The fairly Common Happenings of Peter Pajowski. (Part I)

Peter wears very common clothes. In some social circles he would be labeled as "Nerdy".

Every morning when Peter arrives at the office where he works he says "hello Mary" to the receptionist and she in turn says "don't even bother Peter". Peter never knows what she is talking about. He is not interested in her. He doesn't wan a date. He's just saying hello. He thinks her odd.

Peter is not the type of man to be judgmental. He does not think more highly of himself than others. But he does label people. For example, Mary.

Mary: Beautiful but odd. Does not like being said 'Hi' to. Likes cats. Hates me.

This is the categorical rubric that Peter uses for most people.

Or another example, Rob from accounting.

Rob: Loud. Funny to some people. Lives with Mother and Father. Potential villain.

Why villain? well, that's just how Peter's mind works. When he was small, a child, he loved comic books and the plot lines of good versus evil. Since then he has not been able to shake the idea that there are villains out there. And in turn heros as well. Maybe not super heros, but just heros.

Peter Pajowski, just a normal guy. Just the guy who works in cubicle 4B and who wears very common clothes.

Honey.

We let the words drip from our mouths like honey from the comb.

Have you ever watched honey as it dripped from the comb?

It's slow and methodical. It lingers and clings to the congealed mass for as long as possible so as not to be separated from its birthing place.

That was the word for us. A mass of sweet and satisfying words that longed to be together and spoken and hung onto. They were our birthing place.

They came from a place beneath the tongue of God himself.

Never harsh.

Never cruel.

We sat in the candle lit room, speaking these words to one another, and it was then that we realized that we were speaking life to one another. We were doing much more than reading words from a page. We were feeding one another, by hand and by mouth, the life giving words of God.

They tasted like nothing we had ever had before. They not only fed us but they sustained us. They gave us what bread alone could not give.

Life.

Eternal.

Peter.

Peter Pajowski has a pudged stomach and a balding head. He has on a short sleeved button polo with khaki dockers and a pair of Johnston & Murphy penny loafers. No socks.

His belt has a weave of thin leather straps running down the middle of it.

Peter sweats often. Even when not exerting heightened levels of energy.

The arena is filled with people from all over the world. Very important people.

Presidents, Kings and Queens, dignitaries, military leaders and other royalty. All are dressed in their finest tuxedos and gowns as if attending a celebration of creation itself. But no. That's not the occasion.

Peter feels confused and under dressed. The invitation within the large crimson envelope that he received read, "Dress as you feel comfortable." So he did. Peter's wearing the same thing that he wears every weekend. The same thing that he had worn every weekend for the past nine years.

The arena is filling up more and more rapidly now that the time is drawing near for the ceremony to begin.

To Peter's left is an asian woman who has cured cancer, heart disease and who created a new color called "Torg." It's a very pretty color to look at. She is very small and very quiet and is wearing a simple cream colored dress and slip on shoes. Her name is Sasha Shim.

To Peter's right sits a very old man who has, over the past fifty years, been creating an equation for world peace. He finished it. It works. He's also a poet and a lot of people think his poetry was really pretty but Peter has never read any of it. The old man has a long beard and deep blue eyes and he's wearing a very expensive grey suit. He has a flower in his coat pocket. His name is Sir William Willshire.

Peter has never done anything all that great. He's the head librarian of a small college. He's the type of guy that, when you look at him, you know that he was most likely that kid in middle school that got picked last for sports. Also, you most likely jump to the conclusion that he likes World of Warcraft and other things of the nature.

Peter doesn't like World of Warcraft at all. He thinks it's a waste of time.

It's just them three. No one else. Just them.

The curer of cancer.

The foundational creator of world peace.

And Peter. The Librarian.

Peter was just watching some TV shows one evening while he was reading his mail. At the bottom of the stack was the large crimson envelope. On it was his name "Mr. Peter Pajowski" and his address. Nothing more.

No postage.

No return address.

No nothin'.

The envelope was sealed with a wax numeral. "III".

Peter opened it and read it and then placed it on the coffee table which also held five issues of popular science, an out of date calendar of cats and the first Happy Potter book.

Peter couldn't think of one single reason why he would be invited to such a thing. He hadn't done anything grand. He'd never saved a life or made a famous speech.

He was just Peter. Peter Pajowski.

Just then a man in a dark blue robe walked on stage followed by the President of the United States, the Pope, the head of the EU and another man wearing all black. The man wearing all black has a large black raven perched on his shoulder. Peter is unsure as to why.

The man in the robe begins to speak,

"Welcome everyone to 209th Human of the Year Awards ceremony!"

Everyone cheered and clapped very loudly and still, Peter was not sure as to why he was sitting in between these two people. Or as to why he was at this event at all. Or as to why the man wearing black had a raven.

The robed man spoke again,

'This year our three finalists are of the finest pedigree."

Peter's parents were both overweight accountants with sub-par social skills. As far as Peter knew his "pedigree" was mediocre at best.

Again, the robed man,

"We at the Panel for Higher Humanity agree that the three individuals you see before are the pinnacle of perfection in regards to human achievement. Now, let us honor one of these three with the most prestigious award ever given to a human being."

The man in the rob then paused and he looked at the man with the raven.

Peter's eyes are as wide as they'll go. He has no clue what's about to happen. And again, why the raven?

Robed man,

"So, without further hesitation I present to you tonights award presenter, Mr. Rawllings P. Rawllings!"

Again, the cheers seem so loud that Peter feels awkward for not know who this man is. Rawllings? What kind of name is that? And why twice? And why a raven?

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen."

The man with the raven has a voice like a professional book reader. The type you hear from books-on-tape.

"This year's Human of the Year award goes to..."