The Man With The Glass Heart

Chapter 2

The next morning, I threw my knapsack over my shoulder and held out my hand to the man with the glass heart. We had already been up an hour and had shared coffee and small talk over breakfast. Since I hadn't lurched forward or tumbled into the wheelbarrow that entire time, I assumed that I was in his good graces.

Good graces are a nice atmosphere for goodbyes, and I wasn't about to press my luck.

"So long," I said.

He took my hand.

His hand was warm. His handshake was strong and reassuring. I don't know what I needed reassurance about, but it was nice to have it on call. Just in case. I was a little bit reluctant to release his hand. Acquisitive nature, I guess.

But I did.

"Which direction are you going?" Benjamin Pencil asked.

"North," I replied.

He nodded and bent down to check the tension in the silver spokes on the wheels of his wheelbarrow.

"I'm going north, too."

My eyes dropped to the wheelbarrow. There was a flake of soot on the blue velvet cushion under his glass heart. I reached out to brush it aside. Benjamin saw my hand move. He quickly grabbed it, stopped it, and pushed it away.

"No," he said. But there was no animosity in his voice. Not then, or when he said, "Why are you going north? There aren't any mountains there."

"Oh, yes there are."

I saw a stick lying in the grass nearby, snatched it up, and brought it back to where we had been standing. I began to scratch a map in the dirt.

"The mountains are here, about three days from where we are now. We go north this far. Turn east at the river. Walk one more day. And we're there."

Benjamin stared at the map. He looked puzzled. He shook his head and murmured, "So close."

I nodded. "If we continue along this road, we should be seeing them by mid-afternoon today. Sunset at the latest."

"But I've been up and down this road hundreds of times, and I never saw-"

"Well, they're there." I dropped the point of my stick to an intersection on my diagram about two days away. "I can walk with you this far."

Benjamin didn't say a word.

I looked up. He was frowning.

No fool I. I went on cautiously, ""I can walk with you, that is, if you want me to. But if you'd rather..."

I let the sentence dangle in the wind. No reason to make it easy for him.

Finally, he said, "It's not that. It's just..."

"Spit it out, Benjamin Pencil."

"Well," he hesitated. "You're so ... so ... I don't want to throw it in your face, but yesterday, you almost ... you ... I..." He looked hopelessly betwixt and between. Half wanting to travel north with me and half terrified that if he did so, it would ultimately involve a head-on collision with his glass heart. Benjamin's befuddlement succeeded in easing the tension from his blue eyes, and they looked, for a moment, like lovely opal pools.

Suddenly, I liked Benjamin Pencil very much.

"Take it easy," I said solemnly. And for the second time since I had known him, I assured him, "and don't worry. I won't break your heart."