Out Of Body Experiences Of Two Different Kinds

I decided to blog under the influence. Under the influence of love of writing - and gin.

Over the Christmas Holidays, and damn yes Jesus my man was born in December if anything to keep things simple and in line with seasonal shopping, me mama told me a story of a family friend's encounter with an obscure being.

No. It was not me. Although, I do possess some charisma on a small scale. Once the Nebbiolo kicks in. What scale? Who cares. I have a story of creepy grand proportions to tell.

Her tale, to be recounted later down the post, reminded me, for some reason, of a soccer game I played in.

It was 1986. Or thereabouts. Yours truly was on top of the soccer world. I was gonna fetch me a soccer tournament title in a town called Cap de la Madeleine since been annexed by the town of Trois Riviere (Three Rives).

It was a serious tournament of decent repute. Enough to have the captain of Team Canada Bruce Wilson hand out MVP's at the end of matches. Of which, I bagged myself one. A gift certificate to a local restaurant. I kept it for years even when the blue print had turned to a yellowish hue. Not that I'm a hoarder, I just figured at some point I was going to go back there. It never happened of course.

I had a love there. Or was it Calgary? Calgry, Cap dela je m'en fous; all these C's who remembers?

Point being I didn't want a good certificate I worked for go to waste. What would people think?

So. Tournament organizers insanely set up the schedule so that we played three games in a row. One the night before, one in the morning and one in the afternoon two hours after the semi-finals. We won the first two and found ourselves in the final.

They say kids are endowed with boundless energy.

Not in Cap de la Madeleine they fucking were.

The final remains stuck in my memory because it was a game where my mind couldn't connect to my legs. It was a game where we clearly were the better team but simply couldn't overcome a well-rested pedestrian opponent. I remember distinctly our talk at half time which basically amounted to "come on guys, even tired we should be able to take these douches."

We lost 2-1.

The fire I set for myself earlier in the tournament had been quelled by fatigue. I just couldn't get it going. Neither could my team mates. It was an out of body experience of sorts. It felt like I was a ghost. And Casper at that. I had no bite.

Moral of the story?

Not sure.

But I do have another one.

***

Terry is a friend of the family. Terry, well, to put it succinctly (I can't believe I pulled that spelling off under the influence of the great Nebbiolo. Nebbiolo! I pray to ye gods of some hill! Shushinkly is how I'm pronouncing it), sees auras. As in, humans carry an aura and she sees them. She also possesses other talents.

Simple as that.

Chick attracts dead people too.

One day, it was during the Holy Days, Terry's door bell rang. She wondered who it was for it was too early for pizza delivery. She asked her son in law to answer the door. There before him stood a tiny, frail, pale looking lady speaking in what was described as old Spanish tongue.

Terry came to the door, looked her over and touched her ice cold hands. They invited her in to warm up. The old lady said she lived across the street and didn't have the key to the house. After a brief talk, she again spoke in a strange language and left. Disappeared. Just like that.

Terry was overcome with the bizarre encounter and decided to walk across the street to the house (it's a duplex) where the lady said she lived. A man answered and Terry asked to see the old lady. The French-Canadian gentleman replied she must have been mistaken as no woman with the description provided lived in his unit. Nor in the other houses near him.

It dawned on her as she turned and walked away that she had met a spirit.

What made the story interesting is an eye witness with no "out of world abilities" was there to see the old lady.

The end.