Two things you must know about me: 1) I'm a storyteller, and these tales that I tell are from my absurd life, and, 2) I believe in signs - the good ones, the bad ones and the ones that flick me with their index finger right between the eyes. Oh, I also believe in self-medicating with sweets. That fact has nothing to do with my story tonight, but I like sharing.
Tonight's story begins with a sign. And I'm NOT making this up.
Saturday was my MOVING day, and by no accident whatsoever but instead a flick of the index finger, the song "Love Don't Live Here Anymore" played on my car radio as I turned the key. Hearing that song as I backed out of the driveway was beyond first class considering what I was leaving behind. Want to hear what I heard? Yeah, I have to put some of the lyrics out there for you (for effect):
"Well this heart of mine
Has been hardened like a stone
It might take some time
To get back what is gone
But I'm movin' on
And you don't haunt my dreams
Like you did before
when I would curse your name."
Pertinent, relevant, applicable... sprawled out on the floor dramatically while sipping Pellegrino and feeling the same way as I'm sure Christopher Columbus felt when he realized the earth wasn't flat! I'M THE BADASS!
But a measly 4 hours later, while I'm thinking I'm on the verge of something great, boom, I'm cut down to size, hacked at the kneecaps, force-fed a tablespoon of reality, more like a gallon, really, and there's that damn flick on my forehead again telling me to pay attention. Wearing canary yellow and tangerine at the same time is a bit premature!
Arizona. My return seems heinously un-romantic. Not what I was going for, but I live for these moments.
(Setting: on the floor, eating pizza, just me, Haley and a smell...)
Haley: What died on your carpet?
Me: What?
Haley: What died? Smell it? Look at that spot over there. Something died in here.
Me: I think it's just the light coming in from the window. You're just at a weird angle, and the smell is definitely pet odor.
Haley: The smell is death, mom. And that's a stain. Did the office happen to mention if the last tenant "moved" out? Because I think he died here.
Me: ...
Haley: Oh look! I bet he for real died here, and there was a struggle. Look at your front door! It's all banged up! They struggled at the door before he was killed over here! Wow!
Me: Babe, that's creepy. Don't creep me out.
Haley: Maybe don't invite your neighbors over.
Me (looking out the window at my neighbor coming out her door): Look, the neighbors look okay. She looks fine.
Haley (looking out the window): Mom, she's crying!!
Me: Oh.
(Haley and I, walking out to my car)
Me: Haley smell that? Someone is cooking! Good neighbors cook.
Haley: They're cooking meth.
Me: What? No they're ... Wait, what???? How do you know they're cooking meth??
Haley: That's the smell.
Me: How do you know this child??
Haley: Holly was addicted to meth. Remember?
Me: Yeah, but again, how do you know??
Haley: Just start parking somewhere else...
(Setting: The next day, me, in the leasing office...)
Me (confused as all hell and acting like a girl who's sobbing to a traffic cop trying to get out of a ticket): sniff, sniff, but they're baking dead people in my building, and the cat died on the carpet, and... and... I have to move my car... and Haley's pregnant...
...(It's good to be home again!)...
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