The Explanation

My two friends returned to our table in Cafe Luna with caffeine reinforcements and I took a deep breath to calm the anxious mind. I knew Claudia would have a lot of questions and I knew that I wouldn't have answers for them all. I could only hope that Lupe would be able to smooth any rough spots that I left in conversation.

"I don't understand," said Claudia. "Death's assistant? Does that mean you have something to do with people dying?"

Lupe gave her a concerned look and placed the palm of her hand on Claudia's forehead.

"Oh, no," I said. "Of course not. We simply facilitate the soul's ascension by helping it get to the right person."

"What about the sewer harpies or whatever? What's that got to do with it."

"Maybe I should begin with how I got involved in the first place. You see, a few years ago I read a novel called Dirty Job. The author is Christopher Moore."

"He wrote Lust Lizard," she said.

"That's right."

"And Sequined Love Nun."

"Yes, well in Dirty Job the main character is recruited to become a soul merchant. That's the name used in the book. I don't particularly like it but there it is.

Anyway, I loved the book and think of it often because of some of the strange events that happen in my daily life. Eventually, I realized that my life parallels the main character in the book.

The more I thought about it, the more I seemed to be living a life much like Charlie Asher's. He's the main character."

"Wow," said Claudia. "This reminds me of the Will Farrell movie, Stranger Than Fiction. In that movie, the main character is living a story that is being written by a fiction author."

"Hmm," I said for she had interested me strangely with this idea of actually living a life that is the storyline in a novel. "Tell me more," I said.

"Well, he's living a normal life it seems, until he begins hearing a voice narrating his life in real-time, sort of."

"Incredulous!" I said.

"Incredible," said Lupe.

"Exactly," I said. "Sounds so much like my life."

"No it doesn't," said Lupe. "It sounds nothing like your life unless you throw away all the backstory that we already know about you and Princess Amy."

"And don't forget the hypothalamus," I said. "I watched an episode of Closer to the Truth last night and discovered that the behaviors resulting from Princess Amy's analyses are initiated by the hypo-T." 

"Whatever!" said Lupe. "You're not living a story in a book of fiction. It's much more complex and a lot deeper than that. 

I'll give you the full rundown after dinner tonight," she said to Claudia.

"Deeper and more complex?" said Claudia. "I'm sorry, Genome it sounds serious, but don't worry, I'm confident that Lupe and I can help you with it. Keep confident and it will all work out."

I must admit, her cheerful attitude and generous offer to be a member of the Genome team did help to lift my spirit. I realized that I don't have to go through all this alone. I felt much better. 

A few moments of silence passed with the two girls looking at each other as if to say, What now? 

"What now?" said Claudia.

"My mom says that it's either get a barista job at Starbucks or enroll in Cape Fear Community College," said Lupe.

That's when I realized that these two downtown girls were in the middle of a dilemma of their own. I decided to hang around and listen for a change. You never know when you're going to learn something by simply paying attention. 

And besides, perhaps I could contribute something to the conversation to make them feel better. Stranger things have happened.

Don't Encourage Her

It was the sudden onset of a manic episode that caused me to miss the turn onto Hillsboro Road. But after a short diversion I finally crossed the covered bridge and arrived at the Inn of the Three Sisters in Pittsboro. Just as the threatening clouds decided to stop bluffing, roll up their sleeves and get down to it.

As we pulled into a parking space near the entrance, I gaged the volume of the downpour and having considered this and that, decided to wait it out. After what seemed like a couple of moments, the 11 year-old geezer in the passenger seat asked, "Why do you talk like that?"

I don't need to tell you that her remark wasn't the start of the conversation. I like that about you--that I don't need to explain every little thing. Now that I think of it, why don't you join us one morning at Native Grounds for coffee. It's in the Renaissance District, near Southpoint. The tribe would love to meet you.

I was taken back by the question she asked but I leaned into it. 

"And why, Lucy," I said, "do you continue to ask the same question that I've answered again and again?" 

And yes, I know you're thinking that I shouldn't call her by the name she doesn't like, but sometimes, well, sometimes you just..oh you know what I mean.

"No," she said, "I'm not talking about the stupid way you put sentences together. What I mean is that your manic fits don't have anything to do with thunderstorms."

Well! I mean! I gasped, and I'm sure you can guess why. I mean, just what the hell did she mean 'stupid way of putting sentences together,' and did she really use the term, manic fits? Manic fits! And did I really say out loud that I missed the turn because of a manic episode?

"For the last time, you ankle-biter, I don't have fits! I do experience emotional interruptions to the cognitive circuits, but much like electrical surges. Sometimes the mental clocks begin blinking and need resetting after such a surge but no real harm."

"Unless your mental phone is plugged into a mental outlet and gets mentally fried," she said.

"Lucy Lupe Mankiller!" I said and I meant every last word. I fully intended to stop this charging tween in her tracks and I knew those three words would do it.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she said, letting me know that she'd had enough of the subject for now.

I think this is a good place to stop and reassure you that there is no permanent rift between the Genome and his god-niece. We're forever teammates. We do get our feathers in twist from time to time but it never lasts.

Keep the faith, my friend. This sacred pilgrimage continues for its eighth year and the joy continues with it.

Looking Back

This post is meant only for me and for the members of the Den of the Secret Nine. I doubt that anyone else will be interested but I include these statistics here because these records are important to me and I can't seem to keep up with my notes when I save them offline.

If you're one of the few readers who are interested in such things as this, please leave a comment.

March 1, 2024

The oldest post on The Circular Journey blog is dated February 22, 2012. A few older posts were deleted to eliminate any evidence that may be used against me. Always a prudent precaution.

At any rate, this blog is now twelve years old. Happy birthday to The Circular Journey and happy birthday to my father, Genome Senior.

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• 244 published postings with 88,941 total views

I have never promoted this blog so all activity is organic. I am considering promotion in the future.

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Into The Breach

It seemed like a normal day running errands in the city. Of course, the Cape Fear bridge is closed for repair and all traffic into the city must cross the river on the north side. The additional daily traffic is estimated to be more than 30,000 private autos and anywhere between 400 and 700 big rigs.

That's a significant amount of traffic. Still, if I cross sometime after the morning rush hour, it shouldn't be too bad. That's what I told myself as I headed east on Highway 17.

The traffic backup began before I got to the battleship exit. That's about three miles from the Holmes bridge. If you're a regular here on The Circular Journey, then you've surely read my raves and rants on the subject of quantum physics. That being the case, I don't need to tell you that when a butterfly flaps its wings in the Amazonian rainforest, the upshot can possibly be a hurricane off the coast of Houston.

That butterfly was warming up its wings in the pit of my stomach as I contemplated those three miles of bumper-to-bumper ranygazoo. Princess Amy was repeating, Oh no, oh no.

As I approached the turning lanes, a pickup decided to move into my space. He began his move. It was a bust. He'd hesitated a little too long and had to cancel. But no! He'd made that change after all. He was able to squeeze his square truck into the round hole between me and the car ahead by forcing me to stop and wait for him.

Off with his head! shouted Amy.

I felt that old familiar feeling of anxiety growing in my chest. It grew some more when I realized that several people weren't in their preferred lanes and they began shifting before they missed the opportunity.

How is it that so many people panic even though plenty of signs on the highway remind us that there are two turning lanes--one leading to the beaches and one leading downtown?

Perhaps they think the helpful hints are for other people and they are not other people. Did I mention that I was just a little nervous as the mob of vehicles entered the downtown district.

In the lane next to me was one of those little muscle cars. The engine was loud and the driver liked to rev it up apparently because he liked the noise.

It was his turn to decide to move into the space that Wind Horse was occupying. Fortunately, he saw me in time to avoid a collision and quickly moved back into his lane. The foiled attempt seemed to disturb him and as I glided past he gave me a dirty look and revved his engine a few more times.

I'll give you something that'll make you think disturbed, said the little princess. It's something I heard often growing up and never really understood its meaning--not really.

Just to be friendly, I revved Wind Horse's engine and returned his look. Oh, man! That was a mistake. 

As soon as he gained clearance, he pulled right behind me and began alternately rushing up behind me and revving like the dickens. I interpreted his behavior to imply, Oh yeah! What do you think about that, Buster. 

I must have been driving too carefully for him because he seemed to quickly tire of the game and again changed lanes, moving past me with more engine growling and dirty looks.

I was tired of the game too. The unpleasant experience of coming downtown with all the extra traffic had put off my bien ettre, if that's the term.

I decided to abandon my errands at the next exit. As I pulled into the turning lane, the little muscle car cruised by me one more time, and one more time I was given the heightened RPM's and the dirty look.

Don't mess with the bull, young man, you'll get the horns. That's the thought I had as I sounded my horn to acknowledge his greeting. I smiled and felt much better about the whole affair as I saluted him with the fickle finger.

Ha, ha! said Amy. I hope he follows us. I'd like to give him a piece of my mind. 

Sometimes I think Amy should count to 10 before opening her mouth, especially when she's worked up.

Before closing, let me just say that I didn't really do or think such things. Not really. Oh, but I can't lie to you, my loyal public. Yes, I did those things. But please don't follow my example. I don't approve of my behavior, and neither should you, but sometimes I just can't control it.

I blame Princess Amy.

Working It Out

For months now I've been chevied by sewer harpies in the earnest manner of Snowball, that terrier belonging to Patrizia Miani, the girl next door. You probably remember that on the above occasion, the end result was embarrassment, humiliation, and ruin.

Something has to be done about it. Driving to my weekly rendevous with the representatives of Wilmington's quality, I was rehearsing my intention of giving Princess Amy a piece of my mind.

As I crossed the Cape Fear Memorial bridge, I happened to glance downriver toward the port and was dumbstruck. Although the morning was bright and clear at my latitude, a dark wall of thunderstorms was emerging from the Atlantic and heading my way. 

When Amy saw the cloud, she sounded the alert. "Faster, faster, faster," she shouted while jumping up and down like that little buffalo bird I wrote about in a previous post. She paused only long enough to warn me to get to Castle Street ahead of the storm.

I remember thinking that her warning was intended to keep me from getting soaked in a downpour. Just goes to show you, that life isn't always what it seems. 

By the time I parked, the sky had darkened all around. I rushed to the door of Native Grounds and saw Lupe and Claudia sitting at a table near the window. Before I could open the door, the shadow darkened around me and I felt something tugging at my jacket, pulling me back toward the street. I swerved around and swiped at the thing with my umbrella then I lunged toward the cafe, threw open the door, and fell inside.

"What the hell!" said Amy.

"Calm down, old girl," I said. "We're safe now."

I quickly moved to the table where my two young friends were watching me, wide-eyed.

"What the hell!" said Lupe.

"The darkness is getting full of itself," I said.

Claudia was up, looking out the window. "It seems perfectly quiet now," she said. "The darkness has passed and it's sunshine and blue skies everywhere."

"For the time being only," I said.

"I don't understand," said Lupe, "Amy's shenanigans are usually inside jobs, right?"

"Who's Amy?" asked Claudia.

"Not, Amy," I said. "Asher."

"Who's Asher then?" said Claudia.

"Asher!" said Lupe. "Charlie Asher? You mean this is the work of sewer harpies?"

"What're sewer harpies?" said Claudia, becoming more insistent with each question.

"Yeah," I said, "they've been following me ever since I crossed the Cape Fear bridge."

"Hey!" cried Claudia. "Remember me? What are you guys talking about, if anything?"

Lupe and I looked at her. Her wide blue eyes didn't register the wonder and excitement that I expected. Instead, they had a sort of glazed look that might come from drinking bourbon instead of coffee. They seemed to say, I'm out of here as soon as I find my car keys.

"You should probably explain," said Lupe.

"My thoughts exactly," said Claudia.

"I'll get a refill," said Lupe as she left us and moved toward the spot marked with an 'X' on the cafe map.

"It's a long story," I said to Claudia.

"Well, that's unfortunate," she said, "but I'm not going outside anytime soon," she said with another searching glance through the window, "so let's have it."

"It all began when I was recruited to be Death's assistant," I said.

"Did you say, death's assistant," she said.

"It's the mythological Death," I said. "With a capital D."

"And you're his assistant?" she said but not with any real sincerity.

I paused to marshall my thoughts. One doesn't want to rush into an explanation when one is aware that there's a high probability of being considered what my mother referred to as a nut case. After all, there are times when even I don't believe it's true.

"Like Santa's little helpers?" she said.

"Not exactly," I said. "Here's the deal. You see, Death's real job is to help the soul transition from one person--the one who recently clocked out and the next person in line to assist the soul on the path to ascension."

I looked for some sign that she was following the gist. I was concerned for her because her eyebrows were raised to maximum height and I feared they might be stuck there if something wasn't done soon.

"Wait," she said. "Is this a joke? "If not, then first I need to know why I should believe any of this. I mean, I did see the shadow, looked like some big bird. And I saw you flailing around on the sidewalk."

I opened my mouth to clarify but she hadn't relinquished the floor.

"Start at the beginning," she said. "How did you get involved in all this and why should I believe any of it. But before you start that, I'd better get another cappuccino and bring Lupe back to the table so she can interpret for me."

And with that, she left me. I was unaware that a blog post would result that would become the first to be continued in later posts. And that post, dear reader, is this post. 

I'll link all the related posts in chronological order so that you can follow the gist, unlike poor Claudia. Without the links, this post written in the past and the rest of the posts written in the future may become discombobulated and then where would you be?

If you get lost, just leave a comment on any post you happen to stumble across and I'll come find you.