The Strange Tale of Stanley Russ

Because I went to bed so early yesterday, I ended up waking up around six in the morning.

I couldn't remember the last time I had woken up so early.

Stretching my legs and slowly getting out of bed, I made my way to the door but then turned back around to look at my dresser next to my bed.

Sitting against the mirror on my dresser was a picture of my high school graduation.

I decided to pick it up and take a look at it.

There I was, standing with my peers, a sad and forced smile on my face.

I always hated seeing pictures of myself. I often felt out of place looking at a picture of myself among other people, as if I were an anomaly, an alien—something not human, or something that shouldn't exist.

This feeling was absent when looking at just an image of myself, but when I was surrounded by others, it was there. And it unsettled me.

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After I fed myself, I decided to venture to the arcade again to play some more pinball.

Once I arrived and bought my coins, I went to the first machine I saw and began playing.

Pinball is all about controlling chaos—that's the fun thing I like about it. It's almost philosophical if you think deeply about it.

Life can feel that way at times, like a game of pinball. My hands are the two flippers at the bottom, life is the ball, and I'm trying everything in my power to not let life slip through my fingers, despite how chaotic things get.

After I lost all my chances in the game, I heard a familiar voice from my side: "Wow, just as amazing as last time."

I turned to look to my right, and there stood Wendy, dressed in the same attire as yesterday.

I couldn't recall ever feeling anyone approach me or even notice them.

"Hey, Wendy. Still not in school?"

"I wish you would stop bringing that up. I told you I graduated," she said, annoyed.

"Did you want to take a turn?" I asked her.

But she shook her head. "No, that's fine. But I did want to know if you were free by any chance."

"Sure."

"Good. I'm starving."

"What do you want me to do about it?"

"Didn't your parents ever teach you to take care of women?"

"I'm not obligated to feed strangers."

"How harsh, Mr. Pinball. I thought we were friends."

"Mr. Pinball? I thought I gave you my name."

"You did."

"So, why the nickname?"

"I told you I see us as friends. It's a term of endearment."

"Couldn't you think of a different name?"

"Well, it's simple math, Mr. Pinball. You're a man, who's good at pinball, who I met at an arcade playing pinball. 'Mr.' is a term used to describe a male, which you are, and pinball is what you're good at. Man plus good pinball skills equals Mr. Pinball."

"Oh, shut up already."

She giggled and smiled.

She had dimples when she smiled, and she was already cute, but those dimples made her increasingly more beautiful. It was that smile that warmed my heart and made me decide to take her out to eat.

"Where do you want to eat?" I asked her.

She opened her eyes in surprise, blinking a few times. "Wait, what's this? Really? You're going to take me out to eat? What brought this on? Are you after my body?!"

"First of all, don't shout things like that in public. Second of all, I'm not that much of a scumbag. I have a girlfriend, after all."

"People cheat all the time."

"Well, I'm not one of those people," I sighed. "Back to the original question: What do you want?"

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I ended up taking her to IHOP, where I ordered an omelet and she ordered a simple meal of pancakes.

As we waited for our food, we engaged in some conversation.

"Do you believe in ghosts, Mr. Pinball?"

"Eh, why do you ask?"

She didn't respond directly, just looked at me, and I gave in.

"Well, I don't know exactly. It's not that I don't believe in the supernatural. I'm sure there's more to this world than we know. But often, when I hear a supernatural claim, I'm skeptical and assume there's a natural explanation for it, which is often the case. So whenever I hear that someone has encountered a ghost or whatever, I always assume it's something else."

"Oh," she said, taking a sip of her Coke. "Well, I think they exist."

"Oh, yeah? Why's that?"

She took another sip of her Coke. "Just a hunch."

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When our food arrived, I was hardly able to eat at all.

Both of our meals came at the same time. I said a quick prayer, but right as I finished, Wendy was devouring her pancakes like she hadn't eaten in years.

The shock I felt at seeing a woman eat this way was beyond me.

Not that I had any expectations for how women should behave, but I had just never seen this before.

She made a mess on the table and on her face, and halfway through, she forgot she had utensils.

After eating all the pancakes, she downed her Coke and then belched loudly, leaning back in her seat with a satisfied sigh.

I closed my eyes to recollect myself.

And then, through my closed eyelids, I heard, "Are you gonna eat that?"

I shook my head. It was all I could muster.