Inspired by Sympathy for the Devil by the Rolling Stones

Lily jogged down the street, slowing only as she came under the protection of the bus stop awning. The rain beat against the glass roof, angrily trying to break through with intermittent growls of thunder. She imagined it was mocking her, having been just a slight drizzle when she left her hotel a couple minutes ago. She pushed her hood back with a huff and sat down on the bench. Figures the Heavens would let loose on her today of all days. As if going to the hospital wasn't dreary enough.

There was a man already waiting, leaning against the side partition. He wore a long, black coat with the collar turned up and shiny leather shoes. His hair was sleek and dark with gel. A man of good taste. He smiled at her. "A personal affront, isn't it?"

She looked at him blankly. "What?"

"The rain," he said, nodding towards the street.

Lily turned her gaze in that direction. The road was black and slick, the buildings across blurred by the static of the rain. Cars drove by, splashing grimy water against the sidewalk. Cars, but no bus. She sighed and looked down at her green rain boots. "Feels like it."

The man took a drag on his cigarette, then blew out a cloud of smoke, tapping the ash onto the ground. "Why don't we play a game?"

Lily reviewed him more closely, shifting towards the far end of the bench. She couldn't tell exactly how old he was, but she assumed middle-aged. His face should be striking, attractive even, with sharply defined features and deep-set dark eyes, but somehow she knew she wouldn't remember it well later.

"A game?" She wondered if she should leave and find a taxi somewhere further down the street. But, oddly enough, the man didn't creep her out. She should be creeped out by a strange man offering to play a game at the bus stop, but she wasn't. Of course her mother had taught her about stranger danger and—well, she knew all about it, what woman didn't? But she felt no less safe than usual. Her lack of uneasiness almost made her uneasy. Maybe it was because of the cane he held in his right hand, smooth and jet black. It added to his already debonair charm, and it implied that she could outrun him if necessary.

"Just a little game while we wait for the bus."

She supposed a distraction couldn't hurt. "What kind of a game?"

"You," he paused to take another drag on the cigarette, "try to guess my name."

Lily crossed her legs and leaned back against the bench, fiddling with the zipper of her purse. "The rules?"

He nodded. "You can ask me three questions, but they must be unrelated to my name. You cannot ask about the letters or the sound. Just three questions. You get one guess."

She looked up at him with a smirk. "That doesn't sound like a game catered to my advantage."

The man chuckled and shrugged. "Those are my rules."

"What do I get if I win?"

He tilted his head. "Perhaps a gift." He watched her, waiting for her to ask for clarification, to exhibit some curiosity.

She stared out into the rain. There was only one thing she wanted, and she already knew he couldn't give it to her. So why ask. "And if I lose?"

The man grinned. "Perhaps you give me something."

She felt a twinge of doubt. She looked up and down the street. Still no bus in sight. She really shouldn't be playing games with a strange man at the bus stop. But what else was she to do? Sit there and worry? Relive all of her nightmares imagining the hospital?

"Alright," she said. "First question. Where are you going?"

"I have a dinner reservation at The Urban Soul." He checked his silver wristwatch. "In twenty minutes." He began to tap his cane against the ground, rhythmically, like a metronome, as if counting every second.

Ah, a man of wealth and taste. The Urban Soul was an expensive downtown restaurant. Lily's mother had told her about it. She said they should go sometime when Lily was visiting, but that seemed unlikely now. Neither one could afford to go.

Lily squeezed her eyes shut at the thought. Her mother: a tall, thin woman with dark hair. Always smiling. They looked so much alike, but Lily couldn't understand how her mother's smile never wavered, even in the face of this world. Maybe even in a sterile white room surrounded by the lifeless pulse of machines. Lily wasn't that strong.

"What's the worst thing you've ever seen?"

The cane became still. "Hm." The man tilted his head, thinking. He muttered, so Lily had to lean forward to hear him over the rain. "The Crucifixion? The Russian Revolution? The blitzkrieg of World War II?"

Lily scoffed.

"Maybe the fall of Lucifer." He flashed her a crooked smile. What a strange man, she thought. He said, "That's an unusual question." He didn't ask why, but she could hear the implication left dangling at the end of his sentence.

"I have a feeling that I'm about to see the worst thing I've ever seen. But—" She let her words trail off.

"But?"

"But compared to the Crucifixion or World War II... I suppose it's nothing." Nothing to the world, anyway. Just another grain of sand falling to the bottom of the hourglass.

"What is it?"

She crossed her arms, averting her gaze. "Aren't I the one asking the questions?"

He gestured with his hand as if to say, by all means.

Lily sighed. She should ask something shallow, something simple. After all, this was just a random conversation with a stranger at the bus stop. Besides, this was her vacation time, which she had been saving for a sunny, relaxing trip without such morbid, existential concerns. But here she was, waiting for the bus to the hospital, and there was only one question floating in her mind. "Do you believe in God?"

The man laughed, leaning his head back and holding his hand to his stomach. He shook his head, still chuckling. "Oh, my. Well, yes, I do. Though I don't bother praying."

She tucked her hair behind her ear and cleared her throat. "I don't," she said. "Believe in God."

He raised his eyebrows. "Why not?"

"Because there's no proof of His existence. We have science now. Logic. Reason. We don't need those old stories to explain things anymore. I can't believe them. But it would be nice to believe there's a meaning to all," she waved her hand aimlessly in the air, "this. At least God gives you that."

"What about science?" he asked.

"What about it?"

"Some people believe you can find that meaning through science. You can make meaning yourselves, perfect yourselves. You don't need God to give you His immortality because," he paused for a grumble of thunder, "you can create your own."

A short, barking laugh escaped her throat. "Science isn't enough."

The man shrugged. "Then perhaps it is meaningless. And all you can do is scream into the indifferent face of Nature because there are no words to express the loss."

"You think so?" Lily said. That's what she feared. She wanted to scream. She had wanted to scream since she got that phone call. But she was holding out, hoping someone would give her a reason not to.

Her gut twisted: she was grasping and vulnerable, looking to this man for hope. She was finally independent—living on her own, holding a job, paying the bills—while she still felt like a child, weak and dependent. And who else could she depend on if not... She looked down at her hands, tightly clasped in her lap. She should just get up, walk away, and escape with her pride.

But the man said, "No."

After a moment of silence, Lily asked, "Then what do you think?"

"I think meaning must be created."

"You mean, like, we have to make our own meaning by living our best lives? By finding a purpose and doing what we're meant to do? Our meaning is whatever we believe it to be?" She rolled her eyes. "I mean, if life is meaningless, isn't that just another lie we tell ourselves?"

"Perhaps," the man said. "I suppose the question is: if you can believe that lie, is it enough? Is it enough to believe in something?"

"Even if that something is nothing?"

"Even so."

Lily took in a deep breath—and let it out. "I don't think so."

The man gazed out into the rain and took another long drag on his cigarette, ignoring her comment. He began to tap his cane against the ground again. He checked his silver wristwatch.

The silence began to tickle, like an itch in her throat. She shifted her weight on the bench, recrossing her legs. "I'm visiting my mom," she said.

He looked at her, breathing out a cloud of smoke.

"She has cancer. She didn't tell me until—" She ran a hand through her hair. "The chemo isn't working."

The cane became silent.

"I'm going to see her in the hospital. And I know—I know that she's going to smile, and that will be the worst thing I've ever seen. I just don't know how to deal with that. I don't know how to see that and believe it's meaningful or meaningless. I don't know how to see that and walk away." She looked up at him. "How did you do it? You said the worst thing you've ever seen is," she hesitated, but continued, "the fall of Lucifer. So...?"

He nodded. "You learn to walk with the limp," he said, tapping the cane once. "Whether your cane is God or science or—"

He was cut off by the rumble of the bus engine. It slowed to a stop, its doors opening with a hiss.

The man looked at his wristwatch with a frown.

Lily stood up, slinging her purse over her shoulder and pulling her hood up. She should say something, probably thank you, but no words felt right. She took a step into the rain.

"So, tell me," the man said, "what's my name?"

She faced him, taking another step backwards towards the bus. She shrugged. There was no way she could make any logical guess. "You must be Lucifer himself," she said with a smirk. "Who else would have sympathy for the Devil?"

She turned, intending to get on the bus without waiting for his reply.

"Lily," he said.

She froze.

"You asked me what I think." She imagined that she heard satisfaction in his voice. "I think you humans are mistaken in your understanding of meaning. You all focus on the fact of your mortality. Death is an ending, and you're all anticipating that end. But you forget that you are born. And birth is a beginning. You have the miraculous ability to begin. To create. To start anew." He paused. "Good guess, by the way."

"Thanks," she said. She got on the bus without looking back at him. She took a seat, resting her head against the cool glass and watching the man through streaks of raindrops on the window. He didn't get on the bus, but began walking down the street. He had a slight limp. The bus quickly pulled ahead, and she lost sight of him. Lily thought that maybe, just maybe, when she saw her mother in the hospital, she would be able to smile.