I Believe

"I don't know about this Paul." Erica said skeptically, folding her arms and looking at him with a raised eyebrow.
"Seriously?" He said disbelievingly, circling her. "What do I have to do?" He paced the length of the near empty stage, thinking hard. "Ok, go sit down. I will prove it to you."
"I don't know." Erica said again, her eyebrow travelling higher.
"Come on. Give me a chance." Paul begged.
"You know I'm hopeless when you do the puppy dog eyes Paul." Erica complained.
"Which is exactly why I do it." He said logically. "Just go sit. Watch. Then, you can tell me what you think."
"Ok then." Erica finally gave in. She rolled her eyes, her arms still folded in front of her as she headed down the steps. "If you're so confident, prove it to me."

Paul nodded, the challenge giving him a fresh burst of energy and a rush of adrenaline. With a click of his fingers, the curtains closed on him and the theatre went pitch black. After a moment, Erica began rhythmically tapping her fingernails on the arm rest. At almost precisely the same moment, the curtains pulled open and the lights came up. But, Paul was nowhere to be seen. Erica continued to tap her fingers on the arm rest as she waited for something to happen.

Suddenly, a group of men emerged from the shadows and pulled a curtain up over all four sides of the long, narrow, box like contraption Erica only now noticed in the middle of the stage. Another moment passed before the men stepped back and the curtain fell quickly, revealing Paul. He stepped down and spread his arms out in question. Erica raised her eyebrow again. She wasn't completely convinced yet.
"Not yet huh?" Paul asked and Erica shook her head.
"Ok. That's alright." He said. "It just so happens I've got another trick up my sleeve."
"Oh really?" Erica asked, folding her arms again as Paul worked off stage. The curtains closed again, opening a moment later. This time, there was a bigger, more dangerous looking contraption in the middle of the stage. It was then that Paul emerged and opened a hidden door in the sort of race car, bug type machine in the stage's centre. With a wink at Erica, he got inside it and closed the lid. His assistants appeared again and set a saw hanging in mid air yet still attached to the machine in motion. Slowly, the saw came down and began to cut into the body of the machine below, the very part Paul had just shut himself inside of. Involuntarily, Erica let out an audible gasp, covering her mouth with her hand as her lips began to form an 'o'. Erica's attention was diverted when there was a light shining at the back of the room. She looked back to see that Paul was standing there, running up toward her and the stage.

"Well?" He asked, spreading his arms out in question once again as he looked down at her from the stage.
"Ok, ok." Erica said, standing up with her arms raised. "You got me. I believe."

The Letter

Dear Joan,
I would like to thank you again for the money you gave me for the baby my wife and I were expecting. We greatly appreciate it. I write to tell you that a few days ago, my wife gave birth to a healthy baby boy and to request that you name him. It is a custom among my people that a baby's name should be given by another who wishes their name to live on. Since you gave us money towards our son's healthcare and education, I believe it is you that should be allowed to name our boy. I hope to hear from you soon. All the best and God bless you,
Michael


Joan stared again at the letter in her hands. This didn't make sense. How did he get her information? Who was he? Why did he want her to name his son? It is a custom among my people he had said. And then, she remembered...

A few months back, Joan had gone on a trip to Vanuatu. In Port Villa, she had gone on a tour, and Michael, their tour guide had told them of the hardships Vanuatu faced in the way of medicine and education and had shared with them his excitement of impending fatherhood. Feeling sorry for the man, and touched by his story, Joan remembered now, she'd given him money as she left the bus. "Take this." She had said, closing his fingers around the notes. "Use it for your baby. For it's healthcare, for it's education. To give it a good life." She remembered clearly now the tear that had fallen from his eye and the overwhelming gratitude he showed. Joan remembered giving him her contact details, hoping to keep in touch. And now, here he was again, writing to her. His wife had had a healthy little boy.

Looking over the letter again, she noticed that Michael had left his contact number and so she dialed it. Only a few rings passed before Michael picked up on the other end.
"Hello?"
"Michael, it's Joan. You took me on a tour a few months ago. I gave you money for your boy." She explained quickly, hoping he'd remember her. She let out a sigh of relief as he spoke.
"Joan!" He said and she could almost see the wide grin on his face. "Of course I remember you! Thank you thank you so much for the money. Our boy is well."
"I can't name your boy, Michael." She said bluntly.
"Oh but Joan you must." He insisted.
"It is too much of an honour"
"You must name our boy Joan. Please. It is a custom of my people that when money is given for a baby, they should name them."
Joan was silent for a moment, thinking about it. This was obviously important to Michael. A custom of his people. "Ok." She said finally. "I'll do it. You must give him my late husband's name, Aaron."