The Heist

Approximately seventeen leaves and two acorns fell from the large oak standing across the street from Edward’s bank from the time he strolled through the front doors until the moment he burst out of them in a wonderfully thrilling escape. It was an extraordinary day. Unlike most of the days preceding it.

Edward was born under mundane circumstances to a less-than-exciting set of parents. The father worked 9-5 at a medium-sized office that sold a variety of office supplies: paper and paper shredders; pencils and erasers; pens and whiteout; envelopes and letter openers, and even highlighters. He made mid-level income and the family lived a middle-class life. Situated neatly in the heart of this humdrum life sat Edward’s mother. She stayed at home and did the chores of the house among other run-of-the-mill motherly duties. I wish there was something exciting to say about Edward’s parents, but there really isn’t.

And so Edward grew—not too quickly, but not too slowly—into a life that is best described as grey. He went through school with reasonable grades, went to community college for some time and neither succeeded or failed. Shortly thereafter he replaced his recently retired father at Dull’s paper supply at the age of 22. We join Edward now at the age of 31 and he still works there—content—making his weekly check and coming home to his neat, but not overly neat, apartment three blocks away from the aforementioned bank. Three blocks is not that far to run.

Just as Edward rounded the corner toward his bank, leaf number one of seventeen quivered gently; like an anxious thumb on an expectant stopwatch. Walking at a medium pace, Edward, paycheck in pocket, pushed his way through the bank’s double doors as a shockingly red oak leaf made its departure to the awaiting blades of freshly mowed grass. Edward liked the bank. It was organized, with a touch of disorder; quiet with a hint of bustle; louder than a library, but quieter than the surrounding city. Feet tapped and voices spoke, all at a reasonable volume. More than anything in the world Edward enjoyed the smell of a bank. It had the odd ability to smell both new and used simultaneously. The same could be said of money. It is for this very reason that Edward enjoyed these Friday excursions. Not only was he able to relish the bank environment, but he was also able to cash his usual check for the usual sum and leave with his usual number of pieces of paper. He didn’t value money for its ability to buy something new, but for its ability to remain constant. Three dollars will always be three dollars, and he loved that he could depend on that fact for years to come. It was the fruit of his consistency.

As he walked up to the square table that housed pens and envelopes he noticed an elderly security guard walking slowly toward his chair near an American flag on a long golden rod. Edward then reached into his right jacket pocket for his customary check, which he found. But as his fingers prepared to leave his jacket pocket they felt something out of place. Curiosity was unlike Edward, but things were rarely out of place in his world. More out of his fingers’ curiosity than his own, Edward grasped both his check and the mystery item. Out with the check came a fluorescent pink highlighter ($4.80 for a pack of 4. Standard). Being that Edward worked in an office supply store, this was not an extremely unusual find, but it was unusual enough.

Edward then put the item in his right jacket pocket and proceeded to sign his checks before entering line number three of five. Generally Edward would wait silently in line with the occasional nod “Hello” to the occasional passerby. But today there were two distractions. The first was the intrusive pink highlighter poised and ready in Edward’s right jacket pocket. The second was a young woman. There were several descriptive words that entered Edward’s brain but none of them seemed worthy so he settled on a stare of enthrallment. In many ways she looked as though she had dressed up in order to go to the bank, but this was false on all counts. She was simply the kind of woman that could casually throw on a dress out of a thrift store bin and make it a stunning extension of herself any day or any hour of the week. She could be wearing a bathrobe and a poncho and you may still wonder if she was dressing up to go the bank. Instead of a bathrobe and poncho she was wearing a fantastically blue dress. She was in the fourth line, on Edward’s right. To his left sat the security guard, nearly nodding off to sleep. In front of him was a line of equally bored bank patrons. Behind Edward was a young boy of five or six playing with a handheld gaming device and getting exceedingly upset at the game, his mother, and the line in which he was currently stuck. In Edward’s right jacket pocket sat a loaded highlighter. Within Edward’s head was a notion and a memory.

There had been another day in Edward’s life almost as extraordinary as this one at the bank. He had been five years old, and was at his father’s office. It is almost impossible to be bored at the age of five and Edward was playing with a rocket ship. To most people it was a pink fluorescent highlighter; to five-year old Edward it was a rocket ship. Or a car. Or a snake. Or even a gun. And so he flew through space, shooting down alien cruisers and making a fair amount of noise in a reasonably quiet office. His father marched over to him.

“Son, you need to stop. That is not a toy. It is a highlighter, and should only be used to highlight,” his father had told him nervously. “Now give me that, and go sit quietly.” Edward handed it to him, and sat quietly.

As Edward recalled this distant memory his fingers slowly wrapped around the perfectly round form of a pink highlighter in his right jacket pocket and everything seemed to fall perfectly in to place. The boy behind Edward suddenly threw his game down in fury. Pieces burst in every direction and the bank’s medium level of quiet hit both ends of the spectrum. Following the initial embarrassed quiet that filled the bank lobby there was singular yelled command: “Everybody on the ground!” The bank goers paused, unsure of the shouter’s sincerity. “This is a bank robbery! I’ve got a gun!” the robber yelled in order to clear up the apparent confusion. At the word “gun”, all but two people in the lobby fell to the floor with shortened gasps and looks of terror. The first was the elderly security guard who was forced to awake and climb out of his chair. Too old to really care, he lay down quietly and slid his gun away as though this was customary procedure. The gun slid smoothly across the floor and stopped just short of the feet of the only person standing. The robber. Edward. He glanced down at the gun, but was content with the one he was pretending to hold in his right jacket pocket. He smiled a smile so big his face could barely handle it after decades of pleasant grinning. He rushed to the bank teller, leaping over arms and legs and torsos.

“Cash this check please! I want it in hundreds! Thanks!” Edward yelled. Each sentence sounded as if he were talking to a deaf person, not a frightened bank teller in the midst of a robbery. Confused, the bank teller stood staring blankly at Edward’s expectant face. She took the check, opened the cash register and took out $503.65—five hundreds, three ones, six dimes, and a nickel. More confused than frightened, she handed it to Edward. He took the change first and threw it in the air as if he was releasing a dove. He then took the hundreds, examined them for a second and immediately tore them up and released them in the same elaborate manor. The crowd in the bank sat both curious and frightened as to what would happen next. This man was clearly mad. Edward then turned, spotted the woman in the stellar blue dress and shouted “You! Blue dress woman! Stand up! Err…please!” She did so as Edward, standing a bit taller, strolled briskly over to her.

“What’s your name?”

“Robin.”

He nodded. “I’m Eddy” he replied as he grabbed her by the waist and gave her a kiss that bank patrons still talk (and fantasize) about to this day. She stood stunned, blushing. He ran to and seized the flag on its pole. Then, still leaping over frightened bodies, he bounded to the front door, stopped, and twirled to face his curious audience.

“Everyone have a splendid day!” he shouted and burst out the doors, flagpole in hand. He turned and closed the doors behind him, shoving the flagpole through the handles so as to avoid any attempts at capture. He turned around and took a deep breath as the last of seventeen leaves fell to the ground. As he sprinted down the street he flew through space, shooting down alien cruisers and making a fair amount of noise on a reasonably quiet street.