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Title: "Echoes of Possession"
10,000 hours. 10,000 hours. I told myself, this was the year. Put up or shut up.
Thankfully, driving can be almost automatic, when the route is familiar. The phrase, "!0,000 hours" kept repeating in my tired mind as I drove my good ole Honda Civic to my favorite coffee shop. I had to park further away than usual. I pulled in and, for just a minute thought, "Really, am I doing this? The odds are what, a million to one?!" But I remembered that forty is fast disappearing in rear view mirror of my life, and fifty is looming on the horizon with all the fun of AARP memberships and questions about "oh, do you have grandkids?"
I'm doing this. I grab my laptop in it's dusty old black bag. Put it over my shoulder. Open my car door. If nothing else, it might be interesting, right?
I walk into the coffee shop. Ding (the door chimes). The place looks dark. I don't know if it's truly dark or it's just my transition lenses. I study the "monthly specials" board. I swear they are very similar each month, they just switch out the names to match the holidays.
"Can I help you? We have some wonderful specials today!" The excited teen barista smiles with enthusiasm. I guess I'm old, but I find her perkiness a bit percolated. I bet the shop tries to conceal the low level of the wages with a high level of free employee drinks.
"Ma'm?" Her smile is slipping.
"Ah yeah, um, let me try the Golden Hour" I say.
"Hot or iced? Whole milk or oat? We also have soy and almond milk, if you prefer alternatives."
Oh my god. I almost replied, "In my day, the only thing we milked was cows, not nuts and plants." "In my day..." I sound like my grandparents!
"Uh, real milk. I mean, regular."
"Do you prefer whole, 2 % or skim?" Miss Teen Coffee USA was back with her questions.
"Whole I guess. I truly don't care."
"We aim to please. It will be right up. Can I have your name for the order?"
"Uh, Emily."
"Emily it is. That will be right up!" she chirps.
I look around. There is one empty table. I sit down with a sigh. Crap, I remember my mom sighing when she sat down. What the heck is happening to me these days?
I put my laptop in the wall, open the screen, and press the power button. It starts up. Of course it wants my password. I start to type and suddenly Miss Teen Thing trills, "Golden Hour for Emily!"
I jump up, and turn for the counter and almost fall flat on my face. I throw out my hands and feel ... something warm?!
"Whoopie-daisy there! You almost dropped that fancy computer!"
I look up and I'm holding hands with...Santa Clause? I blink my eyes shut, then slowly open. Maybe this is just a dream. Why would I dream about coffee though?
"Golden Hour for EMILY!"
"I'm coming!" I yell and everyone looks up. I say, "Excuse me?" and Santa lets go of my hand.
I grab my drink, murmur, "Yeah, thanks" and turn to go back to my table, only to see the other chair is now occupied.
Santa himself (or his plain clothes double) is now sitting across from my laptop.
"I just wanted to make sure you're ok."
"Yeah, I'm fine." I murmur.
"Dontcha worry, I'm leaving. I just ... I just wanted to tell you to hang on in there, little lady."
"Hang in there?" I take a longer drink of my coffee. Why does it seem like I can't even understand English today? I blink my eyes closed, then open. Nope, it's still real.
"What do you mean anyway, sir?" because honestly, I'm tired of it. I came here to ...to finally start keeping my promises to myself not to talk to people about milk and hanging in there and who the heck is this guy anyways?
"Sorry, that's right, I shoulda introduced myself. I'm Ralph, but of course that doesn't matter. I'm not the one you came to listen to, and I know that."
"Sir, I don't know you, but somehow it ... why would you know why I'm here."
"You have that look is all." He smiled and leaned back in his chair. If you could call that his chair. Technically it's at MY table.
I sigh and think, "OK, if you can't beat 'em, at least hear what they have to say."
"'That look'? Sir, if you could excuse me, see I have a lot to do" I nod meaningfully at my laptop.
"Oh sure, I know. Just hang in there. You're not the only one who hears them."
"Hears them?" Apparently they let just anyone in this coffee shop now. Good freaking g-d, what the heck with today.
"See it's ... it's easily explained." He smiles.
"It is?" I shake my head. I shut my laptop. Apparently, I'm going to hear this explanation.
"Yep. I personally think it's pretty clear that alternate timelines are the ways we all reincarnate."
I start to unplug my laptop.
"Hey, miss, just wait a minute. I wasn't trying to bother ya now, just...that's why you don't have to worry."
"Listen, sir, I believe it's my decision when to worry--"
"I just meant, little lady, that death isn't the end. It's not even the end of communication. That's why you hear them."
"Hear who?" Now I'm really irked. I pull out my phone to check the time. Dammit!
"Listen. You're a writer, right?"
"I mean... kind of. That was the plan today."
"I knew it!" His smug smile was almost annoying.
"I mean, I ... like to try to write, but I don't write about death or reincarnation or any of that. And honestly, I won't be writing about anything if I don't get to it."
He braced his hands on the table. "I know, I'm sorry to interrupt. I just... I didn't want you to fall. And then I wanted to remind you. It may seem like... echoes of possession, but it's just the timeline whispers. Some of us can hear them."
"You're saying that ... that when authors write it's... real people, on other timelines communicating? Hm." I can't help it. Now I'm interested. That's kind of a genius idea really. "So that would mean historical fiction--"
"Is the people in alternate pasts trying to set the story straight. See the other time lines have authors too."
"Ralph. You said your name is Ralph? You've really thought about this, haven't you?" He didn't look completely crazy. Clean jeans, plaid shirt. If you switched his ball cap for a red elf hat, he'd be Santa, but a clean, well-groomed one. Not that homeless variety you see out by the soup kitchen.
"Thought about it? Missy, I lived it. And honestly, I think you've got all those best possessed qualities. A bit curious, able to listen." He stood to his feet this time.
"I'll leave you to it. Just be careful if you get up."
Ralph headed to the door, saying, "And if it's any consolation, you'll never truly feel alone. They do love communicating!"
The coffee shop door closed behind him with a ding.
I looked down at my laptop. I slowly plugged it back in, took a sip of my too sweet Golden Hour, and opened the screen.
I typed in my password and clicked on the Word icon.
Ralph had said "You'll never feel alone."
At this point, I didn't know if that was a threat or a promise of chapters to come.
I took a deep breath. I began to type, "She started to trip and threw out her hands ..."
10,000 hours. 10,000 hours. I told myself, this was the year. Put up or shut up.
Thankfully, driving can be almost automatic, when the route is familiar. The phrase, "!0,000 hours" kept repeating in my tired mind as I drove my good ole Honda Civic to my favorite coffee shop. I had to park further away than usual. I pulled in and, for just a minute thought, "Really, am I doing this? The odds are what, a million to one?!" But I remembered that forty is fast disappearing in rear view mirror of my life, and fifty is looming on the horizon with all the fun of AARP memberships and questions about "oh, do you have grandkids?"
I'm doing this. I grab my laptop in it's dusty old black bag. Put it over my shoulder. Open my car door. If nothing else, it might be interesting, right?
I walk into the coffee shop. Ding (the door chimes). The place looks dark. I don't know if it's truly dark or it's just my transition lenses. I study the "monthly specials" board. I swear they are very similar each month, they just switch out the names to match the holidays.
"Can I help you? We have some wonderful specials today!" The excited teen barista smiles with enthusiasm. I guess I'm old, but I find her perkiness a bit percolated. I bet the shop tries to conceal the low level of the wages with a high level of free employee drinks.
"Ma'm?" Her smile is slipping.
"Ah yeah, um, let me try the Golden Hour" I say.
"Hot or iced? Whole milk or oat? We also have soy and almond milk, if you prefer alternatives."
Oh my god. I almost replied, "In my day, the only thing we milked was cows, not nuts and plants." "In my day..." I sound like my grandparents!
"Uh, real milk. I mean, regular."
"Do you prefer whole, 2 % or skim?" Miss Teen Coffee USA was back with her questions.
"Whole I guess. I truly don't care."
"We aim to please. It will be right up. Can I have your name for the order?"
"Uh, Emily."
"Emily it is. That will be right up!" she chirps.
I look around. There is one empty table. I sit down with a sigh. Crap, I remember my mom sighing when she sat down. What the heck is happening to me these days?
I put my laptop in the wall, open the screen, and press the power button. It starts up. Of course it wants my password. I start to type and suddenly Miss Teen Thing trills, "Golden Hour for Emily!"
I jump up, and turn for the counter and almost fall flat on my face. I throw out my hands and feel ... something warm?!
"Whoopie-daisy there! You almost dropped that fancy computer!"
I look up and I'm holding hands with...Santa Clause? I blink my eyes shut, then slowly open. Maybe this is just a dream. Why would I dream about coffee though?
"Golden Hour for EMILY!"
"I'm coming!" I yell and everyone looks up. I say, "Excuse me?" and Santa lets go of my hand.
I grab my drink, murmur, "Yeah, thanks" and turn to go back to my table, only to see the other chair is now occupied.
Santa himself (or his plain clothes double) is now sitting across from my laptop.
"I just wanted to make sure you're ok."
"Yeah, I'm fine." I murmur.
"Dontcha worry, I'm leaving. I just ... I just wanted to tell you to hang on in there, little lady."
"Hang in there?" I take a longer drink of my coffee. Why does it seem like I can't even understand English today? I blink my eyes closed, then open. Nope, it's still real.
"What do you mean anyway, sir?" because honestly, I'm tired of it. I came here to ...to finally start keeping my promises to myself not to talk to people about milk and hanging in there and who the heck is this guy anyways?
"Sorry, that's right, I shoulda introduced myself. I'm Ralph, but of course that doesn't matter. I'm not the one you came to listen to, and I know that."
"Sir, I don't know you, but somehow it ... why would you know why I'm here."
"You have that look is all." He smiled and leaned back in his chair. If you could call that his chair. Technically it's at MY table.
I sigh and think, "OK, if you can't beat 'em, at least hear what they have to say."
"'That look'? Sir, if you could excuse me, see I have a lot to do" I nod meaningfully at my laptop.
"Oh sure, I know. Just hang in there. You're not the only one who hears them."
"Hears them?" Apparently they let just anyone in this coffee shop now. Good freaking g-d, what the heck with today.
"See it's ... it's easily explained." He smiles.
"It is?" I shake my head. I shut my laptop. Apparently, I'm going to hear this explanation.
"Yep. I personally think it's pretty clear that alternate timelines are the ways we all reincarnate."
I start to unplug my laptop.
"Hey, miss, just wait a minute. I wasn't trying to bother ya now, just...that's why you don't have to worry."
"Listen, sir, I believe it's my decision when to worry--"
"I just meant, little lady, that death isn't the end. It's not even the end of communication. That's why you hear them."
"Hear who?" Now I'm really irked. I pull out my phone to check the time. Dammit!
"Listen. You're a writer, right?"
"I mean... kind of. That was the plan today."
"I knew it!" His smug smile was almost annoying.
"I mean, I ... like to try to write, but I don't write about death or reincarnation or any of that. And honestly, I won't be writing about anything if I don't get to it."
He braced his hands on the table. "I know, I'm sorry to interrupt. I just... I didn't want you to fall. And then I wanted to remind you. It may seem like... echoes of possession, but it's just the timeline whispers. Some of us can hear them."
"You're saying that ... that when authors write it's... real people, on other timelines communicating? Hm." I can't help it. Now I'm interested. That's kind of a genius idea really. "So that would mean historical fiction--"
"Is the people in alternate pasts trying to set the story straight. See the other time lines have authors too."
"Ralph. You said your name is Ralph? You've really thought about this, haven't you?" He didn't look completely crazy. Clean jeans, plaid shirt. If you switched his ball cap for a red elf hat, he'd be Santa, but a clean, well-groomed one. Not that homeless variety you see out by the soup kitchen.
"Thought about it? Missy, I lived it. And honestly, I think you've got all those best possessed qualities. A bit curious, able to listen." He stood to his feet this time.
"I'll leave you to it. Just be careful if you get up."
Ralph headed to the door, saying, "And if it's any consolation, you'll never truly feel alone. They do love communicating!"
The coffee shop door closed behind him with a ding.
I looked down at my laptop. I slowly plugged it back in, took a sip of my too sweet Golden Hour, and opened the screen.
I typed in my password and clicked on the Word icon.
Ralph had said "You'll never feel alone."
At this point, I didn't know if that was a threat or a promise of chapters to come.
I took a deep breath. I began to type, "She started to trip and threw out her hands ..."
