world religions to ancient philosophy to chemistry to biology, but everything focused on life. Not death. So how dare a believer in God fear death? Well, it was a great question because she did. She continued praying to the Wonderful Counselor even after getting out of bed.
The next morning she drove to a local island coffee shop, desperate for caffeine, but more than ever she wished she had Grandma’s recipe for instant gratification, whatever it might be. She could surely use some instant gratification right now.
As she walked up the steps to the shop, her feet felt heavy. Amused at herself, she looked down to see if she was wearing her wooden shoes by mistake, instead of her sandals.
“I’ll have a large, nonfat caffè mocha. No, make that a latté,” she requested, then caught a glimpse of her tangled hair in the reflection in the window, and it reminded her of the restless night before. “I’ll be right back.”
“What’s your name?” asked the woman behind the counter.
For a moment, Vicki went blank.
“I need a name, so I can call you when your drink is made.” She actually paused another three seconds before answering, “Vicki.”
“Is that your final answer?” The woman laughed.
“I think so. It’s the simple questions in life that catch me off guard.” She walked into the bathroom, known for its colorful magic marker scribbles on the walls. Anyone desiring to leave a footprint or a piece of their soul behind, for a chance at immortality, can pick up a marker and scribble something, anything, on the bathroom walls of the coffee shop.
As she shut and then locked the door behind her, she heard voices in her head. She saw scribbles. Together the voices and the scribbles screamed to be heard. As if tossed into a windmill on a wildly windy day, they whirled around madly, yelling out the one- or two-worded goals scribbled in crayon on the white paper tablecloth. She heard her dreams, like psychotic little voices in her head, crying out louder and louder. “Semester in Spain, semester in Spain, semester in Spain,” the voices screamed. They screamed so quickly that they turned into a tongue twister, and thenswitched to, “summer on island, summer on island, summer on island, stingray shuffle all summer long.”
As she left the restroom, she heard her name called out and the woman handed her a hot cup. “Enjoy.”
Taking a cup that weighed about two pounds, Vicki felt like a starving, stubborn dog, a mutt walking the streets. She sipped the coffee, and then shut her eyes. The voices in her head shouted, Victoria, Victoria . She drowned them in another sip. After her coffee, she went out to eat at a restaurant Grandma had taken her to many times, and then after breakfast, she stopped to say hello to a parrot.
“Hello,” she said.
There was no reply from the parrot.
“Hello.”
The bird looked away.
“Come on, now. Isn’t hello usually the first thing they teach you birds?” There was still no reply.
“Boo!” She said. “Peekaboo!” She played with it. “Polly want a cracker? A biscotti instead?”
The bird just stared.
“What? You don’t like small talk? You think I’m shallow? Well, I’m not. What do you want to discuss. You tell me.”
“Take island job. Take island job,” the colorful bird replied. “You’d be a fool not to, a fool, a fool.”
Vicki looked around to see if anyone else might have heard what she had just heard. No witnesses, just the other macaws, parrots, and cockatoos on display. Unless the parrot was talking about its own job offer, she was convinced it was a message, perhaps from Grandma, who had loved to talk to the caged birds. She walked away, laughing, and the bird laughed, too.
Thanks to divine intervention working through a bird, she now knew she had to accept the job on the island, but first, she needed sleep. She knew she wouldn’t get any, so instead she opted for an attempt at rest and relaxation, and going to a concert at Centennial
The next morning she drove to a local island coffee shop, desperate for caffeine, but more than ever she wished she had Grandma’s recipe for instant gratification, whatever it might be. She could surely use some instant gratification right now.
As she walked up the steps to the shop, her feet felt heavy. Amused at herself, she looked down to see if she was wearing her wooden shoes by mistake, instead of her sandals.
“I’ll have a large, nonfat caffè mocha. No, make that a latté,” she requested, then caught a glimpse of her tangled hair in the reflection in the window, and it reminded her of the restless night before. “I’ll be right back.”
“What’s your name?” asked the woman behind the counter.
For a moment, Vicki went blank.
“I need a name, so I can call you when your drink is made.” She actually paused another three seconds before answering, “Vicki.”
“Is that your final answer?” The woman laughed.
“I think so. It’s the simple questions in life that catch me off guard.” She walked into the bathroom, known for its colorful magic marker scribbles on the walls. Anyone desiring to leave a footprint or a piece of their soul behind, for a chance at immortality, can pick up a marker and scribble something, anything, on the bathroom walls of the coffee shop.
As she shut and then locked the door behind her, she heard voices in her head. She saw scribbles. Together the voices and the scribbles screamed to be heard. As if tossed into a windmill on a wildly windy day, they whirled around madly, yelling out the one- or two-worded goals scribbled in crayon on the white paper tablecloth. She heard her dreams, like psychotic little voices in her head, crying out louder and louder. “Semester in Spain, semester in Spain, semester in Spain,” the voices screamed. They screamed so quickly that they turned into a tongue twister, and thenswitched to, “summer on island, summer on island, summer on island, stingray shuffle all summer long.”
As she left the restroom, she heard her name called out and the woman handed her a hot cup. “Enjoy.”
Taking a cup that weighed about two pounds, Vicki felt like a starving, stubborn dog, a mutt walking the streets. She sipped the coffee, and then shut her eyes. The voices in her head shouted, Victoria, Victoria . She drowned them in another sip. After her coffee, she went out to eat at a restaurant Grandma had taken her to many times, and then after breakfast, she stopped to say hello to a parrot.
“Hello,” she said.
There was no reply from the parrot.
“Hello.”
The bird looked away.
“Come on, now. Isn’t hello usually the first thing they teach you birds?” There was still no reply.
“Boo!” She said. “Peekaboo!” She played with it. “Polly want a cracker? A biscotti instead?”
The bird just stared.
“What? You don’t like small talk? You think I’m shallow? Well, I’m not. What do you want to discuss. You tell me.”
“Take island job. Take island job,” the colorful bird replied. “You’d be a fool not to, a fool, a fool.”
Vicki looked around to see if anyone else might have heard what she had just heard. No witnesses, just the other macaws, parrots, and cockatoos on display. Unless the parrot was talking about its own job offer, she was convinced it was a message, perhaps from Grandma, who had loved to talk to the caged birds. She walked away, laughing, and the bird laughed, too.
Thanks to divine intervention working through a bird, she now knew she had to accept the job on the island, but first, she needed sleep. She knew she wouldn’t get any, so instead she opted for an attempt at rest and relaxation, and going to a concert at Centennial
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