The couple, a man with a ragged gray beard and a woman with sea green eyes, are discussing their lost son.
When they woke up this morning, their baby boy was gone. Missing. At first they thought he was stolen, kidnapped by some devious lunatic. But no, that wasn't the case- for when the man with the ragged gray beard (presumably the father) went to get a glass of milk from the fridge, he noticed a note. Written in perfect cursive, it was signed and dated by their son. Bruce B. McKale.
At their table, the man pulls out the note and reads it again to the woman.
I have business to attend to.
Sincerely,
Bruce B. McKale
It wasn't much, but it was enough. Short, precise, to the point. The father says he can't believe their son wrote the letter, seeing he was only a month old. The mother brings up the point that they never heard their son cry. In fact, she always thought he looked intelligent- like there was something more to him than just fat baby cheeks. He never even drooled. Then the father remembers the doctor, when he said it was strange that a baby could come out of the womb so developed, muscle-wise. The couple shakes their heads in disagreement. No, they say. It isn't possible for a baby to write a cursive letter and place it on the fridge. It had to be a kidnapping.
It wasn't much, but it was enough. Short, precise, to the point. The father says he can't believe their son wrote the letter, seeing he was only a month old. The mother brings up the point that they never heard their son cry. In fact, she always thought he looked intelligent- like there was something more to him than just fat baby cheeks. He never even drooled. Then the father remembers the doctor, when he said it was strange that a baby could come out of the womb so developed, muscle-wise. The couple shakes their heads in disagreement. No, they say. It isn't possible for a baby to write a cursive letter and place it on the fridge. It had to be a kidnapping.
Apparently they reported the situation to the police. The man reassures the woman that the detective will find their son, because the police are actively searches for this mysterious Bruce B. McKale.
I finish my soup and wipe my mouth with a napkin. I take one last drink from my glass, draining the water. The couple gets out of their seats, and the man drops a measly tip on the table as they leave.
Then I notice something- they left the letter. I step out from my booth, and grab it from off table. The name Bruce B. McKale seems to radiate off the page. Like the cursive was written in a third dimension. I pocket the letter.
I can't help but think to myself as I walk out the door.
Who is this Bruce B. McKale?
