Beginning her usual late afternoon walk, 69-year-old Lievy started down a sidewalk in her well-to-do neighborhood. Smartly dressed in a light blue tailored pantsuit, a pink silk blouse, gold-rimmed sunglasses and, most striking, a wide-brimmed white hat—a pricey fedora with a cardinal’s red feather protruding from its band, the tall, distinguished woman proudly complemented her outfit with eye-catching jewelry.
Soon arriving at a park she’d frequented since retiring six months ago due to health concerns, Lievy continued to hold chin high and shoulders upright as she headed for her usual destination—an isolated bench placed near the wooded reserve bordering the grounds.
This day, though, wouldn’t be usual. Seconds after leaving the paved trail that wound through the park, she was unexpectedly brought to a halt by an unfamiliar youngster rushing toward her.
“Ma’am, ma’am, I need help!” pleaded the girl, no more than 10.
Looks like a little scammer is headed my way, thought a cynical Lievy before testily answering. “What do you want?”
The girl stammered an urgent reply. “There’s, there’s an abandoned frightened baby rabbit crouched, crouched not far from here. I tried to shoo it toward the woods, but it, but it just kept shivering without budging. When I tried to gently pick it up, it squealed as if it thought I, I wanted to hurt it. Please help!”
Before answering the girl, Lievy looked up while muttering to herself. “You’re running out of chances,” she warned, urging herself to be helpful. But rather than heed her own advice, Lievy again became annoyed. “Just leave it alone. It’ll make it’s way home,” she snapped.
The youngster shared what she believed to be a frightening possibility. “Someone is sure to soon, to soon bring her pet to the park. A dog will hurt it! Please, please let me use your hat to scoop the bunny and take it, take it to a safe place. I promise to bring the hat back!”
Peeved by the request, Lievy spoke sternly as she looked down at the youngster. “I’m not giving you an expensive hat to get dirty or, worse yet, to run off with.”
“Please, please come with me and see the bunny for yourself!” implored the girl.
“You better start running home for a hat, because you’re not getting mine,” bristled Lievy.
Looking around to see who else she might approach for help, the girl witnessed what she had tried hard to prevent: a dog being walked near the baby rabbit. “Pull your dog back!” she franticly shouted, realizing the owner’s long leash allowed the dog to wander within striking range of the bunny.
The girl’s attempt to stave off an attack was too late. Covering eyes with hands as a merciless assault began, she soon dropped her head and wept.
Willing to bear the girl’s tears for only a few seconds, Lievy offered some parting advice before walking away. “The rabbit wouldn’t have faired any better in the wild. You’ve got to toughen up.”
Finally making it to the bench she preferred—a private spot shaded during the day by tall fur trees and illuminated at night by an overhanging steel lamp, Lievy sat. She then drew hands down face as if attempting to wipe off the lingering agitation. That girl has ruined my morning, she privately complained.
Suddenly struck by a wilting sensation—one that caused arms and legs to droop, Lievy’s distress worsened. Unable to keep head from slumping, she put sunglasses in a jacket pocket, then battled to keep eyes from closing. Don’t shut your eyes, she told herself, sensing that doing so would mean surrender. Overcome by a surge of fright, Lievy flopped onto her side. A moment later, she fell still as eyelids shut.
Awakening to what appeared to be nightfall, Lievy blinked to focus as she sat up and glanced overhead at the nearby lamp’s glow. Then, while looking straight ahead, she noticed she wasn’t alone. Sitting on a tattered aluminum beach chair about 10 feet from her was an old man.
After closing, then massaging eyelids, Lievy stood to pivot. To her amazement, all but the 15-foot-wide sphere of light occupied by her and the stranger was a black oblivion.
“I hope my presence isn’t alarming,” cordially said the frail appearing fellow.
Always wanting to display composure, Lievy spoke with confidence. “Though having someone arrive while you’ll napping is a bit disconcerting, I expect to find a member of the public in a public park. Do you have the time?”
Not surprised by Lievy’s reply, the fellow clutched knees while sliding to the edge of his seat. “I don’t have a time piece.”
Anxious to have the surrounding darkness explained, Lievy hesitantly approached the edge of the lit area, then leaned her upper body beyond it, only to discover what it was like to be blind. Turning away from the brief, but unsettling, loss of sight, she began pacing back and forth. “Something must have happened to my eyes while I was napping! When I stuck my head outside the lamp’s light, it was as though my eyes were shut,” she complained.
“I can’t see any better than you,” assured the man.
While poking her head into the darkness at other locations, Lievy expressed frustration. “If our eyes are OK, something else must not be OK!”
“Things will make sense before long,” calmly answered the old man.
“What’s that supposed to mean, and who are you?” snarled Lievy.
“It means things will clear up. . . . My name is Olt,” answered the fellow.
“O-l-t,” spelled Lievy as she returned to the bench and sat.
“Yes,” said Olt.
“Though an odd name, it sounds vaguely familiar. . . . Aren’t you at least a little aggravated?” asked Lievy.
“No, but I understand why you might be upset. It’s not what you expected,” sympathized Olt.
“That’s for sure. What did you expect?” asked Lievy.
Olt’s response was odd. “I’m just a scruffy fellow with a job to do,” he offered.
“Hmmm,” mumbled Lievy while taking time to give Olt a thorough once-over. Dressed in a worn plaid flannel shirt and frayed corduroy pants, the balding, unshaven elder was, in Lievy’s eyes, a bum.
Sure gaining Lievy’s regard would be difficult, Olt was candid. “Given your snazzy getup, my raggedy one must suggest you’re in the presence of someone down-and-out,” he commented.
Lievy wasn’t interested in Olt’s assumption. “There must be a blackout—likely a problem at a power station,” she declared.
“I’m guessing we came through an invisible portal of sorts,” offered Olt with a brief giggle.
“Is that supposed to be amusing?” grumbled Lievy as she placed her hat on the bench, then ran hands through the length of her routinely retouched long blond hair.
“I can see how my guess would seem smart-alecky,” politely replied Olt. “The truth is I only know what you know. As I said, I’m just a frowzy fellow with a job to do,” noted.
“Of course, my blackout theory doesn’t explain why the lamp over us is lit,” admitted Lievy as she stood to again investigate the perimeter of the lit circle.
“I have another explanation—one that what leave most awestruck,” said Olt.
Badly wanting the mystifying captivity in which she found herself explained, Lievy wrapped arms around chest as she returned to the bench and sat. “I’m listening,” she assured.
“The park has vanished,” somberly explained Olt as he turned palms upward.
A smug Lievy hid the fact she was unnerved. “It’s all clear to me now: We’re on an extraterrestrial spacecraft, right?” she joked while gripping the underside of the bench.
“I suspect something even more fantastic is underway,” said Olt with a grin.
Feeling as though she and Olt were cellmates of sorts, Lievy blurted another explanation for what was happening. “Maybe I badly banged my head when I fell back. I could be in a coma,” she guessed as she felt the rear of her head.
“I don’t think you’ll find a lump,” replied Olt.
Still baffled by Olt’s chipper composure, Lievy sprung to her feet, then wandered while looking up. “I remember feeling weary before I fell asleep.”
“Remembering your weariness should be helpful,” encouraged Olt.
Lievy came to a stop, then glared at Olt. “You’re talking as though you know something I don’t know. . . . My guess is you’re also clueless,” she replied.
“Though your guess is understandable, Neither one of is clueless,” replied Olt.
“You’re not making sense,” fussed Lievy.
So far, my hints don’t seem to be helpful, thought Olt before saying something he suspected Lievy would find not only vague but also irritating. “I’m hoping that again mentioning your weariness will make my job easier.”
Sure she was getting the run around, Lievy stepped closer to Olt to flash anger. “You’re a bunch of crazy bunk!”
Olt leaned back while scratching his head.
Turning away from Olt, Lievy briefly stood motionless, then trudged to the bench while pressing hands against forehead. “I fell limp and fearful, then struggled to keep my eyes open. . . .The next thing I knew, I was here. . . . I must have. . .”
“You must have what?” asked Olt.
Following a drawn out silence, Lievy managed to murmur what she’d resisted saying. “I’ve died. . . . I must have died.”
“I couldn’t make out what you said,” fibbed Olt, trying to help Lievy confirm her insight.
Lievy flopped onto the bench, then raised her voice a notch. “I’ve died.”
“That’s really good news, right?” excitedly posed Olt as he rested elbows on thighs, then dropped chin into hands.
Somewhat numb, Lievy squinted befuddlement. “Huh. . . . How can dying be good news?”
Olt remained upbeat. “You’re kidding me, right? How can knowing you haven’t been thrust into nothingness after crocking not be the best possible news anyone could hear?” he cheerfully asked with a chuckle.
“Look around,” answered Lievy as she stood. “This is a gloom and doom tomb. . . . I’ll agree that this purgatory is better than nothingness if there’s a way out.”
Time for some explaining, thought Olt. “Though I can’t be sure, I’d say the portal I mentioned earlier surrounds us. I’m guessing that once you decide it’s time to move on, you just need to leave the light. . . . It sounds odd because you’ve heard there’d be a light to approach. That’s not the case, at least not for you. It seems that before you get to see where you’re going, you must gather the courage to traipse and grope through a stretch of darkness!”
“I’m listening to a lunatic,” frowned Lievy as she stepped closer to Olt with hands on hips.
Olt cupped an elbow in a palm, then tapped fingertips against a cheek.
In an attempt to disavow she had died, Lievy further demeaned Olt. “I know what you’re up to. You’re a sicko who’s trying to drag me into his delusional thinking.”
“Uh-oh, we’re way off track,” said Olt as he rubbed his chin, then lifted shoulders while flopping head from side to side. He then stood and moved to the back of his chair, where he clutched the top of the backrest. “Given you seem sure my intent is wicked, I think it’s time to put a rabbit into a hat,” he replied, hoping to prompt Lievy to recall the incident in the park with the girl.
Mentioning the unfortunate event caused Lievy to again bemoan her fate. “I suppose someone who’s been as self-serving as I’ve been, should be thrilled to have made it to purgatory!”
“Your abrupt willingness to focus on you rather than me could be a helpful turnabout. You see, proving I’m not a psycho evildoer would be a tedious detour. . . . Let’s delve into what’s good about what you just said,” suggested Olt.
“What are you talking about?” reluctantly asked Lievy.
“Your purgatory theory. It’s a line of thinking that should make it easier for me to say more about what I believe to be our actual whereabouts,” answered Olt.
Irked, Lievy kneaded a fist into a palm. “I’m waiting!”
“I suspect we’re in-between,?” said Olt with a smile. “You’ve thought about the possibility of an We must be experiencing a brief intermission of sorts—a pause that links lives, right?” noted Olt.
Lievy drooped shoulders as she returned to the bench. Then, after sitting, she took a moment to consider what Olt had said.
Olt, in turn, continued to try to put the moment at hand in perspective. “No doubt some bamboozling wonderment is usual before people get down to business,” he matter-of-factly suggested.
“What business is that?” asked Lievy while folding arms and leaning back.
“Getting off on the right foot when the next go-around starts,” answered Olt.
Lievy rubbed forehead with fingertips. “Are you saying I’ve been given a chance to prep a bit for another life?” she asked, showing a willingness to take Olt seriously.
“An astonishingly opportunity, is it not?” posed Olt.
“So how do I begin?” asked Lievy. “Do I start drudging up regrettable screw-ups?”
Realizing he was about to say something that wouldn’t be easy for Lievy to hear, Olt did his best to be gentle. “As I see it, having you rehash old mistakes you’d see as disgraceful would be a punishing stroll down memory lane that would leave us both disheartened and bewildered. . . . So, I suggest we only focus on your last boo-boo.”
Though Lievy knew what Olt was taking about, her scrunched face communicated she was hesitant.
Despite knowing he would be irking Lievy, Olt persisted. “Whaddaya say?”
Lievy took a deep breath, then folded arms. “Your put-a-rabbit-into-a-hat comment didn’t fall on deaf ears. . . . I suppose I should have given that do-gooder girl my hat.”
Olt as he sauntered closer to Lievy while again tipping head sideways to stretch neck muscles. “Does your suppose mean you’re willing to dig a bit deeper?” he asked.
Lievy looked away from Olt before opening up. “I’m not OK with the hurt the girl suffered. . . . I’m especially not OK that I disregarded her good intentions by coldly telling her to grow up,” she disclosed.
“You’re making some darn good progress, I’d say,” complimented Olt as he sat next to Lievy, then picked up and put on the fedora.
“Assuming the girl was a thief out to scam me was a lame excuse for treating her badly,” confessed Lievy.
“You told her the hat was expensive,” pressed Olt.
Lievy sensed she was being boxed in. “What things cost matters.”
“Isn’t it true that having the hat ruined or stolen was a piddling for you to endure?” questioned Olt.
“My wealth isn’t the point!” growled Lievy.
Watch out for a setback, thought Olt as he squeezed the back of his neck with both hands, then tugged the hat down to eyebrows.
Fed up, Lievy stood and erupted. “I’m feeling jerked around! Just spew what you’re getting at!”
Olt pushed the brim upward so that he could look into Lievy eyes. “OK. . . . For a moment in time, your hat was priceless to the girl, right?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah!” angrily said Lievy while moving further away from Olt. “I get it! A kid’s fanciful notions are fragile! How about this: Sooner or later, reality kicks-in. . . . Giving people handouts keeps them weak!”
Believing they were getting somewhere, Olt followed up. “As you she it, you were right not to give the girl your hat because she hadn’t earned it.”
Now fuming, Lievy approached the edge of the lit area, where she stood with fists clenched. “That’s right! Barring a lucky break, such as getting tutored by someone like me, the kid’s likely on tract to be yet another sponger!”
“Just like your sister,” incited Olt, feeling it was make or break time.
Though momentarily puzzled by Olt’s knowledge of her sister, Lievy quickly expressed disgust. “You bet! She whined about not having enough her whole life, but would never do what it takes to get enough!” she charged.
Still wearing the fedora, Olt stood up and crept closer to Lievy. “While you made millions selling day and night, she had the gall to scrape by delivering meals to shut-ins,” he pointed out.
“That I fed countless with the jobs I provided doesn’t rate in your eyes either, does it. To you, I’m just another exploiter who took an unfair share. To you, I’m the real sponger, right!” railed Lievy. Feeling taunted, she stomped to Olt, then yanked her hat off his head.
“You said to spew what I was getting at,” recalled an unruffled Olt.
After flinging the hat onto the bench, Lievy anchored hands on hips, then released a barrage of belittlement. “You’re an ugly rag-picker slob who can’t make it in the real world! You’ve been pretending to be some sort of sage, but you haven’t fooled me! You’re nothing but a smelly scrounging shirker!” she contended.
“You ought to know; after all, you created me!” noted Olt as he folded arms.
“You’re pathetic!” chided Lievy while turning, then rushing toward the darkness.
Fearful that Lievy would impulsively bolt into the darkness, Olt spoke with authority for the first time. “Don’t leave!”
Stopping just before exiting the lit area, a frustrated and fearful Lievy howled in agony. “Your in-between is a freaking cage and I’m a freaking trapped animal!”
Olt remained intense. “Leaving now would be a colossal mistake! You’re on the verge of making the most of your in-between time.”
After taking a deep breath, Lievy moved to and sat on the beach chair, where she covered face with hands.
“That was a close call. . . . I’m not done working you over,” chuckled Olt as he eased within a few feet of Lievy.
“Ha, ha, very amusing,” whimpered Lievy, continuing to hide her face.
“Keep in mind I’m just following orders,” contended Olt.
“My orders, right?” noted Lievy.
“Yes. Noting you’re in charge is an excellent show of progress,” praised Olt before returning to what he knew Lievy wanted to avoid. “Can we talk more about our featured piece of evidence?”
Lievy lifted palms high, then slapped thighs as she expanded chest in order to exhale defeat. “You want to talk more about the hat.”
“I believe it’s the efficient way to go,” said Olt.
Lievy stood, then sauntered to the bench, where she removed her jewelry in order to drop the items into the fedora’s crown. “The hat’s value just skyrocketed,” she declared before gripping the brim and flinging the hat into darkness. “It’s vanished without so much as a faint thud,” she pointed out.
“At the risk of upsetting you further, the hat’s value comes from what it represents,” informed Olt.
“There’s no pleasing you, is there?” pouted Lievy as she returned to the beach chair. “There’s no do-overs and no making-things-right!” she declared as she sat.
“But there are start-overs and, most fortunate, opportunities to show greater kindness and fairness,” insisted Olt, shuffling to the bench. “Can we talk more about the hat?” he again asked.
“What’s left to say about it?” hedged Lievy.
Find the right words, Olt told himself as he sat. “Do you agree that for the girl the hat was briefly priceless?”
Lievy squirmed as she recalled the girl’s desperation. “I suppose that was so,” she reluctantly answered.
Olt rose, then stuck hands in pockets as he stepped toward Lievy with a very important question. “When it briefly crossed your mind to let the girl use the hat, what value did the hat hold for you?”
Too tired to remain contentious, Lievy requested help. “Please answer for me.”
She’s ready, thought Olt. “Wasn’t the hat also priceless to you for a brief moment?”
Lievy closed eyes and concentrated.
“Take whatever time you need to answer,” advised Olt.
Keeping eyes shut, Lievy recalled what had taken place. After a long pensive moment, she slid from the chair onto knees with eyes watering. Eventually looking up at Olt, she revealed what she’d hidden. “I remember telling myself that I was running out of chances.” Overwhelmed by the recollection, Lievy let tears flow.
Showing respect for the humility Lievy displayed, Olt bowed his head.
Lievy then made a sobbing confession. “Instead of evolving a bit, I did what I’d spent a lifetime doing. . . . I trusted arrogance,” she owned before standing, then slogging to the edge of the lit space. “Now what?” she asked.
“Now, we hope we’ve bolstered your good-intention-inclination enough to have it show up in our next life,” summed up Olt. “Though a flicker of hope is likely all we leave here with, I believe your in-between effort is a reason to be upbeat. . . . I like our chances of doing better next time.”
Lievy turned to Olt. “You were the voice reminding me that I was running out of chances, weren’t you?”
Olt smiled. “Yep. And we both know how quickly I was put in my place. . . . Once an actual life starts, it seems I get namby-pamby,” he admitted.
Realizing how often she’d stifled Olt, Lievy was grateful. “Thanks for not pummeling me with a long list of blame and shame screw-ups,” she whimpered.
“Thank yourself for realizing that in-between is about learning, not condemning,” said Olt.
“Knowing I won’t be taking more than a smidgen of insight with me is scary. I don’t feel ready to leave,” shared Lievy.
“We both know the readiness we prefer isn’t possible. . . . We also both know we can’t remain in a small circle of light,” said Olt.
“It’s giddy-up-and-go time, isn’t it? . . . Before we leave, I want to apologize for the putdowns,” said Lievy.
“It took courage to create and battle someone like me—someone contrary to much of who you were,” noted Olt.
“I’m going to miss our face to face give-and take,” lamented Lievy.
“I’ll try to do a better job speaking up,” promised Olt, thought he knew his fate was in Lievy’s hands.
Just before they turned toward and stepped into the darkness, Lievy shared a wish. “Wherever we end up, I hope there are rabbits for me to put into a hat when the need arrives,” she told Olt, prompting both to smile warmly.
A few seconds later, they exited the dimly lit sphere.
1. Why do people sometimes need to remind themselves to be nice?
2. Why doesn’t reminding ourselves to be kind or fair always prompt us to be kind or fair?
3. Why was Olt an unkempt fellow?
4. What did Olt mean when he told Lievy they both knew the readiness they preferred wasn’t possible?
5. At the end of the story, Lievy wished for the opportunity to put rabbits into a hat. Why?