Lovesick Salesman

CHAPTER ONE A very long time ago, when this morning's mud puddles were still vast oceans, and dragons prowled their shores, there lived a little boy named Irwin who wanted to be a hero. If you think he sounds a little too ambitious, you should remember that the young people of olden times felt more pressure to succeed than we do. Not only was history being made all around them, but the sense of limitations that prevents you and me from, say, turning into frogs or sleeping for hundreds of years hadn't been invented yet. Real people did those things, and even odder ones, every day, and the stories we call fairy tales were breaking news. So although children had more interesting career choices than we do, they also had a lot to live up to. The most popular celebrities of all were heroes, who walked the earth with mighty treads, slaying villains, righting wrongs, and setting hearts a-flutter. Every little boy hoped for a job in the field, but only the Heroic Academy could confer a license, and it was ruthlessly selective. Irwin planned to apply as soon as he was old enough-ten. Of course he knew the competition would be tough. All of his friends looked a lot more heroic than he did: lean and bronzed, with curly hair and satin capes that fluttered jauntily in the breeze. Irwin was simply too fond of candy to be lean, his skin wouldn't tan nor his hair curl, and his cape must have been cut wrong, because it just hung limp, even in strong wind. His demeanor, too, was less impressive than everybody else's. When his friends galloped across the hills, their jaws working with resolve and their steely eyes scanning the horizon, Irwin followed at a slower pace, chewing caramels. The one time he tried the most fashionable move of the day-leaping onto a rearing steed and galloping into the sunset-he wound up facedown in a blackberry bush. But he wasn't as troubled by these shortcomings as everybody else seemed to be, and he didn't imagine that they would make any difference to the Academy. As long as his heart was pure, how could it matter that he sometimes slipped out of his saddle or had sugar on his chin? None of the other boys could resist his silly sense of humor, or his generosity in sharing the candy his parents made in their shop. He'd even won over the most dashing boy in the entire kingdom, Seymour. Some of the others wondered jealously why Seymour didn't pick a best friend more like himself, a boy who would constantly try to outdo him and keep him on the top of his game. The truth was that although Seymour seemed to accomplish everything effortlessly, it took all of his strength to be so magnificent, and Irwin was the only person easygoing enough to help him forget the burden of his greatness. Seymour was so impressive that the Academy had already offered him a spot in the next freshman class. So naturally, as his friends' auditions approached, Seymour was much in demand as a strategic consultant. Irwin didn't ask him for advice, but Seymour couldn't bear the idea of going to school without his friend and stayed up all night developing an application routine for him anyway. He wrote it up on a parchment scroll and presented it proudly the next day as they ate caramels together in the shop. "It's been a challenge because you're deficient in so many basics," he said, "but I think I've finally done it. For example-the opening gambit. It's usually best to gallop in on a charger, but you look like so much like a sack of potatoes in the saddle that it would be counterproductive, so instead you'll stride in on foot, ringingly claiming to be greater than all the committee members put together." Irwin handed the scroll back to him and laughed. "You could say that, but it would sound ridiculous coming from me. I'm just going to open with a few jokes and then talk a little bit about the man who inspired me to be a hero." Seymour groaned and clapped his hand to his foreheGray, Margaret is the author of 'Lovesick Salesman', published 2004 under ISBN 9780805075588 and ISBN 0805075585.