150 The Meadow day after day, week after week, year after year. I wonder if I am fated to become like him. A novelty caught up in a routine so familiar that people no longer notice. I deliberately raise my head into the wind and cover it with the gray hood. I purse my lips, instinctively protecting my throat from the freezing onslaught. One of security’s Green Wasps comes up and pulls in front of me to block my way. The Popeye-sized forearm propped on the steering wheel of the Wasp belongs to Paul Blocker. From his thick neck his head nods for me to get inside. “You’re heading to Reverend Kruger’s Christmas Eve service?” “Yes, sir,” I answer as I climb in. “You can, sir, my boss. Don’t, sir, me. Just answer: ‘Yes, that’s where I’m going, Paul.’” “Yes, that’s where I’m going… Paul.” “You sang the Anthem well today, Villalobos,” he says. “Thank you… Paul,” I answer. I stare over at him as he slows the Jeep to a crawl. The Green Wasp comes to a dead stop in front of the kitchen. He pushes a slight smile at me as I open the door “Oh… Villalobos,” he says, stopping my escape just as I have raised my foot to walk away. “Michael Villalobos,” my voice flatly corrects him. “Tell that padre friend of yours that he better end his service and merry-making no later than ten o’clock. He’s lucky the boss lets him in here at all.” I stand there, holding the door open, the wind blowing against my neck and shoulders. “I’ll tell Reverend Kruger that you said….” “Not, ‘I said. The boss said, Villalobos. Mathew Cleary the Third. Understand!” “It’s Villalobos. Michael Villalobos.” “Christ, man! Just give him the message and tell him it’s
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