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March 03, 2003
Children's Entertainment
Every child's face was sticky with ice cream, the presents all opened and paper scattered, the afternoon winding down and still the ninja had not arrived. Mrs. Magpie cleaned her glasses in a disapproving manner, squinting at the wall clock. The kids were all playing outside, running around the picnic bench on the grass.
She had paid good money. The kids deserved some ninja entertainment. Birthdays only come once a year. Time doesn't grow on trees.
"Where is he?" she muttered to her next door neighbor, Mrs. Morrison, whose own child was at the moment licking his paper plate clean of frosting.
"Whom?" asked Mrs. Morrison, who had been to college.
"The damn ninja," said Mrs. Magpie. And at that moment, from underneath the picnic bench came a small explosion and billows of smoke.
The children gaped, the gaps in their baby teeth visible from inside where Mrs. Magpie made out the silhouette of a man now standing on top of the picnic table.
"Oh, never mind, that's probably him," she said, sliding open the glass patio door. "It's about time!"
The ninja was a hit with the kids. He taught them how to turn their t-shirts into ninja hoods and they were soon peeking out of the newly narrowed neckholes of their shirts. Both forehand and backhand techniques of ninja star throwing were taught, beginning with a game of Tag the Donkey with the Ninja Star, but ending with an angry Mrs. Magpie confiscating all stars and returning them to the ninja.
"Don't think you're going to get paid for the entire day," she hissed at him. "I saw you show up late."
"Lady, I was here. I was under the picnic table the whole party. I was just hidden. It's what ninjas do."
"Clowns don't remain hidden, young man. They juggle and tell jokes and twist balloons and they do it on time."
The ninja tugged at his black pants, angrily. He had eaten some cake when absolutely no one was watching him. It takes years of study, but some ninjas manage to learn how to tell when they are not the center of attention. Now, though, his teeth had a sugary film on them and his pants felt a little tight.
"Clowns? Clowns? Lady, let me tell you about clowns… Clowns are the kinda guys who piss without lifting the toilet seat first. Clowns are the kinda guys who drink to forget. Ninjas, lady… ninjas are a class act. And ever since those American Ninja movies came out, kids go NUTS for us."
Mrs. Magpie did not look convinced.
"Please," said the ninja, handing Mrs. Magpie one of his business cards from its carefully secreted hiding place in his clothing. The name on the card said Nickles the Ninja – It's not a party unless you have at least one ninja. (Group discounts available.) "Look, I'll give you half off, but if I do that, the kids are gonna be disappointed."
Mrs. Morrison was picking up paper plates from the grass where the wind and the children had dropped them. She was listening in and asked, "Why would the kids be disappointed?"
"Because," said the ninja. "I can tell them the truth about ninjas. I can tell them that there are no more ninjas. There are people who practice ninjitsu and there are charlatans who wear black pajamas. I'll show them my hairy gut, is what I'll do, really bring it home what a slob you've hired and they'll remember this birthday party for the rest of their lives. It will be the day their dreams of growing up to be ninjas died."
KEE-YA screamed a child behind the ninja. He winced as a tiny foot caught him in the back of the leg, but he remained still, his eyes locked on Mrs. Magpie.
Hours later, the ninja stood in line at the bank to cash the personal check Mrs. Magpie had given him. He filled out the deposit slip, but had to throw it out because a tear had smudged the sub-total. As he wiped at his eyes, he thought "If I can just get some sleep, tomorrow will be better."
"Excuse me." From behind the ninja came the voice of a small child. He turned and looked down in the green eyes of a young girl who was holding her mother's hand. "Excuse me, are you a ninja?"
The ninja sniffed. "Yeah," he said.
"Ninjas are cool!" said the little girl.
The ninja sighed and kneeled. He patted the girl on the head. "We are cool," he said. "But that's not much help when the world is so much colder."
The girl's mother pulled her along behind as they got into line ahead of the ninja, who remained kneeling, his eyes on his tabi boots. He leaned his head against a standing display about home loans. He stayed there for long enough to make the security guard nervous. And then, just like that, people stopped noticing him. For quite a long time.