Fucked Up Morning

I wake at Four in the Morning.

I take a piss, and then I hit the hay again. If I wake at Five I'll take a shower.
I wake at seven thirty. Well, there goes my seat in the eye of God. By the time I would get there the damn seat will be gone. That's the breaks. I get up and get ready in minutes, looking like eight miles of bad road.

I am the walking dead as I head down to the Starbucks, half awake, half stone cold still in the bed. I am not yet awake. But then again, that's what the coffee is for isn't it? I think about it as I step into the Starbucks. What are you supposed to like like at Seven in the morning in a Starbucks? Like a million bucks? Or wearing rollers in your hair, jogging clothes, nappy headed, drawn features, bad breath. That's the morning look. I enter in and find the Eye of God empty. Why lucky me. I hop into my favorite chair and then head to get my coffee.

As I walk to the counter, I pass a slim, young girl leaning against a pillar. She is staring off into space, out of the windows of the establishment. Short, lean, blonde. She catches my attention for only a minute. I order my coffee and head to 'The Eye'. I carefully unpack my gear, setting up my baby, which is a bit of a chore. There is now a lot of equipment that goes with my baby, and I carefully....

Now I wear headsets, so much of my sensory perception is blocked, but I 'feel' something grace my shoulder and I turn to see the little blonde right up against me. I'm taken off guard, take a step back. Wha? "Mister, can you help me?" She asks.

Now I'll tell you something very, very personal. Don't tell anyone I told you this. Let's just keep this one between you and I. But back in my alcohol abusing days, I suffered from alcoholic dementia. That's right. I saw and felt and heard things JUST LIKE THIS. PEOPLE, real honest to goodness PEOPLE that weren't there. And that's exactly what I thought that I was looking at right this second. This waif-like adult was not in front of me, neither would it make much sense. Which it didn't.

Depends on what it is that you need. I respond to her. "How do I get to Manhattan?" I look at her. I don't know. Then I had to rethink what I was talking about. SHIT, this IS Manhattan! I give her another stare, this time to see through her, as if her skin tissue would turn clear and I could see the oak wall behind her. But her skin became even more real, her features more attractive, eyes ever so blue. I took another step back. This IS Manhattan. "I mean," she shakes her head. "How do I get out of here?" She replies, not losing a beat. Fuck! She IS a hallucination! Where do you want to go? "Can you help me?" What do you want? She doesn't respond. She only sighs tiredly, rests her back against the wall, deflated. I shake my head, dig into my bag for a moment for my power cords and mini-mouse, and when I look up again, she was gone.

Now, I can't tell you how much this unnerved me. I look around and find myself the only person in the Starbucks on a Sunday morning. She could have left for the bathroom, and there was an exit door not too far away. But her speed was so quick. It had to be.

Of course I HAVE TO believe this. Because the alternative is depressing. The major problem with these things is that there is no one else around that I can ask if they saw her. That's where being around my brother was ever so helpful. I could always ask him if he saw 'he or she'. If I do that to you sometimes, now you know why. But here we are, or more accurately, here I am, standing there like a handcuffed dummy. Looking for someone that either left the building or my sensory perception. I continued to unpack my gear, stealing glances over my shoulder, but she never appeared again. Like she would. They never come back. Ever. I never see these constructs ever again. I take a seat. I have been missing my psychotropic meds recently. Maybe that's what brought her. I have to get my prescription filled. It's depressing. The damage that drinking can do to your brain is immense.

There was I time that I welcomed the specters. I enjoyed their company, feeling that they were Avatars. Creatures who came to warn or guide me during times of crisis. The thing about this is the uncertainty. WAS SHE REAL? She had to have been. Like I said, the alternative is too depressing. I brush it aside. I'll get my meds filled next week and that will be the end of that.

I climb behind my laptop, turn it on, pleased to see my baby boot up. I look up from the screen and around. The young woman did not come out of the bathroom. She probably took the exit.

I didn't hear the door close though.

My headsets weren't on.

Hobobob