As I drove into the Castle Street Arts District this morning, the murals on the sides of buildings gave me no joy. At such an early hour, the traffic was light, and the streets were quiet, but all was confusion in my head. I felt like something the cat dragged in after a night of unusual circumstances.
Now that you have all the data describing the starting point, you can predict the rest.
I'd come to Cafe Luna expecting to find my 15-year-old godniece Lupe there. She'd mentioned it in a text message I received this morning while preparing Uma's medications. I refer, of course, to Uma, Queen of Cats and Empress of Chatsford.
Lupe also mentioned something about ACDC tour dates, but I labeled that as an aside and gave the subject a miss.
Her first text was terse and demanding. Come immediately, is what it said. I refer, of course, to Lupe's text, not Uma's. Uma doesn't have a phone anymore. I had to confiscate it after that mysterious box of cat toys turned up at our door, last summer.
I was at a loss to understand the exact meaning of her words. Come where?, I wondered, and why? I had no immediate comeback and I pondered the words trying to find the most appropriate reply.
What do you mean, come immediately? I typed.
What do you mean, what do I mean? came her response. I'm here at Cafe Luna waiting for you, you big jamoke. Get here in the next 15 minutes or eat my dust.
I suddenly remembered that I'd requested this audience the previous evening and I knew that if I didn't show up right away, the Cafe Luna sidewalk would be noticeably free of Lupes.
Still, even with good intentions and all that, I had to cross the river to get to the cafe. I don't mean that I had to row or catch a ferry. There is a bridge, but still, a few minutes were required to relocate. And so a few minutes later I was turning onto Castle Street and as I mentioned, the murals gave me no joy.
I entered the cafe and saw them immediately. Lupe was dressed in a denim waist jacket if that's the term. She wore a short flannel skirt, black combat boots, and one of those leather caps that actors used to wear in movies of the late 60's.
I only mention her attire because, since moving to the Castle Street Arts district, her taste in outer upholstery has changed from Gothic to Hipster. It's something you may have noticed yourself.
"Good morning," I said to the pair for there were two of them. I don't mean two Lupes. I wasn't manic after all. What I mean is that she was co-locating with a friend. I knew it was a friend because they were dressed alike. Jumping to conclusions do you think? Possibly.
"Good morning," said the friend, who resembled that young actress who starred in the movie from the early 80's. The one that became the seminal film of the decade. You know the one I mean.
"Wow," said the godniece, who had remained silent until now--silent but with wide-eyed surprise on her map. "Why the frown? You look like something the cat dragged in..."
"After a wild night out with the neighborhood raccoons?" I said.
"I was going to say, Even though the market for same was sluggish to non-existent."
"What can I get you?" said a voice off-camera.
"Double cap," said Lupe. "Same," said Claudia. I did mention that her name was Claudia, didn't I? "I'll have an Americano," I said.
"Now tell me," said Lupe, "what's wrong with you?"
"For one thing," I said, "my thumb hurts like unrequited love because I stuck a hypodermic syringe underneath it while trying to load it with Uma's lactulose this morning."
"Oh, ungh!" said Claudia. "A hypodermic?"
"Not the pointy end," I said. "The other end." But she seemed to not get the gist. Her face radiated confusion. Rather than explain, I decided to change the subject because I didn't want this blog post to run into overtime.
And as for you," I said to Lupe, "I need some bright, warm welcoming this morning and so far your greeting hasn't met the necessary requirements."
"You know," she said, "there was a time when you behaved toward me like a godfather but you went astray somewhere and now I have to take care of myself. How could you forget that we were meeting here this morning?"
"Lupe, I need your advice," I said hoping to cut through all the distractions and get right to the nub.
"I know," she said. "So whassup?"
"It's like this," I said. "I've had several events of synchronicity lately. More than the recommended dose for the average adult. Events that involve things like Nickle Creek and Talking Heads."
"That is alarming," she said.
"You ain't heard nothin'," I said. "Most recently, I was reviewing some old blog posts and I came across the one titled, Saying Goodbye to Mom."
"That must have been difficult for you," she said.
"Don't interrupt please," I said, "I'll get off topic and never be able to find my way back."
"Two double cappuccinos and an americano," said the barista.
"Did I ask for an extra shot?" I said.
"No," she said, "but I'll take care of it right away."
I looked at the two hipsters seated with me at this table located near the window but not too near the door. I mention it here only because it's all I was aware of as I searched the recent activities to find my place in the narrative if it was a narrative.
The girls looked back at me as though they were waiting for me to finish something.
"What?" I said.
"Saying goodbye to Mom," said Lupe.
"Oh, right," I said. "You see, I remembered that the piece needed a bit of revision and since I had a few minutes, I decided to give it a go."
"Okay," she said and then looked at Claudia. Did I mention her name is Claudia? The above-mentioned looked back at her and then they both looked at me.
"Go on," she said. Apparently, they were in agreement that my story was Okay so far.
"Well," I said. "The changes were already made and I don't remember making them. The phrases in the revisions were so creative, that I'm sure I'd remember if they were mine."
"The mind pulls some pretty quirky pranks sometimes," she said.
"You think that's all it is?" I said. "I just don't remember writing those words?"
"I'd say something along those lines, more or less, make up the probability distribution of the quantum wave function."
"I'm not so sure," I said.
"Well, at least consider it," she said, "and you might try sticking your finger in an electrical outlet on the chance that EST will reset your brain and clear up the mystery."
Once again, this teenage Jeeves had shown light on the dark corners of my mind. Our little encounter left me feeling better. The pain in the thumb was completely forgotten. Of course, my finger still smarted from the electrical shock.