“It’s a good way to get my steps in.” The woman thought to herself. “Besides, I need to be more present in the community. Helps me understand my patients.”

  The smell of funnel cakes and fried food was everywhere. Eighty-Five and sunny at the Hocking County Fair, as she strolled through the noisy crowd. Various booths and rickety carnival rides set up across the grounds.

  The woman, early sixties, but noticeably fit, moved through the different groups of people. Children in line for ring toss. Families waiting for the derby to start. “Wow. This is a much bigger deal than I realized.”

  The congestion of the masses forced her to navigate away from the main attractions, and after a few minutes of sidestepping she eventually emerged in the much more peaceful “outer rim” of activity.

  The usual suspects were there. Same as any fair that tries to keep the “boring” away from prime real estate. Church booths. County political parties. Charities and non-profit service providers. Kind looking people sitting at their lonely tables, complete with pamphlets, and giveaway items for anyone willing to make awkward conversation.

  The woman walked by each, giving an obligatory once-over at poster boards and photos. Occasionally running her hand through her short gray hair in order to dodge eye contact from the overly eager.

  After a few minutes of polite perusing, she started planning her exit. “Maybe one pass by the animals so I can see the horses and then I’ll probably –”

  “Free tools!” A man’s voice shouted from the last booth on her left. “For the woman who fixes things!”

  It was such a bizarre statement that there was nothing to do but stare, caught in the effectiveness of the weird sales pitch. The woman looked on confused at the owner of the booth.

  He was older, probably eighties. A face aged by work and sun. He wore small round sunglasses that were mirrored. And the reflections dancing in them gave off an aura of vitality. He sat behind his table, meeting the woman’s gaze, grinning under his little lenses.

  She recovered, amused by the strange greeting, and walked over to his booth. “Excuse me, sir?” She inquired. “What did you just say?”

  The man’s grin widened and he leaned back in his chair, content with himself. “You’re a fixer.” He stated plainly. “I can always tell.”

  There was a silence, and the woman did her best not to appear flustered. She laughed weakly and looked down examining what appeared to be, various religious items placed in groups across the table.

  “Do I know this guy?” She wondered. “Former patient? Family member of a patient, maybe?”

  She continued inspecting the different artifacts. Prayer beads mostly, some religious icons, assorted jewelry. But then she looked up at the man suddenly perplexed. “This isn’t a church booth?”

  The man smiled, knowingly. “What do you mean?”

  “Well,” She started, “I see Catholic, Protestant, Jewish, Muslim, Hindu, and a bunch of things I don’t recognize at all. I mean, I’m not a religious expert, but I don’t know of any church that practices… everything.”

  The man chuckled. “But I bet we could each name a few that practice nothing.” He added.

  A honeybee landed on the brim of the man’s black Stetson hat. It settled, and stared at the woman alongside its host. “Malcolm’s the name, ma’am.” The man said, extending his hand in greeting. “Malcolm Peaceking.”

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  “Julie.” The woman replied, accepting the handshake. “You’ve got an interesting way of making conversation, Malcolm.”

  “Only when I sense something interesting.” He qualified. “Love that band, by the way.” Malcolm gestured to the Styx t-shirt Julie was wearing. “Renegade is one of the most underrated rock songs of all time.”

  Julie looked down at her shirt. “Thanks.” She said. And then as if only just remembering what had precipitated this surprise conversation, asked, “Why’d you shout ‘free tools’ at me?”

  Malcolm stood from his seat behind the table and leaned out over it, spreading his arms across the collection of spiritual knick-knacks. “Because,” he answered, “this is a hardware store.”

  Julie smiled, first at Malcolm’s mysterious theatrics, then at the honeybee that still refused to leave the brim of his hat. Either he was unaware, or simply unbothered by his insect companion. Julie decided it was the latter.

  “Well, that’s where you lose me, sir.” She spoke up. “I’m not big on religious stuff.”

  “Belief stuff.” Malcolm corrected her.

  “Excuse me?” Julie asked, puzzled.

  Malcolm Peaceking reached up and adjusted his glasses. The lenses caught Julie’s reflection. “What you see here is not a collection of the religious. It’s an arsenal of belief.”

  Julie’s eyebrows raised, and she gave a slow nod. “Okay?”

  “This guy might be a little off.” She decided. “Probably time to get—“

  “So, tell me friend,” Malcolm’s words cut off her train of thought. “What kinds of things do you fix?”

  Julie shook her head, mystified as it dawned on her, that this stranger clearly already knew her answer.

  “I’m a psychiatrist.” She told him. “My office is in Athens, but I see people from all around the area.”

  Malcolm lifted a Star of David inspecting it in the sunlight. “People then.” He clarified. “You fix people.”

  Julie laughed. “I suppose that’s a way of looking at it, but I’ve always preferred to think of myself as giving people the tools they need to fix themselves.”

  “Aaah!” Malcolm exclaimed. “And now we’ve come full circle as I say once again … free tools!” He smiled gesturing once more at his table’s wares.

  A group of children ran by the booth laughing as a little boy in the lead shot a small orange cap gun in the air.

  BAP! BAP! The toy sounded as little puffs of cap smoke were left behind in their wake.

  Watching them run off, Julie couldn’t quite explain why but she was hit with a sudden sadness. An aching in her heart that came and went with the sound of the caps firing.

  But her unexpected melancholy evaporated entirely when she felt Malcolm take her by the arm.

  It startled her and she began to pull away, but the old man grasped with both hands closing her fist around an object he was placing inside. “No. No. It’s okay.” He whispered. His mirrored sunglasses capturing Julie’s surprised expression in a way that fascinated and stilled her.

  He let go of her fist and she looked down, opening her hand to find a black plastic set of beads resting in her palm. “But I told you.” She began. “I’m not religious.”

  Malcolm smiled, his Stetson casting shadow on his face. “And as I told you ma’am. It’s not religious.”

  “Well then what do you expect me to do with this?” Julie asked, slightly frustrated.

  “It’s a tool.” The man answered her. “And nobody that fixes for a living ever refuses a free tool.” He turned from Julie and began to organize his items, apparently readying to close his booth.

  “They’re just plastic, ma’am. Like any object, carved, manufactured, or sewn. But belief…that’s the thing. The thing that grants meaning and power. The thing that injects life into the lifeless. Light into the dark.”

  There was something about the way he spoke that had changed. The cadence of his voice was newly hypnotic, the movement of his hands becoming a dance as his words started to flow like a river. A soothing coolness in the heat of early September.

  And in the middle of the Hocking County Fair, Julie was entranced.

  “And someone like you,” he went on, every phrase wrapping Julie’s mind in a comfortable numbness, “well let’s just say if it’s not meant for you, then there’s a good chance it’s meant for someone that’s coming your way.”

  She remained hypnotized, watching passively, the man pack up his belongings, sweeping many of the necklaces and icons into a large purple bag.

  “It was nice to meet you.” Malcolm said, “I hope we see each other again someday.”

  The sound of a car driving by snapped Julie from her stupor and she watched as a silver Honda sped down the road, a young man in a ball cap behind the wheel. He had a tired look. A desperately exhausted look.

  But the feel of the beads in her hand brought her abruptly back to full clarity, and she wheeled around to question Malcolm, unsettled by what had just occurred.

  But Malcolm Peaceking was gone.

  The booth was empty. The ambient sounds of the people were all that was left, save for a honeybee buzzing above the empty table.