Why does it matter that the sidewalks on this street are littered with people with nowhere to go, and why is it my problem?
Most mornings, it doesn't matter; occasionally, I'll feel generous and make sandwiches and hand them out. Dealing with them is gentle on my senses because most of them are in a continuous fuge state, which means that they're more focused on regaining their memories than they are projecting their everyday trauma on me. This affords me valuable time like this when it's quiet before people and vehicle noises have yet to really lay their claim to the day; I get to sit here and watch it all unfold on the other side of this big picture window with the dark tint on the outside; it makes it easier to watch life go by.It's been eight months, and I still can't go outside. Not because I'm a ghost but because the dam broke open during a blessing one day. It was a simple blessing of a school faculty lounge in Kapolei. A woman who was dying of cancer often went to the lounge during teaching hours to wallow in her sorrow. Those singular moments of grief embedded themselves in that lounge, and so people saw the residue of her pain. I'm still unsure how her spirit possessed me, but it did. I wasn't aware of it until after the blessing when my team and I retired to a Zippys for a late afternoon meal.
One member mentioned that I didn't look like myself and should see a doctor. It was precisely at that moment I knew I was possessed because I could smell it on me. We did a ceremony in the parking lot where I was relieved of that woman's spirit, but the floodgates were open, and from that day on, random spirits channeled through me, wanting to have at least a moment to communicate with the living. It became overwhelming because I couldn't catch a break. Therefore, I've been hiding in this old bar on Hotel Street. I got it at a steal because the previous owners couldn't figure out what to do with it. I assured them I had a use for it and that there was no need to tear it down. I left it the way it was but filled it with all the spiritual protection I could muster. Now, I just sit here and watch the world go by. I get door dash delivered through the doggie door, and all my clothes come from Amazon. I got an excellent WiFi router, so I'm set. I converted the old kitchen behind the bar to a garage where my Lexus has been sitting all this time. If and when I do have to go out, it is always way after hours, usually when 7-11 has one or two employees gossiping behind the cashier's counter.
Every way in and out of here is doubly enforced, so there's no chance of a break-in. I even took preventive measures on the roof and put hedgehogs everywhere in case the homeless tried to make an encampment like they did at the Supreme Court building. It's quite the effort to stay away from being possessed. Well, I stand corrected. It's really channeling or noho when an ancestral spirit or god sits on your shoulders and communicates to your living family members through you.
Conclusively, I say to you, it won't turn off.
9:45 am
The sidewalk is busier now, people filtering by going about their way, trying not to bump into one another. It's the usual routine I'm used to seeing. I can hear their thoughts, aspirations, disappointment, and desperation. Some are concerned that if this is all there is to their lives, this nine-to-five existence trying to put money away for a house and some semblance of a future, is it worth it in the end? This is why the windows are darkly tinted, so I don't make eye contact with them and their random thoughts. The tint prevents acknowledgment, which prevents a connection because that's how it all starts.
Something catches my peripheral in that spare second. It's a note sliding under the door.
I urgently need your help with a blessing at 1262 Nu'uanu. Have exhausted all means with clergy and other denominations. Please help.
siraiahfyn@juno.net
That note joins a pile of others I have not answered in the eight months I've been here. The pressing of the hand on the paper and the intention of the note leaves a finite residue of that person's DNA and otherwise. Can't risk it. An hour later, there's a pounding on the front door. It's the mail person.
"Yes?" I call out.
"Mail," the voice is squeaky.
"Put it through the mail slot," I reply.
"Mail," the voice says again.
"Put it through the mail slot," I'm slightly agitated now.
"Mail," the voice drones in a low baritone before going high and shrill. "Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail!
I get out my squirt gun, which I always keep on me, switch it to jet stream mode, and fire the water through the mail slot. Whatever, or whoever it actually is on the other side, screams in pain but in the voice of a child, and then it's gone. The actual mail isn't delivered until one thirty. That mail person just shoots the mail through the slot with no announcements. I gotta give these things credit; at least they're consistent.
12:00 noon
There's a motion upstairs. When I get to the top of the stairs, I look directly into my bedroom, and I can see the point of a wire hangar has made its way through one of the steel blinds. Did I forget to draw the curtains and shut the steel windows last night? I quietly walk into my bedroom and pull the wire hangar away. A second later, the point of the water pistol is up against the hole, and I'm firing away. There's a loud sizzling sound accompanied by shrill screams. It turns out that evil spirits are out there possessing people for the sole purpose of having them try to find their way in here. Thus, the water cannons and water pistols filled with blessed wai pa'akai. I guess word got out in the literal spirit realm somehow.
1:00 am.
I'm heading downstairs to the garage. I'm hankering for pretzels, so hopefully, 7-11 has a bag on the shelf. I've hit the key fob, and the light and horn do their jobs simultaneously. I see a glint of something behind me in the reflection of my driver's side window. I whirl around, and there she is. She had a look of fear on her face; she hyperventilating, and by the way she was dressed, it was apparent she was a hooker.
"Where's Maude and Harry?" She asked.
"GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!" I blast her with the water pistol, and nothing happens. Immediately, I switch to the water cannon. Still nothing.
"What the fuck are you doing?" She balks. "This isn't one of those outfits from Ross, you dumb mutherfucker! This shit costs fucking high dollars!"
She's real. What the hell?
....to be continued
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