What has happened so far: A Wizard guards a path into a dense forest.

A lone Traveler attempts to enter the forest, but the Wizard refuses to let him pass until he answers “The Question.”

In a fit of rage over government regulations, the Traveler reveals himself to be the demi-god LoDi, and unleashes his anger in the form of thunder and torrential rain. The Wizard calmly reveals himself to be a bureaucrat, and promises the hell and fury of an unchecked government agency.

In the midst of all the hub-bub, the two realize they are former classmates at a prestigious academy for the Mystically Powerful. They spend the rest of the afternoon wallowing in the glory days of youth.

“So what brings you to this neck of the woods?” the Wizard (formally known as Rick) asked his long lost friend.

“I’m heading to a conference on Supernatural Power Brokerage,” replied the former Stachieu Fademendowski, currently known as the demi-god LoDi. “It’s a symposium on the influence of mysticism on the supernaturally endowed. I’m hosting a round table discussion on anger management.”

“I’d like to sit in on that conversation,” said the Wizard, who smirked as he looked around at the fallen trees and flooded terrain brought on by LoDi’s recent reaction to governmental influence on the private sector.

“Come to the conference with me,” urged LoDi. “Catch up with some of the guys from school, sit in on a couple of workshops, have a good time — but…,” LoDi’s voice grew quiet and firm, “Don’t let on about being a bureaucrat. There’s a few guys that went to Harvard and Yale. They’re not very tolerant of that sort of thing.”

LoDi pressed his friend, “If you don’t mind me asking, how did you end up working for the government? In school, you were always the anti-establishment type.”

“In wizardry, we have a saying: ‘Those that can — do. Those that can no longer do — teach. Everyone else works for the government.’”

A tired smile stretched the Wizard’s wrinkled face.

“When the recession hit, all the good wizard jobs went away. I couldn’t get a teaching gig because parents wanted their kids to become doctors or lawyers. They thought wizardry was a dying skill trade, like plumbers and mathematicians. The stimulus package promised ‘wand ready’ jobs, so I signed up — and ended up as a toll booth attendant.”

Admitting that it might be exciting to get out of the bureaucracy business and back into full-time wizardry, the Wizard decided to join his friend on a journey through the dense forest. After walking for fifteen minutes along a desolate wooded path, the Wizard suddenly stopped in his tracks.

“What am I thinking?” he asked, while executing a palm-plant to his forehead. Reaching into a hidden pocket, sewn into the lining of his flowing wizard’s robe, he pulled out a very small satchel. From within the very small satchel, he removed a very large, pointed hat, adorned with stars and other cryptic symbols.

“Nice hat,” LoDi commented. “Where did you get it?”

“Disney World,” answered the Wizard with a smile. Smiling seemed to be erasing some of the fissures in his face. “Where did you get yours?” he asked, nodding toward the wide brimmed fedora, concealing most of LoDi’s face.

“Goodwill.”

The two shared a laugh, wrinkles in the Wizard’s face continued to fade, and LoDi removed his hat — revealing a serious case of male pattern baldness.

Once again reaching into the small satchel, the wizard removed a magic wand, “Let’s see if I can remember how to do this,” he mumbled. “Polaris, Kawasaki, Razor — only for fun. Do not bring us a mule — like a deer we shall run,” he repeated the chant three times, culminating with a quick flick of his wand.  A cloud of smoke filled the air, causing both men to hack, cough and flail their arms in an attempt to clear the fumes.

Sitting in the middle of the trail was a Gator RSX high performance off road utility vehicle — powered by a 63 HP, four-stroke engine, featuring bucket seats and the power steering option.

“Why walk, when you can ride?” asked the Wizard with a beaming grin.

The two rode through the forest in style, beginning a series of adventures yet to be chronicled.

Larry Wilson is a mostly lifelong resident of Niles. His optimistic “glass full to overflowing” view of life shapes his writing. His essays stem from experiences, compilations and recollections from friends and family. Wilson touts himself as “a dubiously licensed teller of tall tales, sworn to uphold the precept of ‘It’s my story; that’s the way I’m telling it.’” He can be reached at wflw@hotmail.com.