"Reality is an illusion. Let's call it a collective dream. Some people have starring roles in the dream, while others sit and watch from the stands. Or perhaps they perform tasks offstage, building sets or writing the scripts.

"Some Reality Makers can control what they create. They grant wishes or mistreat people as they see fit. But most RMers spend their lives feeling as if the world's passed them by. They might even think their life is out of control, because they have trouble managing the affairs of all the people they have taken responsibility for.

"But any way that you slice it, one thing is true—Reality is an impression, set upon us like the frosted flowers on a cake. Except for one crucial difference—we believe the flowers are real."

Milton stopped talking while walking through the arboretum, and stepped in front of Hank, using his big body to make him stop as well.

"Everyone believes in the flowers," he said into Hank's non-descript face, to try to get him to speak. "Even RMers believe it."

"You make it sound hard to do."

Milton gestured with a laugh. "Oh no, no! It's quite easy! Easy for us, anyway, because you and I, well—we're Geniuses. It might be hard work, sure! But we're good!

"It's just that most normal RMers don't know what they're doing. Unless they're an Other, of course. Even so, most of them make so much Reality for people they don't know that they don't take the time they need to tend to the Reality they make for themselves."

Milton smiled before going back to walking alongside Hank.

"At least, that's the way I've heard it to be. I've never had those types of problems."

Hank couldn't help but snort on a laugh. This is one loopy billionaire.

Milton didn't disagree, but he put his hands in his pockets to keep from gesturing. Doing so made what he was saying seem trivial, especially since Hank just moped along, most inattentively.

"Have you ever had a lucid dream?" Milton asked his strolling companion.

"What?"

"When you have a lucid dream, you tell your sleeping self to change the story by knowing you can do it. Reality Making is like that. You think about what you want to have happen and, if you're convincing enough, then 'Bam!' Reality changes. Instantly. Just like that."

Milton wiped a bead of sweat from the side of his nose. Even though the weather was as cool as it had been yesterday, a man as big as Milton burned a lot of calories by strolling through the garden. He also did it, however, to sneak a peek at Hank's face, to see if he was listening.

Hank's expression remained the same no matter what, which took some getting used to.

"We are—people like us—we can be very convincing when we tell the world what we want. The world is full of little feats of RMing, but people only pay attention to the big ones. You know, like when you find you can lift a car off a person who's trapped underneath, or race through a burning building and save an innocent child."

Milton frowned, and put his hand back in his pocket. "Then again, a sick and twisted mind might Real up a disaster that kills thousands of people, or burn a city down because they think it's fun."

Milton stopped talking to allow what he'd said to sink in. Hank's face still showed no emotion, as their footsteps crunched along the gravel path. He did, however, put his hands in his pockets in the same way as Milton, to think about the blessings and cruelties of the world.

"Ordinary take-out-the-trash and bring-in-the-mail types of days are just as fantastic as any," Milton said after a while. "Somewhere, someone wanted those things to happen enough to make them become Real."

The duo turned a corner and began their return walk towards the manor house. As they passed a bramble of blackberries and milkweed, a community of insects sprang to life. Grasshoppers bound from stalk to stalk, causing butterflies to take flight, while smaller bugs twirled in the air or crawled on the foliage. The tailored lines of Milton's suit gave and contracted with perfection, as he placed his hands on his knees to watch the frantic activity.

"Did you see what happened here?" Milton quizzed, turning his reddened face to look up at his student. "Those large bugs, the grasshoppers, took off from their places, and caused a chain reaction of smaller bugs to do the same. That's you and me, kiddo. We're the grasshoppers of the world. We make people do what we want, by just thinking about doing it."

Who is this guy kidding? "I can't change the world," Hank said, to cover for his contempt. "And I am sure not a grasshopper in your garden."

As usual when he was with Milton, Hank's dismissive thoughts gave him away, moreso than did his words. Milton straightened up, nonchalantly waving his hand to shoo away the insects that followed his breath and body heat. Hank took a small step back, taken by surprise when Milton's bulk reared in his direction. He could tell by the way Milton moved that a lot of muscle lay beneath his well-fed and well-tailored exterior.

"People are smart because they think they're smart," Milton said over his shoulder to Hank. "They're rich because they believe they can be, and they're famous because they choose it.

"And they're evil," Milton finished as he plucked a gnat from his shoulder, crushing it with his fingers, "Because they enjoy being evil."

"So why aren't we all perfect?" Hank asked.

Milton resumed his stroll. His student obediently followed.

"In our dreams, we're often strong. We're invincible, beautiful and loved, if that's the way we want it to be. The real world isn't always like though, is it? That's because in our dreams, we're alone with our thoughts. No one is in our head with us when we sleep. In Reality, everyone shares the same dream. So, as it is on the playgrounds and in the boardrooms, it's the strong, the loud and the powerful who hold sway over what's Real.

"With Reality Making, however, the big and strong don't always know how powerful they are. The ability to create a great Reality sometimes hides inside a quiet and dismissive person. Kind people, perhaps introverted, or maybe viewed as being antisocial."

Milton stopped talking and glanced at Hank, wishing he'd show greater interest. Hank, however, worked to keep his mind as quiet as possible. It felt like every time Milton looked at his face, he was doing so to read the thoughts that crawled across his forehead like a news ticker. To thwart this, Hank thought mostly about Rio's big red glasses and Anna's Angora sweater, and if either of them liked tall white lanky men.

Milton ignored Hank's ponderings as he finished his lesson. "A good Other uses their knowledge of how Reality works for the betterment of Mankind. They may be religious leaders or motivational speakers, or other such influential folk."

"And what are you?" Hank asked.

Milton beamed. "Me? Why, I'm a real nice guy! Between you and me and the grasshoppers, you and I are about the nicest people on the planet! At least as far as Others go," he added. "We know that being generous makes life easy for everyone. Especially when we let other RMers do good deeds as they see fit."

Milton looked around a bit, as if somebody suddenly was with them. He touched an index finger to his lip while thinking about what to say.

"You have to realize the number of Others in the world is very small, and most of them don't really know what they're doing. They're just good people by nature, like Rio and me." Milton touched the sleeve of Hank's hoodie. "And now, like how you are, too."

Despite his mass and size, Milton sounded fearful for a moment. "But there are Others who know as much about RMing as we do, who are very bad indeed. Rio calls them Bad Guys. She says she sees them everywhere."

"And we're the good guys," Hank interrupted, masking his contempt as best he could.

Milton didn't begrudge Hank his skepticism. "Whatever our disposition, good or bad, we construct the Realities the rest of the world has to live in. Why did people once believe the Earth was flat? Because Reality Makers believed it, and so it was. Jesus performed miracles because he believed he could do them. Moses talked to God, and the pharaohs of Egypt were gods, because that's what they believed. And because they were great RMers, other people believed it as well.

"When enough Reality Makers believe in the same thing, that's the way the world is for a very, very long time."

Milton stopped walking, looking uncomfortable. He stretched his neck and shoulders to give them a pop.

"And boy, is the world changing now, and not for the better, my friend. Go figure, huh? Hey, you wanna get a soda pop or something? I'm dying out here."

Apparently, this morning's lesson was over.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Hank hedged. "Yeah, sure thing, Milton, but maybe later, okay? I kinda want to think about things."

"You bet!" Milton said. "I'm sorry if I carry on, but let me add one more thing. I don't get to talk about who I am much to anyone, as you may imagine. I've only had Rio to talk to, until I met you."

Hank would have blushed, except his skin was too fine to show it. "Well, thank you, Milton. You certainly give a person a lot to think about."

"Hey, thank you!"

After entering the lunchroom, Milton leaned against the countertop next to the vending machine. He examined his shoes in a way that made Hank think about himself. When Milton raised his calm blue eyes to meet Hank's almond butter ones, his expression showed humility and respect.

"My friend" Milton began. "And please, thank you for letting me call you my friend."

"Okay."

"Another thing I want to say is that, without a doubt, it is the greatest honor of my life getting to know you."

As often was the case with Milton, Hank was not expecting that. "Gosh. I guess I'm pretty honored to have met you, too."

Milton shifted his big butt against the countertop. "No. You don't get what I'm saying."

"Okay," Hank repeated, pensively.

"I moved here to live my life, but you've lived here for your whole life."

"Okay," Hank said one more time, as Milton sounded creepy. "That's right. I've lived here forever."

"When I figured out I was an Other, I knew there had to be more people like me. There are lots of Reality Makers, as these PEPed up Dots are proving. But I knew someone in this city was good at making Realities, and was making a lot of them. I'm kind of a dolt sometimes at figuring things out, but even Rio said it's impossible for her to tell who this person is, based on the selfless nature of their acts."

Milton looked up at Hank and abruptly stopped. Hank sputtered, not knowing what to say.

"Um…"

"You're very different than the person I thought you'd be. I expected you to be an Other, and to know what you were doing. You know—made yourself important in some way. Even if you weren't an Other, I still expected someone well-connected, or rich and powerful."

Hank felt irked at the need to apologize for being a normal guy, but before he could say anything, Milton floored him with his next words.

"And I am absolutely, without a doubt, humbled in your presence. You're a greater Reality Maker than even I thought you could be. Thanks for letting me get to know you."

Hank cleared his throat to replace the awkward silence. He couldn't hold back his thoughts, so he said what he was thinking out loud.

"Honestly, I have no idea what you're talking about. What do you want with me? Why do you say that stuff? I mean, I like listening to you and all, even though you have to admit, you sound a little crazy."

Milton smiled in agreement as Hank carried on. "But why me? And before you say something like 'Because Rio said so,' or 'Bumbles brought you here,' I am asking you, Milton. You. Why me?"

It was Milton's turn to do a little throat-clearing, grinding his backside against the countertop as he thought.

"The good guys are losing, Hank, and that is not okay. Bad things happen to good people, and it keeps getting worse. I never paid much mind, but Rio came along and showed me how terrible things are. I'd ask, 'Why didn't I know this?' and she'd say, 'Because someone around here is making a lot of good Realities.'

"I thought, 'Sure, I know that. I mean, I make Realities that are good and all.' But Rio quickly proved how dumb I was. She explained Reality Preventing to me, and how she does it, and about other types of RMers who have flocked here, that I never even knew existed."

Milton looked around pensively, as if someone else was in the room, before speaking in a hushed tone. "I'm a 'can-do' sort of guy, you know? And I thought, 'Well, let's find this person.' If they're the greatest Reality Maker in the world, how hard can it be?

"It turned out to be very hard. We weren't having any luck, so I built this room, and that vending machine, to test whoever found it. Yet still no one came. So I Realed up Bumbles—literally the greatest thing I've ever done—and I sent him out every day to search for this great RMer Rio assured me lived very near by, with us in the city somewhere."

"I don't think I'm the guy you're looking for," Hank inserted into the conversation. "You said so yourself. And I don't think Rio thinks much of me, either."

Milton agreed for some reason, and rose to become animated. "I know! But that's the beauty of it! We were thinking small! We were jaded and smug and prideful, expecting some big lug like me, or a tough chick like her, to ride in on a white horse, ready to slay dragons and smite Bad Guys with a blazing sword of righteousness."

Milton smiled, happy to see Hank snort on a laugh.

"Or some crap like that," Milton added.

Hank burst out laughing. "Yeah! Some crap like that!"

"And we were wrong! To be a great RMer, you couldn't be burdened with seeking glory, or bothered by stupid dragons. Humbleness and honor are your sword and shield. You bear them with ease because you don't wield righteousness as a weapon."

Hank blinked as Milton labored to restrain his praise.

"You offer it as our salvation."

Hank took to smiling a bit, and leaned against a conference table across from Milton, to better examine his boots. "Yeah," he said. "I wouldn't be too sure about that."

"There's no doubt in my mind."

Hank raised his eyes. "So, how is my righteousness supposed to save us?"

"I have no idea," Milton said, without hesitation.

Hank went back to pondering his boots.

"Ah," Milton said with encouragement, "You'll figure it out. Now, how about that soda pop? I'm still dying, you know."

"No, but thanks." Hank looked at Milton's chin. "I'm very grateful for all you've done, and for letting me stay with you. Thanks, and please thank Rio, too. You're pretty good guys yourself."

"You are very welcome, Hank. Thanks for hanging out with us."

"I'm just gonna go back to my room, and eat some of that great stuff Rio brought earlier. I'll come back later to get a soda, or something. Maybe I'll see you then, okay?"

"Anything and everything I have is yours for as long as you want it. Maybe I'll see you then, my good friend."

Hank mumbled with embarrassment as he made a speedy exit down the transverse hallway. "Yeah, well, uh… I'll see you later, too. Thanks again."

The Book of LIBERALITY - Chapter SEVEN

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