There's No Such Thing as a Lil Life

Lil Penny stands in line at Java the Hut waiting to order a thimbleful of espresso. He feels a tap on his shoulder, turns around. It’s a guy in his early thirties peering down at him wearing a snapback Suns cap and a look of polite contrition. Lil Penny knows what’s coming.

“Hey bro, hate to bug you,” the guy says. It’s what they always say. What Lil Penny never says is, Yeah so why did you?

“Huge fan is all. Grew up on those Nike ads. Had the kicks and everything.” 

Lil Penny nods along. The guy looks as though he wants to be congratulated. Or told his childhood was worth something. 

“Thank you brother,” Lil Penny says. “I appreciate it.” 

Now the guy looks surprised. Because Lil Penny isn’t the cocky blowhard he played on television with Anfernee and Tyra. He’s gracious, understated. Keeps to himself. When he first settled in Tucson, these incidents happened more frequently. Now folks around town know to let him be. They know he moved out here for the quiet life. Took that Nike money and bought a small ranch where the saguaros are five times his height. Runs the community puppet theater in the strip mall between the European Wax Center and the H&R Block. Turned down a line of toys and a movie franchise out of respect for his namesake. Because when Anfernee tore up his knee, Lil Penny saw a version of himself out there writhing on the parquet, a dream cruelly snatched away. So he made it his mission to give back, nurture the dreams of the marionettes in his troupe. 

“You think it would be possible,” the young man is saying, but Lil Penny is already shaking his head. This time he’s the one who’s contrite. But he stands firm. No autographs. Partly because it’s a bitch for him to hold a Sharpie in his tiny hand, but mostly because he knows they often wind up on eBay, a cynical money grab. 

The young man looks crestfallen, so Lil Penny tells him, “But I appreciate the love, my man,” and turns around, shuffles forward in line to order.

“The usual?” the barista says to him with a warm smile. She has to crane over the edge of the counter to see him.

Lil Penny nods. “And whatever the young man behind me is having,” he says. 

In moments like this it’s hard not to imagine what might have been: sitting in the director’s chair, on stage clutching a gold statuette. But he shakes away the daydream, knows the work he’s doing is important enough. After his coffee, he will make his way over to the theater, help his students prepare for this weekend’s performance of Guys and Dolls. And he’ll remind them of something his mother told him every morning as a kid getting ready for school: The world will try to convince you otherwise, but Baby, you’re nobody’s puppet.

BRENDAN GILLEN is a writer in Brooklyn, NY. His work appears, or will appear, in HAD, X-R-A-Y, Expat, Longleaf Review, South Carolina Review, Taco Bell Quarterly and elsewhere. His debut chapbook, I've Given This a Lot of Thought, is available now via Bottlecap Press. You can find him online at bgillen.com and on Twitter/Instagram @beegillen