her mind with his disco days and lack of direction. All she wanted less of the financial burden on her shoulders. Her paycheck from as a telephone operator wasn’t going to hold them both, and the upcoming child. So, Patrick finally gave in and got a job delivering mail. His father had always told him to find a job with a future. Teaching, funeral preparations, and mail delivery. Patrick’s father said that people would always have children and would always die. Teaching and funeral needs would always be in demand. His father would always add at the end of his speech that people would need to know about those births and deaths, so mail carriers would be in demand as well.

So in September of 1979, Patrick went on his first mail route. Of course he got the abnormally upper middle class route of Salem Center in Westchester, New York. Twenty-seven years ago, these houses were worth less than half of their current multi-million dollar price tag, but they have always made Patrick feel inferior. He did what he could to try and avoid all people on the streets of Salem. Karen hated the graveyard shifts he worked, but he got paid more doing it. Even she had to eventually give in.

There was one house that Patrick always felt a different vibe from. It was the last house on his route, and he usually got to it at the break of dawn. 1407 Graymalkin Lane. He had never been past the gates of the long tree guarded driveway, but he had seen the building that looked like it was a mixture of a Victorian and Medieval castles. The gold plated sign that was mounted on the left side of the brink frame of the gate had changed many times over the last quarter of a century. Patrick noticed the one word that had never changed over time was the name of the family that had owned the lands for miles. Xavier.

Over the last twenty plus years at dawn, he had watched the family Xavier change dramatically. He had seen the Father and Mother of the family raise their newly teenage son. He was a shy fellow at first, but always observing. Not in a creepy way. The young lad’s vivid blue eyes seemed to be far older than his years. The stoic Father always seemed to smile when his son had grasped a new concept. From the ordinary to the extraordinary, the son always had his father’s praise. The mother had always seemed to be full of boundless energy, even when the decades had depleted from her health. Soon enough as the years went by, Patrick hadn’t seen her gather her herbs and flowers without needing to stop every few minutes. Even when the Father died, and the mother remarried that awful crook with his terrorizing son, Patrick always felt a strange tug of a warmth coming from the Xavier household.

Despite his initial feelings of dislike for wealthy people he began to like the Xavier’s. His feelings were cemented one day when he met the young man of the family. He was delivering a holiday package in early December.

Patrick could already tell that it was stale food that was in the bubbled brown box. After so many years of taking the dreaded certified packages to the receivers, he could tell that nobody ever got new ideas about their presents.

Before he could announce his presence on the intercom, the young man had already grinned at him from behind the iron gate.

“Hi Pat,” came the boy’s friendly voice.

Patrick stopped his hand that was on the button and looked a little shocked. The last thing he expected was someone from the family to be ready for him. A maid or a butler perhaps. The strangest thing was that the boy knew who he was. Nobody on his route had ever bothered asking for his name, so he knew that he hadn’t ever told anyone his name. And just for good measure, Patrick checked his uniform to make sure he didn’t have a name tag.

He looked at the boy with a raised eyebrow, and the boy looked away and bit his lip. He looked as if he had just revealed to much information.

“My name is Charles.”

“Well, hello there Charles. How on earth did you know my name?”

“Um...you look like a Patrick. So, am I right?”

“Nail on the head, young man.” Charles just beamed at him. Patrick was covering for him, and Charles knew it. The limited expose to the outside mundane world was obvious. For Charles to have said that he looked like a Patrick was a bullish load. They both knew it. But the fact that both of them were now able to converse was something that Charles was happy about. Patrick was willing to let the strange slip up go.

“Alrighty then Charles, I do believe that these belong to you.” He went to hand the cookies through the gate, but the boy, of what looked to be thirteen, stopped him.

He went behind the brick wall and opened the gate.

“Much better,” Charles said. He signed the clipboard that was held out to him, and picked up the package before Patrick could. As he turned the gift around and around in his hands, he seemed transfixed.

“Stale cookies, huh.”

“I’m sorry,” Patrick said, “what did you say?”

Charles looked as if he had been caught again, and stammered his reply. “Y..You...You said that you think it’s stale cookies.” He swallowed, “chocolate chip cookies.”

“I did?”

“Yea,” Charles said enthusiastically. “Wait here for a second. I think I have something that Ka...your wife might like.” He took the package and ran towards the main house as fast as he could.

Patrick was left to wait and wonder. He knew that he hadn’t spoken a word about the package nor his home life. His wedding ring was on a chain around his neck under his shirt. It almost seemed like this young man was a psychic. He snorted at the idea.

For most of his life he had thought that the two people he loved most in the world were mind readers. His father and his wife. He put his hand on his face to shield his eyes from the sun, and saw Charles running towards him with something in his hands. It looked like a tray or something.

When Charles caught up with him, he handed him a wooden tray that was longer then it was wide, and about six inches high. Inside were different plants in adorably painted clay pots. Patrick took a whiff and realized that they were different herbs.

“We figured that you and K...your wife would like them.”

“We? Your family?”

“Oh yes! My dad made the box and pots, and my mum picked them and painted the pots.”

“And what did you do?”

“It was my idea. I knew that you liked it...uhm would like it.”

Patrick ruffled the kid’s blond head and got a smile in return. That day he made up his mind. His father, Karen, and Charles actually were psychic and for some odd reason he felt that these wise people had made his life a better place somehow.

Here he was some twenty some odd years later back at the Xavier gate, when he noticed that the sign had changed yet again. This time it was larger to fit all of what it had to say. “Xavier Institute for Higher Learning.” He smiled to himself. Charles was opening his doors to the youth of tomorrow. He could imagine the young minds that would be shaped behind those doors. Patrick knew that those doors would accept any student that needed to learn. He couldn’t wait to go home and tell his wife. He laughed at that idea. She probably already knew.





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