Before Mitch got inside the shelter but after he had crossed the street, two guys from a fraternity approached him. Their names were Ethan and Trey but they never introduced themselves. Ethan wore a shirt with a slightly aggressive message printed on it. He also had cargo shorts and a backward baseball cap. Describing Trey would be redundant.
-Excuse me sir, one of them said to Mitch. My fraternity brother and I have a wager. Are you that fellow from the video we watched on the Internet?
-Yes.
-Really?
-Yes.
The one turned to the other. One of them lost twenty bucks that the other gained. Immediately after the money exchange, Mitch couldn’t remember which was which and hoped it didn’t matter. He couldn’t mentally separate the guys and only heard them speak as one, perpetually re-affirming voice.
-Did you guys want like, an autograph?
-No. Why would we want your autograph? I’m afraid nobody knows your name.
-It’s Mitch.
-Even so, I don’t see the value in marking up my shirt. Or my hat.
-But then you can prove you met me.
-I’m not particularly afraid that people won’t believe us. Me either. But thank you. We enjoy your work. Yes, very much so.
The frat guys then hopped onto their tandem bike and rode off. Feeling slightly devalued for the second time in a matter of minutes, Mitch stood on the sidewalk as if on top of a mountain. A success that nobody could see or believe. Being famous kind of sucks, he thought. But only thinking you’re famous sucks even more. It was never Mitch’s goal to be famous, but he had kind of expected, and accepted, it. At this point there wasn’t really anything to do beside light up a bowl. Coast was clear.
After clearing his head outside, Mitch made sure he was at the right place. It was a soup kitchen but was probably called something else. Something less 1890s. But unlike the 1890s, the soup kitchen served more than soup and gave some people a place to sleep, albeit temporarily. The nonprofit shelter was the size of a basketball court and actually had basketball goals that could be lowered when after-school programs occupied the place. Along one wall, a group of volunteers served food. After taking some food, the hungry people would sit at tables not unlike a school cafeteria.
Mitch entered the building with an unfocused ambition to prove he could find a president just as fast as anybody, perhaps even faster. He was also a little hungry and decided that after finding and returning an American president or two back to the museum, he would reward himself to a big burrito over at Big Burrito Place on 4th street. Probably a chicken burrito. It’d be during their busy time though. Wait. There at the table! That’s a president.
The man, maybe in his mid-forties, had grungy facial hair and a trucker baseball cap, obscuring his face. But the black suit jacket had might as well have been a neon sign nametag. Or at least a neon sign, as Mitch still couldn’t tell some of these presidents apart. The man was reading a mangled book that had been torn in half at some point. The reader didn’t know--or didn’t care--that he would never know the second half of the story. Maybe, thought Mitch, the book reader guy had the second half of the book somewhere, but that didn’t seem likely. Nor was it true.
Mitch pulled out a chair at the table across from the dignified reader and sat down. The man put down his book at looked at Mitch with eyes that had seen more than anybody in their right mind could imagine.
-Hello. I’m Mitch. Are you a president?
-Of course I am. I am President Tatarko. Or General Tatarko. Or President Tatarko.
-Did you come from the museum?
-I come from a distant war of another time. Another world. Not this one. Another.
Mitch sat back in his seat, with a glimmer of doubt emerging in his mind. He pulled out his cell phone. President Tatarko jerked back in horror. Didn’t Mitch know cordless phones are dooming humanity because the aliens can hear your conversations in space? In space. Outerspace. Tatarko kept reminding him of this fact but Mitch was skeptical. Admittedly, Mitch didn’t know much about historical presidents or aliens but he was beginning to suspect this president was an impostor. Or crazy.
Ignoring the president’s insight on alien eavesdropping, Mitch called Seph.
-Mitch? Where the hell are you?
-Seph, was there a President Tatarko?
-What?
-I found a president but his name is Tatarko. I don’t remember learning about him.
-Mitch, think about it.
-Think about what?
-What does he look like?
Mitch looked at the man from his tennis shoes to his hockey kneepads to his T-shirt promoting the 1996 Olympics.
-Well, he’s wearing a fancy black jacket.
-There was no President Tatarko.
-What if he’s a president from the future?
-Mitch, please. That would be ridiculous.
-I suppose you’re right.
-Where are you?
Mitch closed his cell phone before hearing Seph’s last question and put it back in his pocket. He then told President Tatarko that Seph doesn’t believe he’s a president. President Tatarko took this news quietly.
-I’m sorry Mr. President.
-It’s okay. It’s okay.
-Do you know any presidents?
-Of course I do. But it’s top secret information. Top secret.
-What’s top secret information?
-That this jacket came from another president. We made a top secret deal.
-Where is he?
-Over there. That’s him. He’s over there. That’s him.
Mitch looked over in the corner. A man with a big nose and crushed in face sat on the ground with his back to the wall. He was wearing a black vest that would have matched competently with President Tatarko’s jacket. Mitch then noticed this man in the corner was holding something wrapped in a T-shirt. Mitch approached this new crazy man who had been illiterate well into adulthood.
-Get away from me.
-My name is Mitch. What’s your name?
-Andrew.
Andrew, like Tatarko, said he was a president but, unlike Tatarko, claimed to be the president. He gave Mitch a little bit of his life story, though a lot of it dealt with him being confused over the last couple of days. He also told Mitch that Tatarko was just some lunatic. Andrew, though, smelled like whiskey. And he was missing a shoe. Mitch felt another inclination of suspicion and redialed Seph.
-Mitch, where the hell are you?
-The homeless shelter. And I might have found another president.
-A president or another crazy guy?
-No. I mean, maybe. Maybe both.
-We’re with Snow and Todd and will be there as soon as possible.
-But Seph, I need to know.
-Know what?
-Was Andrew Johnson one of America’s presidents?
-Yes.
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