I still have a friend from junior high (can you believe it--it's epic). I absolutely love the girl. She's sweet and funny. She lives in Arizona now, but we still see each other every-so-often. She's a great person, really, but has changed with the years and now she has an obsession with telekinesis. Dun dun dun!!!
Let's call my friend something nice and fancy like . . . Octavia. So, she came to visit. She was very sweet, although completely uncomfortable around my children. At one point she asked, "Is that normal?" She pointed to my three-year-old. He'd just whizzed in the bathroom and had decided to dance naked in the front room.
"Yeah, lots of guys do that. Haven't you been to Vegas?"
She raised a brow.
"Seriously though," I said. "He'll grow out of it. As long as he doesn't do that next year, then I'm good to go."
By the way, well not really, but you know how I wrote "he'd just whizzed?" Well, I looked up "whiz" to make sure I spelled it right and I found this interesting cleaning product:
Is that the technical term for pet pee--pee whiz--I never knew.
Back to the point, Octavia was pretty freaked out by my kids. She never wanted to marry, and has no pets. Her days are spent working alone in her home. The woman isn't used to being around other people, let alone people like me AND my wild children. In fact, she's worked from home, for years.
"Do you want something to drink? Coffee, milk, coke, diet coke
. . . water?" I asked.
"Yeah, that would be awesome. Do you have any water from the tap?"
"Sure." Who doesn't, right? I got her some water, and put it in one of my only two nice glasses. My kids have broken all the other ones. Around here you either use a coffee cup or a sippy cup--it sucks, but it's life. (My advice, go for the coffee cup!)
I gave her the nice glass and thought how I must really like her because I only use a "token glass" when really cool people are around.
I almost wrinkled my nose as I gave it to her though because I hate water. Sure, I kind of need water to survive, but it's clear, it's tasteless (unless you drink it at 2 am), and to me, the stuff isn't anything compared to coke or coffee.
She winked at me after I gave her the glass. Then she set it on the table and stared at it. I'm not talking a normal stare, there's probably a Hebrew word for what I'm looking for, but not one in English yet. Let's just say, she meditated at my glass. It was freaky. If someone ever looks at me like that, I'll whiz (just like my boy did), then I'll turn into ashes!
"Is there something wrong? Oh, gosh, is the glass dirty?" I asked.
"No," she shook her head, and motioned my kids toward the glass. "Just watch."
The moment lingered for a long time as my children ran around and Octavia stared at the water.
I am not a quiet person when I'm uncomfortable. I'll shoot the bull about anything and everything, just to get my mind off of weird things going on. I'll talk about embarrassing moments. I'll tell people about my great-grandma's dentures, how I know a guy who went to jail--anything to lighten the mood. Octavia seemed pretty tense too, so I asked my kids to go watch a movie.
Everyone else went downstairs, but The Scribe stayed, "Okay Mom . . . Except what are you doing?" she asked Octavia who had put her hands to her temples and closed her eyes. She leaned really close to the glass.
"Are you okay?" I asked Octavia, but she didn't respond.
"Octavia . . . Octavia?" The Scribe said, but got no response. "She's in a coma, Mom! That's awesome! I've never seen a real coma before."
I rolled my eyes, and didn't know what to do. Maybe Octavia had been living alone too long. Just before The Scribe was about to open one of Octavia's eyes, the woman moved and The Scribe jumped higher than Michael Jordan.
"I'm not in a coma," Octavia said blandly. "I've been reading some amazing books like The Celestine Prophecy and books on mastering telekinesis."
"What's that?" The Scribe asked.
"When you can move objects with your mind."
"No way," The Scribe said, pulled up a chair and stared at Octavia instead of the water.
"Octavia, you can't be serious?" I laughed.
"I knew you'd respond this way. You're one of my oldest friends, and you're laughing at me now. It's real though, it is. I've seen the masters levitate objects."
"Really? Where?" The Scribe asked.
"On . . . youtube."
"Oh," The Scribe said.
"But there were no tricks. You could tell because it was in a poor city and there were no props."
A poor city, what did that have to do with anything? I suddenly laughed again and said, "If you believe in telekinesis, raise my hand."
Octavia didn't even smile at my joke.
Awkwardness pervaded after that. Octavia and The Scribe continued staring at the water, which didn't change into anything except agua.
I didn't know if she was listening, but I told Octavia about Miss Priss and "The Wave". I told her about some of the silly things that have gone on lately. When I finished, she looked at me and said, "How odd?"
Seriously? Was that telekinetic, water-lover saying I was . . . odd?
When it was time for her to leave, she shook The Scribe's hand. "Keep practicing. Someday you'll be even better than me."
Better? She couldn't even do a thing. Hell, I'm better at telekinesis than she is. I say move and my kids do whatever I ask!
Octavia turned to The Scribe one last time. "I can't believe I couldn't move the water," she said. "I did it once, I swear. The masters say it's easier to move liquid instead of solid objects first."
I smiled and walked her to the car. "It was nice to see you," I said.
Octavia paused. "You know why I did it?" she asked.
"The telekinesis thing . . . I tried doing it because I want you and your kids to like me. You lead such colorful lives. You always have. I don't
. . . I don't have anything, anyone really. I just thought if I could amaze you with my creativity, maybe I'd be as neat as you are."
I hugged Octavia. Sure she's a bit strange, but the point is that we've known each other forever and usually when people are doing something weird, it's because there's an underlying issue. For poor Octavia, she wanted to feel important.
"I think you're amazing," I said. "You're sweet and kind. You work so hard and you even take time out of your life to come visit friends and family. You don't need to try and amaze me because you already do."
She got teary-eyed and smiled. "Maybe I'll try something else next time. I knew it wouldn't work, but The Scribe did seem to like the idea."
"Wait . . . you were just playing?"
"Yeah," she nodded.
"Oh my gosh! I thought you were serious."
"No!" She giggled. "You probably thought I was crazy. I just remembered the Boggarts and the cloning potion you told me about. I thought you and your kids would love this for sure."
"I think they did." I smiled.
So she left, and I don't know what to do. Maybe Octavia's really lonely on top of everything else. I'd love to buy her a kitten or something.
I walked into the house after that. The Scribe had set all my kids up with a glass, coffee cup or sippy cup of water. "Now just stare at it," she said. "Try not to blink. Just stare and the water should start moving like in those space movies."
My kids stared then. Sure, the baby got on the table and put her hands in the water, but everyone else stayed put.
Now I know why people love telekinesis--it's much better than the quiet game!
In closing, what do you think about Octavia? Do you think I should try doing something to help her feel better about herself?
What she told me before she left almost broke my heart. I must say though, I'm glad she wasn't serious about her belief in telekinesis. . . or was she?