Weird Shorts | Page 3

last
sentence. How is this conversation even possible? Ann wonders.
"Thank you, Norm. I loved our many and long conversations..." Ann
pauses. There are tears in her eyes and she looks at him like she's
capturing a mental photograph of him..."do you have any final advice
for me?"
Shrugging he responds, "Yeah, Ann. Me, too. I guess I was your best
girlfriend."
He smiles. She laughs, "Yeah. I guess you were." She affirms with a
wry/sad smile. She looks at the ground and grimaces at the slight pang
in her chest. Reaching for a hug, he confirms his love for her, in a
non-physical way.

The sentiment's end and Norm shoos Ann away. "You gotta go, Ann.
You can't stay here," he says with a sad smile of his own.
"Goodbye, Norm. Sleep well, dear friend."
Norm evaporates and Ann slumps into the car and wonders how to
return home.
I've been talking to a dead guy. I think...I think I'm afraid...
Have I been visited by a dead man? Was this something, totally weird?
No. Just a conversation with Norm...
INDIAN STREET MARKET
The Indian Street Market is incredible. I've never seen such colors. The
color combinations are as enchanting as these foreigners.
Hmmpph! As for these foreigners, they scare me. Some I suspect of
demonic hosting. Others, I know are demonic hosts. There is no
mistaking the look of another being, hiding and sometimes not hiding,
behind the eyes of another.
Physically, these are a beautiful people. Maybe all of them don't even
belong in this country or at this place, but I am anthropologically
ignorant so truly, they all look alike.
I stroll from table to table, avoiding any gazes and definitely avoiding
their comments.
"Stop and look. Don't walk. Come back!" "I have something for you.
Come here, pretty lady. Please!"
I avoid the beauty of their deep brown faces, their black hair and the
oppressive strengths behind their black, green and brown eyes. Well, I
avoid until I can't any longer. I am surprised how many speak English.
Looking at the sandy ground, I wonder, "Broken or not, how in the
world do they know my language?!?" Then, I laugh to myself at the

thought that they might be able to read my mind.
"We can, White Lady. We - - can!!!"
My unknown answer is in unison.
I avoid their faces, until I reach a table containing many pairs of
stockings. They are well laid out, in neat lines. "Wow!" The price was
incredible. Their price was eight duzhas for each pair and I knew that at
the rate of twenty duzhas, to one of my American dollars, I can't
continue on without them.
Assembling the pairs of stockings into my tote bag, I smile inwardly at
my acute sense of a bargain, when I am assaulted with a tumultuous
bump, which casts me into another table, which mows over a vender,
who ends up buried in knives, to the waist up.
Without thinking, I give a hard look at my invader and realize that there
is another human at my belt line. The robed man had nearly fallen and
was grasping onto anything he could to avoid an otherwise inevitable
fall to the sod. Quickly, I clutch my new purchase, my tote and my
chest. I teeter for a brief moment and recoup in an effort to continue my
buying journey.
"Sorry," says the intoxicated assailant.
Continuing on, I give a forceful, "It's okay," while not looking at the
man.
In my concerted efforts not to look, I am instantly entranced with a
carousel figure. "It's incredible," I am thinking.
The main body was that of an Indian woman. Her face is covered with
a thin, white paint that has aged into a slight disappearance. Her long,
black hair sweeps onto the body of the figure, which is wearing a
beautiful, white robe. Her right hand is sitting on top of her heart and
her left arm stretches above her head, clutching to what must have been
a pole at one time. It makes me think of the Statue of Liberty, though

this is hardly a place for Americana. I think of myself, as I remove my
hand from my heart and quickly forget about the assault. Her legs are
short and somewhat comical, and yet, I am in awe of this figure.
My enchantment abruptly ends as those stockings turn into snakes and
slither out of my bag, in a slow motion series of movements. I have no
idea their motive, as I've never experienced such a thing.
Mentally, I ask a gifted friend what to do about the serpents and
without my knowledge; she introduces a gifted Indian friend. The
friend and I embrace. She mutters a few indistinct words, releases me,
produces a