After finally getting out of town, I’d driven to Dallas and from there Shanna had took over with me napping in the co-pilot’s seat. Just before dozing off I’d looked out my window as I was adjusting my pillow, and saw a white van in the lane next to us. A nice looking lady with dark black hair was driving it, and I remember thinking about all the different lives going on around us as we made our way down the road of life. 

 

The drive had been nice, 4 lane most of the way, and although we were now on a 2 lane road, our destination was only a few miles away. Even so, we were glad to be so close to the reunion, and since it was almost 2 p.m., (yeah, we’d left home at 9 instead of 7, go figure) – we were both a little hungry. “Dinner on Saturday” was scheduled for “Noon,” which had been our original time of arrival, but it wouldn’t matter, we knew the food would still be available.

 

The “Reunion” was a 4-day event, beginning on Thursday and ending on Sunday, and the older people, those retired and living part-time to full-time in travel trailers and motor homes, would start arriving on Wednesday night, while the younger ones still having to cope with full time jobs, would arrive later like us, on Saturday, although some incorporated their vacations into the reunion and showed up earlier. One logical reason for us never attending the reunion, although it didn’t “fly” with Shanna’s Dad, was because her family all lived fairly close to us, and we saw most of them during the year at various events like the 4^th of July, Thanksgiving and Christmas.

 

We found the Campsite (where the reunion was being held) easily enough, there was a big sign just inside the grounds, with “Artwell Reunion” in big black letters, directing us to the “Palace” which was the big room of two (one for the adults and one for the kids) that had been rented for the occasion.

 

 I liked the idea of separating the adults from the kids, for it gave the parents a little breathing room that I knew from experience they needed and appreciated. 

 

Walking into the big room, we were greeted by a country western band on the stage just beginning a set of music.  Hank’s “Hey Good Looking” was a neat welcome in my mind, and immediately I knew I was going to like this reunion.

 

The band was made up of a group of retiree’s all in their 60’s or 70’s who made a little extra money going around to places like reunions, rest homes, and the such playing their brand of music, which was “old time country”. Somehow I knew that it wasn’t the money that propelled these old guys around though.  You could tell from watching them perform that it was the love of music and not monetary rewards that caused them to get up out of their easy chair’s, and come out on a hot, dusty, Texas day to play music.

 

They were good too, and you could tell that it had been a lifelong thing for them.  Also the music was just loud enough where you could enjoy it and still have a conversation, unlike the many rock concerts I’d attended in my past, which I’d always loved, but this one fit the occasion perfectly.

 

Once inside, after all the “hello’s and hugs,” I was enjoying a plate of brisket, cole slaw and brown beans, listening to the band, while “people watching,” (the crowd must of numbered around a hundred or so) when my father-in-law approached me with another man about his same age, who resembled him quite a bit. 

 

Since I knew that Marcel (my father-in-law) had, had only one brother, who had died many years ago, I knew the man had to be a first cousin or something, which in fact, was the case. “Karl,” was Marcel’s first cousin indeed, having the same paternal grandfather.  I’d never met Karl before today, as he was one of the few relatives that lived a “fur piece away” as he had described it, explaining that he had moved to Kentucky in the 70’s, and this was the first reunion he’d been able to attend.

 

He was a pleasant guy, two years older at 77, than Marcel, with a similar physique, and the same leathery hands that had seen many a hand tool in his time. As usual, when meeting people of kin, I was amazed at how much they will sometimes resemble each other, even though the relationship is slightly removed like 1^st or 2^nd cousins. These two could of easily passed for brothers.

 

Although we held little in common besides a love for C&W music, we had a nice conversation ranging from both of us not understanding what had happened to President Bush, to what was the proper name for brown beans, his being “pinto beans,” while mine was of course brown beans, which was diametrically opposed to Shanna, who always referred to them as “red beans,” as did her father. All in all we finally agreed that by whatever name – they still gave us “gas.”

 

After Karl wandered off to visit others, I spotted Shanna who was cornered by “Aunt JoAnn,” not really an Aunt, but a sister to one of the women who had married an Artwell, and who through the years, had managed to become a fixture at reunions, and other” get to togethers” somehow.

 

I suspected she had at one time or another, been a candidate to marry one of the boys, but had somehow been left at the altar. In any event I didn’t want to strike up a conversation with her, and be trapped as Shanna was, so I walked down closer to the band and was there watching a little old guy play the “steel,” when I felt a  "tap-tap" on my shoulder.         

 

Turning to see who it was, I was glad to see “Tucker,” the one brother-in-law I really liked.  Tucker worked away from home, (and his wife Jewel) most of the time, and, at their mutual choosing I might add.  I was surprised to see him, for he was usually “missing in action” from family gatherings.

 

Noticing the beer in his right hand, I inquired to where he might of obtained that - at an Artwell reunion - since they were not known for partaking of alcohol beverages?

 

“Believe it or not, Tucker said, Marcel brought two six packs and they’re iced down in a cooler, right with the cokes and ice tea.” As I was looking in that direction, he added, “it was part of the enticement Marcel used to get me to come.”

 

“What was the rest of it, promising that Jewel wouldn’t be here,” I said, as we both laughed at the unique relationship Tucker and his wife had.

 

From that point on, the reunion became very good for me, as Tucker and I reunited with Basil, another brother-in-law in from North Carolina, who liked to tip the bottle from time to time.

 

And although we had to add more beer, (Corona) to the magical cooler that “would not get empty,” we just nursed them slowly, but they still added a “mellow glow” to the festivities, and even Marcel and Karl had one with us.

 

The day progressed onward with folks enjoying the band, the men dancing with their wives, and everyone making sure that those without a spouse, also got a twirl on the floor as well.

 

The band took a break at 7p.m., and Marcel conducted an auction on the bandstand as various donated items were auctioned off, sometimes at an exaggerated price, since the real reason for the auction was to raise money for future reunions.

 

As we sat around bidding on the auction items, a caterer brought in hamburgers, hot dogs and chips, and everyone appeared to be having a great time.  I know Shanna and I were, (we had wore each other out on the dance floor) and, the “domino games” had not even begun yet.

 

“Playing domino’s “ was the chief reason many of the old-timers came to these things, in my opinion, and I must admit that I too, liked playing the game, though I wasn’t that good at it.

 

After the last item had been auctioned off, the band started up again, and the folding tables started plopping out everywhere.  Soon I found myself pitted against two of my in-laws, both who looked kind of like they might have been from the “Arkansas” side of the family, with Tucker as my partner.

 

Eventually, after we had somehow managed to win four games in a row, don’t ask how, we found ourselves facing the famous domino duo of “Marcel and Uncle Jim,” whose reputation as domino masters were well known throughout the family. I nodded to Tucker, as they sat down across from us at the table, with a mutual understanding that we were tired of playing anyway.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So… what do you make of it?  Shanna had listened to my story intently as she sipped her coffee, not speaking till I was finished.

 

‘I’m not sure,” I say, as I look down at the pond, smoking, and remembering.

 

“Obviously, I continued, it was just a trick my mind played on me, although it was a good one I must admit.”  

 

“Dan, she said, you spend a lot of time trying to prove things untrue when you really don’t know that they are.”

 

“Yeah,” I said, absent mindfully wiping my mouth with my hand, as if it had food crumbs on it or something.  

 

I knew what she meant.  Throughout my life, when strange things, sometimes-unbelievable things had happened to me or others, I’d always be the first to have a logical explanation for them.

 

Just like this morning’s event, which really didn’t seem so strange to me at the moment.  A young man had been admiring the pond, and I’d scared him off with my shout, that’s all.  Although the memory of being that young man at that same pond, in another time, was what I was having a problem with.

 

Was that possible?  Could I have actually been at this pond, our pond, 40 years ago?  How would I not know this, especially after living here for all these years now?  How could my memory banks keep that particular memory on the back burners, and never allow me to recall it until this morning?

 

And what about the young man?  I hadn’t seen anyone near the pond in years, why this morning?  Who was he? 

 

To give my mind a rest I looked at Shanna and laughed, saying, “Talk about strange happenings, how about you being up this early on a Saturday morning?”

 

“Shit Dan, you know we’re going to the reunion today.”

 

She was talking about her family reunion, which was an annual affair held SW of Dallas every year, which she had not attended since our marriage 7 years previously, much to her Dad’s irritation, and which I sometimes felt the heat from, although it was always her decision to not go.

 

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” I said as I got up to start breakfast; we were tentatively scheduled to leave for the reunion at 7 a.m., which I knew would never happen, for we were known by both our families as “always late,” and sometimes for not even showing up.  In fact, I had already assumed, since she hadn’t mentioned the reunion last night, that she had once again decided not to go.

 

I, myself, had no strong feelings either way, and the fact that it was a good 5 hours of driving on Saturday, and again on Sunday, coming back, never made her decision to “not go,” one that bothered me.

 

Now however, it looked as if we were finally going to make the trip, so as I put the bacon on I mentally began preparing for our journey.  The first item of business would be whether to take the Dodge Pickup with the powerful “Hemi” in it, which we both loved to drive, or the older Lumina, the one that doubled the mileage of the pickup.

 

 In actuality it was a “no brainer,” since I’d already been in a – screw the world mode – from last night’s confrontation with Leo, and adding in this mornings deal with the man at the pond, it became a easy decision; screw the fucking mileage.

 

As I tended the bacon my mind drifted from the trip to other things.  When I’d entered my 50’s a decade before, I was content with it; after all, what could one do about it anyway?  Plus, the transition from 49 to the big “5 zero” hadn’t seemed that different, which it wasn’t, it was only after stacking 6 or 7 more years on top that everything started to lean a little. 

 

This morning as I watched the bacon and thought of going to Shanna’s reunion, I was very aware of the difference in my life now, and how lately I’d been feeling it change even more.

 

To say that things were not as they seemed was an understatement, and it always made me chuckle when I heard others saying, “just the same as always,” or something like that when answering that asinine question, (when taken literally) “how you’re doing?” Cause, of course “things” were always changing, and to think they didn’t was just ignoring the obvious.  Take me for example; I knew that I was not the same person today as I was last week or last month, and certainly not 40 years ago. 

 

We all change, in fact I’d read a long time ago that our physical bodies completely transform themselves every so often; I’ve forgotten how long it takes, but I know it happens.  So, if our bodies are physically different now, not only in looks but in composition, than in the past, what keeps us the “same?”  The answer, of course is nothing, and the reason is “time.”  It is time that changes us all, and trust me, it does; you only have to reflect a few seconds to realize that what I’m saying is true.

 

But, I thought, removing the bacon from the skillet, it’s only natural to skip this step (reflecting on oneself) as we move down the road of time, and, more importantly I guess, is that it’s so much easier. 

 

Which is why the events of the last couple of days have my mind spinning somewhat this morning.  They (events) are forcing me to think about the changes in my life, and as I crack two eggs, one at a time, and drop each into the sizzling hot skillet, I wonder if turning 60 is also messing with me, or perhaps it’s the “trigger” to the whole thing?

 

Later, after breakfast, as I’m lugging our recently packed suitcase through the kitchen headed for the pickup, my earlier speculation being shoved to the back of my mind, I notice a strange object leaning in the corner next to the coffee machine.  It’s a cane of some sort, like a walking cane, though it appears unnaturally short, only about 3 feet in length if that.  Picking it up, I examine it, noticing at the same time how lightweight it is. Light brown in color, made out of some sort of pine, with knobby little stubs running the length of it, in a strangely familiar pattern, and on the bottom, a rubber end cap that covers the tip, which reaffirms my guess that it’s a walking cane.

 

“Leo.”  Of course he’s the answer to my newest puzzle, I say aloud to myself. The old man had left his walking cane at our house; geez, what next I wondered as I carried it outside; throwing it in the back of the truck with some other trash that I was going to dump on the way out of town.

 

 

 

 

 

Saturday Morning.

 

Dan shuffled out onto the patio, taking in the cool, early morning air; just after six, and the sun was already making its grand entrance. Many mornings like this had made him acutely aware of an attained inner peace, while the morning sounds of nature massaged the sleep from his body,

 

Spoiling it with man-made sounds, even his beloved music, was not feasible yet, so he’d passed the computer monitor on his desk, with the “play list” on the screen, without thinking about turning it on. 

 

His usual Saturday morning routine was to have a cup of coffee in the silence, enjoying the view. Since the land behind the patio, sloped downward into a small valley, it allowed a breathtaking view of partially dense green foliage, including “just enough” trees to turn the back five acres of their land into a beautiful forest that followed the sloping ground downward, and then back up to another ridge of trees at the top.

 

Below and to the right of the patio, about fifty yards or so, was a small pond, its surface a sheet of blue; trees crowded behind it like an audience in attendance, and through a narrow opening of the trees above it, on the ridge, sunlight leaked from the fiery mass slowly rising in the eastern sky. 

 

The pond, which Dan claimed as his own, was not actually on their property, barely, but as to who owned it, he didn’t have a clue.  Not that it mattered, since he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen anyone there. Once, it had been a popular place, reached by an old logging road no longer used much, and he’d enjoyed watching people picnicking there, as well as the occasional couple strolling hand in hand.  For several years on most Monday afternoons, an old black man had fished the pond, though Dan could never remember him ever catching anything. 

 

For some reason the picnics stopped, and the lovers must have found a better place.  The old man?  Well…. he disappeared too. In the years since, Dan had grown used to the pond just sitting there, untouched by humans, loosely referring to it as “our pond.”

 

Years before, shortly after moving there, he and Shanna had found the old logging road one afternoon on a “going nowhere drive.” Arriving at the unusual clearing behind the pond, they had gotten out of the car and walked to the edge, marveling at the little opening and the pond below.  The well worn path leading down to the pond was mostly dirt, with hardly any grass on it, and from there they could see the back of their house perfectly, even the birdhouse hanging from the corner of the patio.  

 

Now as he sipped his coffee, and looked at that same birdhouse, Dan’s mind was nowhere near the day he and Shanna discovered the little clearing.  Even his 60^th birthday, which was tomorrow, was not a blip on his radar, for all he could think of was Leo.

 

The weird appearance of the old man, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, was easily explained.  Dan and Shanna seldom locked their doors in the daytime, though in these times they should, and Leo had merely walked in and made himself at home in the kitchen.  What was harder to explain was Dan’s own calm reaction to an uninvited stranger in his house. This could be offset to some degree by the fact that Dan knew Leo, although it (recognizing Leo) came later, after they had conversed for a few minutes.  

 

As to Leo’s ramblings, Dan could in retrospect, find nothing particularly significant about them, and mentally reasserted his claim of the previous night, “that people like Leo, claiming or insinuating that they come from somewhere not of this world, always talked in circles, never giving answers, only riddles.”

 

It was the “talking in circles, and in riddles,” that bothered Dan the most.  He could not get it out of his head that Leo’s appearance was just some eerie coincidence, and that as Leo himself had asserted, he was simply the “look alike nephew” of the man Dan had known previously. 

 

The later conversation between Dan, Shanna and Leo where Leo had asserted that he was born in 1900 could easily be attributed to “whimsical bullshit” on the part of Leo.  In fact, Dan was beginning to wonder if the man might be dangerously deranged.

 

Now in the sunny reality of morning, Dan was glad that the old man had left last night. Claiming he was going to walk to Jackson City, some 11 miles away, to visit friends, he had left out shortly after sundown.

 

It was then that he noticed movement, both below, and in his mind simultaneously.  On the edge of the pond he could see a lone figure standing perfectly still, but looking up at Dan on the patio.  As he processed this, determining that the person at the pond seemed to be a young man, perhaps in his late teens or early twenties, a memory, long forgotten, was surfacing in his mind. 

 

He’d been on the road for two days, motoring across country, enroute to Charleston where he was due to embark on a long awaited journey to Europe. His parents had wanted him to enter college that fall, but like others in his generation he’d decided that “hitch-hiking” across Europe would give him a better education, at least temporarily, than any dull classroom. 

 

He’d went to Woodstock the previous August, also against his parents wishes, and came away from that experience not changed, but “reinvigorated,” to chart his own course.  But now, after being on the road for two days, he was tired and needed to get away from the little VW he was driving, plus the early morning sun was right in his eyes. 

 

That was when he’d decided to just take the country road off the Interstate, and scout around for somewhere that he could get out of the car and stretch his legs. Soon, he found himself on a road filled with trucks hauling huge logs, stacked so high that he wondered how they kept from falling off. Continuing to wind his way around, taking this turn and that one, he’d seen the clearing in the trees and pulled over.  

 

Walking down to the little pond he reveled in how quiet and peaceful it was in the early morning air, with the sun slowly rising behind him and nobody around with one exception.

 

There was a man, higher up, standing on the back porch of a house perched above the pond. Thinking the pond was probably on his property he watched the man, not wanting to trespass or anything.

 

As Dan looked down at the young man, remembering the other scene in his head, and at the same time trying to figure out who the man was, he raised his hand and shouted to him.

 

“Hey!” he yelled, trying to stop the word from leaving his mouth a full 3 seconds too late.

 

He watched the young man below, turn and run back up the path, which had been exactly what he’d done that day so long ago when the man on the porch had yelled at him.

 

Just then, inexplicably, Shanna walked out on the patio with a cup of coffee in her hand and said, “morning lover, what are you yelling at?”

 

“You’re not going to believe this, Dan said,  but……

 

 

My name is Leo, and as I sit in this chair sipping on my drink, with Dan and Shanna, I’m thinking about the questions I’m about to be asked, and the answers I will be unable to give, because although I was born into the same world as the rest of you, and have evolved to a higher plane, I am still limited as to what I can do.

 

The fact that I’ve achieved a higher plane, and that you will also, should be all the answer you need, but knowing from my own past experience that it won’t be, I will try my best to enlighten you as much as allowed. 

 

When I first came into this world, although I don’t remember it, I’ve been told that I entered it screaming and kicking, presumably upset at being forced from one world to another. I would imagine that I was comfortable in that old world, warm and safe in a cocoon of no worries, no sorrow, and no questions without answers. Of course this is presumptuous thinking, because as far as I know; I, like you, didn’t know anything at the time.  

 

Still, like you I fought the transition from “world to world,” and assuming that “fight” was resistance and even unhappiness, I would reason that had I’d been able to grasp what was about to happen, I would of easily, and gratefully allowed myself to enter this new world.

 

Ah yes, instead of resistance, to leaving that nothingness, I would of gleefully accepted being born into a world where consciousness and impeachable awareness would not only be attained, but would progress to the point it has today, and where it will in the future.

 

Think about it for a minute.  It has only been a short time ago when our only communication with each other, was at places like the local market, or perhaps at church, where a “how’re you doing,” might suffice for a month’s worth of awareness of each other. 

 

Today, we have so many ways by which to know each other, some - you know about - like blogging, but there are others that you cannot yet imagine.

 

Many words have been written about blogging, but your imagination cannot even begin to understand exactly where it is leading.  Instead, you spend your lives contemplating the unknown, fearful of what you can’t, nor should know.

 

You only know that you’ve been here for quite some time now, and although this “new world,” has not always been warm and safe, and has, at times been filled with worries and sorrow, you fear the coming transition, even as your newly attained consciousness and awareness tells you - that just like the last transition was an evolvement to a higher plane, so will the next one be.

 

“Leo.”

 

It’s Dan who has spoke my name, so it’s time to return from my introspection, and it’s also time for another drink.

 

“What,” I ask Dan, as he and Shanna slowly come back into focus..

 

“Would you like a refill?”

 

“Sure, I was just thinking the same thing myself.”

 

After Dan has refilled our drinks, and he has returned to his chair, Shanna speaks up.

 

“So, Leo, how old are you?”

 

“Well I was born in 1900, so, not trying to be a smart-ass, you can do the math.”

 

“That would make you, Dan says, about a hundred and six.”

 

“Not entirely impossible”, Shanna adds with a smile.

 

“Well preserved maybe,” I say.

 

We all chuckle at that, but there’s tenseness in the room that wasn’t there before, and to diffuse it a little, I stand from my chair and remark about how nice their home is.

 

“You spoke earlier about – me calling you,” Dan said, adding, “What did you mean by that?”

 

By now I’m standing at the window, gazing outside at the bright summer day, and turning with his question, I look at him and say, “it’s your – wonder - about your life that called me Dan.”

 

“So what makes me so lucky, how come others don’t get to experience this?”

 

“What about me?” Shanna says.

 

“She’s right Dan, everyone can and does experience it, though many do not understand it for what it is, and merely continue through life blissfully ignorant.”

 

Dan now stands up again and leans against the counter, as he speaks to me, “you talk in circles, just like all the other people from the supposedly unknown always do. It’s always the same, in the movies, or the books, people like you never give answers, only riddles.”

 

“What if that is all I can do, what if I’m telling you as much as I can, I ask? Aren’t you also limited to what you can say or do, and if so, why can you not accept that I too am limited?”

 

“But why the tease,” Dan asks?

 

“He’s right Leo, Shanna says, we go through this life searching for answers and all we ever get is riddles and possibilities.”

 

“It’s the ultimate frustration,” Dan says as he lights a cigarette.

 

“Maybe you’re both missing the point,” I say.

 

“What?” Dan says.

 

“That we possess the ability to seek the answers," Shanna says.

 

We both look at her as she continues.

 

“Maybe that’s the secret to life, our ability to ask the questions that we have no answers to? The eternal search for knowledge.”

 

I speak very slowly, looking at them both, “you must understand that I too, have questions without answers, and yet, I still seek the secret of life.”

 

“Okay I’ll give you that, but what can you tell us?” Dan asked, rather abruptly.

 

“Maybe, Shanna said, looking at Dan, you could explain the phenomenon that we call déjà vu?”

 

“Which is why I’m here in the first place,” I said, as I looked at a rather unsettled Dan.

 

“Please believe me Dan, when I say I understand your frustration when it comes to explaining myself and my abilities. We, those who are at this higher level, are prevented from saying or doing anything that might harm someone like yourself, and like it or not, it’s a truth of this world that too much knowledge can harm you.”

 

“You quite naturally, I continued, want proof of some sort, which is understandable, and of course you tell yourself that when you see this – proof – you will believe it, which is not unlike a person who wants to believe in a God of some sort, but demands proof of a God,  before he will believe in him.”

 

“You’re not going to tell us to have faith are you,” Dan asks?

 

“No I’m not going to tell you that, but you still have to have it, but I’m not talking about blind faith in a man-made belief, but a simple faith in the nature of things and the grand design that is in place.”

 

And, that being said, I will explain to you and your beautiful wife, déjà vu.

 

“Déjà vu is nothing other than an insight into a previous life lived at another time, which as I’ve said, most humans experience sometime in their life, usually at a young age.”

 

“So, we’ve all lived other lives?” Dan inquired.

 

“As we’ve already discussed, I said, remember our conversation about when we were born into this world?”

 

“But, Dan said, as he stared intently into my eyes, how can you describe the baby in the womb as living another life?”

 

“How can you not recognize that for what it is Dan, I said, you were alive in the womb, but yet you knew nothing, were aware of nothing – until you were actually born into this world.”

 

"Ok, but I don't remember any previous life." Dan says.

 

"Yet," I say with a smile.

 

When nobody speaks, I continue, “philosophers throughout time have ignored this simple fact; that all of mankind comes from another place, or another world, whatever you choose to call it. A place we know nothing about, just as we know nothing of the next place or world that we will go to once our time is through here. What’s the difference?”

 

“The difference is, Shanna says slowly, is that in this world, the one we now exist in, we – know – or at least we think we know, what it is, for we have named it…. life.”

 

“But, I say, what you really know, thanks to phenomenon such as déjà vu, among other things, is that you are in an - in between world - and the worlds on either side of this one are completely unknown to you.”

 

“Which doesn’t mean much except that we are right back where we were, still not knowing anything,” Dan says, almost to himself rather than to Shanna and me.

 

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Dan, I say, as I look down at my hands remembering a time long ago, “you have the knowledge that this world, the one you do know, is not all there is.”

 

“There is more…. Much more to come.

 

 

Entering the house, Pup went to the bedroom to change clothes while I headed back to the refrigerator to get another shot of Crown, chuckling to myself about the story of “my trip from the patio to the refrigerator.”

 

As I rounded the corner and entered the kitchen, I was wondering about why I seemed to be thinking about déjà vu a lot lately, when his husky voice, (Leo’s), broke through my thoughtful introspection.

 

“Because you’re getting some age on you my friend.”

 

He was still at the bar, his drink almost gone, and he was smoking a cigarette with a long ash on it, looking around for an ashtray.  Picking up one from Pups computer desk, I set it in front of him and stood back as he took care of the ash.

 

“I thought you’d left,” I said, as I studied him closely.  He did appear to be no older than late sixties, his skin weathered somewhat as if he’d been riding the range or something all his life. 

 

In fact he looked just like I remembered him some 42 years ago when I was working at “Walt’s Gulf,” a service station back in my hometown.

 

“No, he said, I’ve been here all along, but you can only see me when you want to, like now.”

 

“Ok, so you’re a figment of my imagination, and I’ve been drinking too much, what’s going to happen when Pup walks in here?”

 

“Nothing,” was his reply as he dragged on his cigarette and held up his glass for a refill, and as if on cue, Pup walked into the kitchen looking for the coffee pot no doubt.  She glanced at Leo, took his glass and opened the freezer door, removing the bottle of Crown and filled the little shot glass.

 

Setting it back down in front of Leo, she said, “So is this the guy you were talking about ice?

 

“Here,” I said, handing her my own glass, figuring I was going to need some more whiskey the way the evening was playing out.

 

After she’d poured my drink, she got another shot glass from the cabinet, and filled it too, evidently forgetting about coffee, and walking around the bar she took a seat next to Leo.

 

“About an hour ago, I said, talking to myself as much as to them, I was listening to my music and working on my second drink, when I had the strangest feeling, as if I’d experienced it all before, exactly that way, same location, same song on the stereo, same everything.  It was damn near overpowering and you know me, I decided to make a story out of it, but until now I thought it was all in my head.” 

 

As I was saying this I was steady looking at Leo, who was sipping his whiskey, eyes roaming around the kitchen.

“The term déjà vu is French and means, literally, already seen, he said, pausing to take sip of his whiskey. As he continued, I thought his already husky voice seemed to get a little deeper, “those who have experienced the feeling describe it as an overwhelming sense of familiarity with something that shouldn't be familiar at all. Say, for example, you are traveling to Germany and for the first time. You are touring a castle, and suddenly it seems as if you have been in that very spot before.”

“That happened to me, I said, trying to emulate Leo and speak in a calm relaxed way. We were in Nuremberg going through this old castle and I knew I’d been there before, I even knew where the back stairs were that led down to where the servants lived.”

Leo smiled, and said, “it’s not as uncommon as you might think ice, let me give you another example.”

“Let’s say you are having dinner with a group of friends, discussing some current political topic, and you have the feeling that you've already experienced this very thing -- same friends, same dinner, same topic. The phenomenon is rather complex, and there are many different theories as to why déjà vu happens. Swiss scholar Arthur Funkhouser suggests that there are several "déjà experiences" and asserts that in order to better study the phenomenon, the nuances between the experiences need to be noted. In the examples mentioned above, Funkhouser would describe the first incidence as déjà visité ("already visited") and the second as déjà vecu ("already experienced or lived through").

“You sound like some college professor or something,” I said, as I nervously looked at Pup who was listening intently to Leo as she sipped her whiskey, which btw, was completely out of character for her. Pup drinks very little of anything except coffee, and the occasional soft drink, or the even rarer alcoholic beverage.

When neither of them said anything, I did. “Uh, Leo this here is my wife Pup; Pup this is Leo Doudy.”

Leo just looked at me for a long second and said, “don’t you think you should eliminate your usual storyline dodge and introduce me to your wife in a proper and realistic fashion?”

 “My name is Shanna, and of course you know my husband as Danny, my wife said, as I stood there with my mouth slightly ajar, as she continued, but now days we call him Dan since as you say he’s got a little age on him.”

Glancing at me, Shanna smiled, took a drink and said, “he busted you Iceman, this isn’t one of your daydreams, we’re living it - so we might as well be up front with our names, hell, he probably knew mine before I told him anyway.”

Leo stood up from his chair, stretched a little and asked where the bathroom was located, as I wondered how come he had to ask?  After he received our instructions and left, I looked at Shanna shaking my head, while muttering under my breath – “ busted, you say?”

“Yeah, but don’t feel bad, we all do, she said, and when I didn’t say anything, she continued, - we all hold things back from others, and not only on blogstream, we hide from each other in our daily lives, everyone holds something back, usually most everything.”

“Do you, I asked, hold back from me?”

“Sure Dan, you know that I do, just like you do me, it’s just human nature, but old Leo here – well he’s not from the same place we are and he’s not going to play games with us, nor is he going to allow us to play games with him.”

I looked at her, the vanishing sunlight lightly coating her face, and said, “yeah, sorry about that, you know, the stupid question I asked about you holding back from me, I knew better, guess I was still playing ‘hide and seek,’ uh?”

Before she could answer, Leo walked back in the kitchen from the bathroom, and sitting down at the bar he picked up again on the déjà vu thing, “as much as 70 percent of the population reports having experienced some form of déjà vu, he was saying, and the interesting thing about it is - that a higher number of incidents occurs in people 15 to 25 years old than in any other age group.”

“What significance do you draw from that, Shanna asked, and then answered it herself; are you saying that they, the young people, are closer to a past life than older people?”

 

“Exactly,” he said, setting his empty glass down in front of me.

 

“Damn, I exclaimed, there are some friends of ours on the ol stream that would like to be sitting in on this conversation.”

 

“Well, why don’t you invite them to join in,” he asked?

 

I looked at Shanna, then at Leo, “but how would I do that?”

 

He leaned back a little in his chair, rubbing his chin, and said, “well I guess you could have them inject some of their thoughts on the subject, and btw Donut will like that word – inject – don’t you think?”

 

Before I could comment on the Donut remark, he continued, “and Jackie would undoubtedly have something to say since déjà vu is an interesting subject for her too.

 

“Are you talking about Colo,” Shanna asked.

 

“Yeah, he said, Colo=Connect as Dan calls her.”

 

“So… is Jackie her real name,” I asked.

 

“Doesn’t matter what her real name is Dan, Shanna said, that’s not up to us to determine.”

 

“Yeah, you’re right, Leo here - has got my interest revved up a little that’s all.”

 

Still looking at Shanna, I said, “so what do you think, think some of the bloggers would want to join in on this conversation?”

 

“It would be a little difficult, unless of course we went into the chat room, but I don’t see it right now, I say we just carry this on a little further and see what happens.”

 

“You’re probably right Shanna, they would probably just think I’m drunk or something, and this whole thing is really not happening except in my mind.” 

 

“Why don’t you just leave it up to them,” Leo said, as he recovered his now filled whiskey glass, and took a long drink.

 

“Ok by me,” I said, as I hit the –Submit Button.