Jonathan

(Part 1) [This week's "As the Pegasus Flies"] Jonathan showed up a half hour early for his interview. He allowed himself extra time in case he got lost; if he didn't get lost then he'd just use the extra time to have a look around and absorb the atmosphere of the legendary Reader's Digest grounds and building. The place was amazing! The huge brick building was magnificent—a testament to the iconic brand name of Reader's Digest (some things you could always count on, Jonathan thought, Coca Cola never changing its recipe, and Reader's Digest never changing its name). And to think, this is where it all happened. On a daily basis, no less. Jonathan had wanted to be a part of this for as long as he could remember; he finally secured an interview through the friend of a friend who worked here, and he wanted to ace it. He had all his clippings with him, packed tight into his portfolio. He had been building up his writing resume over the years, mostly freelance, but some staff work, too, on the local newspaper in his hometown of Mt. Vernon. He was ready. He took a deep breath and approached the woman behind the desk. She quickly slipped something into the bottom drawer of her desk (her flask, of course), then said. "How may I help you?" "Hello, Ethel," Jonathan said, reading her nameplate. "I have an appointment with Mr. ________, the managing editor of the magazine. My name is Jonathan ________." "Hold on a minute please," Ethel said, picking up the phone. "Yes, a Jonathan ________ is here to see you. Okay, I'll send him in."

(Part 2) Ethel hung up the phone and said, "He's ready to see you." "Great! Thank you. How do I get there?" Ethel stood and pointed as she spoke. "What you want to do is go through this door right here near the funky chair. Then you'll come out this door here." She pointed to the left. "Then you'll be right back here and you'll want to go down this hall right behind me, past the first door and in the second. Which will lead you right back here, on the right near the funky chair again." Jonathan wasn't sure if she was pulling his leg, but he tried to stay with her, held a wary smile on his face. He repeated the directions back to her. "Then what?" he asked. "Well then," Ethel said, "you sit in the chair and wait for Mr. ________ to come and get you." Jonathan smiled again to let her know he was in on the joke. When she didn't crack a smile, he figured she wasn't joking. "Uh, okay. Thanks," he said. He proceeded through the first door. As soon as he was gone, Ethel picked up the phone and called Mr. ________. "It's me. We got a live one!" she said, then returned the phone to its cradle. Jonathan passed her desk twice, then settled into the chair and waited. He was getting nervous, and checked his watch several times, switched his portfolio from hand to hand, felt a bead of sweat trickle down his forehead. When Mr. ________ finally opened the very door near the chair and stepped out into the hall, Jonathan bolted upright as if a fire alarm had sounded. "Come right this way," Mr. ________ said to Jonathan, draping an arm around his shoulder to guide him in the right direction. "The good news is you passed the first test."

(Part 3) They walked down a carpeted hallway that was adorned with intricate crown molding, antique furniture, and expensive, original paintings. This was one classy joint! No wonder it had taken Jonathan so many years to even get an interview; probably no one ever left the company! Bonuses, surprise days off, company outings, and free turkeys at Thanksgiving. Who'd want to give that up? Jonathan followed Mr. ________ into his office, who said, "Have a seat." Jonathan couldn't believe that someone could work in an office that was so fancy. Leather armchairs, an enormous oak desk, curtains on the windows, a fireplace! This room was nicer than Jonathan's apartment—by far. In fact, he would live here instead if he could. He squinted at the painting on the left wall, then nearly fainted. Yup, it was an original Van Gogh. It boggled his mind, when he really stopped to think about it, that publishing short little articles, mostly condensed from other sources, could become such a money maker. Those Wallaces really knew what they were doing! And if some unforeseen thing happened fifty years from now and people forgot how to read, well then the company still had this amazing nest egg of paintings to keep everyone rolling in the dough for centuries to come. Jonathan hadn't even gotten the job yet, but he saw his whole future laid out in front of him: a big house in Scarsdale, a beautiful wife, 2.5 kids, a new car every two years, a fat pension. Retirement in Miami. It was so close, he could taste it! He just needed to ace this interview. "So, tell me a little about yourself," Mr. ________ said. "Well, I," Jonathan started. Then he fell to his knees and hobbled over to Mr. ________. Grabbing his legs he said, "Please, you have to give me this job. I'll do anything! I can start right away! When do I get to see the pegasus? I hear it has magical powers. Can I pet it? Can I? Please!" Mr. ________ smiled, nodded his head. He always loved the enthusiastic interviewees.

(Part 4) [The conclusion to this week's "As the Pegasus Flies"] Jonathan holds his soup bowl with unsteady hands. This isn't good. The server always gives him a little less when his hands shake so much, so it won't spill on the walk to the table. Jonathan wills his hands not to shake. When he gets up to the front of the line his hands remain steady long enough for the man with the ladle to fill the bowl up to the top. Slow even steps get him to the table, where he sits and begins to eat. Thank god for these soup kitchens. He thinks back to his days at Reader's Digest. The glory days—theirs and his. He had a nice house for a while. A wife too. She eventually left. The kids, they never came. The pension came and left. He takes a sip of soup. A little salty for his taste, but beggars can't be choosers. He thinks of that Van Gogh painting from all those years ago. Where is it now? Who owns it? A museum, probably. Maybe he could find out which one and go and gaze upon it one more time before he dies. Jonathan thinks these type of thoughts as he eats, mops up the remaining soup with a slightly stale piece of Italian bread. He feels sleepy, but stands, heads back out into streets of the city. There is only one door in which to exit; he thinks of all those doors that were once open to him when he was a young man. The air outside is bitterly cold, awakening him like a jolt of caffeine. He pulls his tattered overcoat tight around his throat, the warmth of the soup already gone. He makes his way slowly to nowhere in particular, his eyes on the cloudy sky, hoping to see the pegasus once more, too, before he dies.