Back in January, I found myself at this bar called The Green Frog in Bellingham, Washington. I'd gone there because some dude at another bar had told me, in a conspiratorial whisper, that they had a better beer selection there. For the record, he wasn't lying. Because (a), they had Ommegang Chocolate Indulgence on tap. And (b), who cares what else they might have had?
Anyway, I was sitting at the bar, minding my own business, trying not to listen to the jug band "jamming" in front, and this chick got up from a booth and sat next to me. She startled me, not only because she reeked of Patchouli, but because she looked almost exactly like SassyGirl. Seriously, for a second there I actually thought it was her.
But no, it was just another damn hippie. In that part of Western Washington, I'd found, it was hard to even take a piss without getting some splatter on a hippie. I'd learned to ignore them, for the most part. Except when they sat next to me and announced, "Your aura is broken."
Great. One of those hippies. One for whom the years of marijuana smoke and patchouli fumes had caused irreparable brain damage. Next, I expected her to offer to "fix" my aura for a nominal fee. Or maybe she'd do it for free, as long as I didn't mind sacrificing a chicken or something.
"I know," I replied. "But I can't do anything about it. The warranty's expired."
"You don't belong here," she said.
"And just where do you think I belong?" I asked, already tired of the conversation.
"Far away," she replied.
"You got that right," I said.
We talked for a few more minutes, mostly about how much she looked like SassyGirl. I even managed to find a picture on my phone to show her. She admitted the resemblance, so she wasn't completely crazy.
But, she was crazy enough, so I was relieved when she went back to join her friends. I haven't really though about her since, until tonight.
Tonight, or this evening to be more accurate, I was at Rich O's. I'd gone before dinner, and then again after dinner. The first time was to see LaptopGirl, and the second time was to glare at my phone.
During that second visit, I realized that I'd eaten way too much food, and that I needed to go home to sleep. So that's what I decided to do. Except I was on my way out the door and this chick looked up at me and then said to her friend, "That guy's aura is broken."
So I sat down at their table and said, "Hi, I'm Dave." Brief introductions ensued, and then I continued. "I couldn't help but overhear," I said. "That's the second time in my life that I've heard someone say that my aura is broken. The first time, I dismissed it as craziness brought on by years of marijuana smoke and patchouli fumes. But you don't look the type. So what's your excuse?"
"No excuse," the possible hippie-in-disguise said. "Sometimes I just see things about people."
"Fair enough," I said, because I'm trying to be more open-minded about shit. "What do you see that makes you say my aura is broken?"
"It is broken," she said. "Like it's been ripped apart. And a lot of it is missing. You're here, but you're not all here. Does that make sense?"
"It makes perfect sense," I replied. "A big part of me is missing." I paused. "My heart, to be precise."
"Where did it go?" she asked, with a look of genuine concern on her face. A look that I really appreciated, because I'm really sick and tired of pity and disbelief.
"I think somewhere in Louisville," I replied.
And that was pretty much the end of that conversation, as her husband and/or boyfriend came back from the restroom or wherever and glared at me. I made a graceful exit and went home for a much needed nap.
I dreamed that I was looking for the missing parts of my aura, but they were in Minneapolis, and I got totally lost because the roads up there are totally nonsensical. And the hippie chick from Bellingham was in the car with me, trying to help but only making things worse.