Just the other day, I was staring at the horizon, listening to the waves slap the hulls.
“I like your aura,” she says, “what do you do?”
“Lately, I’ve been calling myself a writer.” I reply.
We are out on a big cat, doing the booze cruise and picnic on the beach thing; about 25 women and 15 men. I felt like Custer before we even left the dock.
“I dreamt about you, you know. Well, maybe not exactly you, but I dreamt that I was going to meet a writer who would write my story.”
“What do you do then, that needs telling?”
She smiles and says, “Well, it’s just that my path is a miracle. I mean, my life is such a mysterious thing with the most amazing signs along the way.”
“How did you end up here?” I ask. “I came down on a mission and then stayed because I got a job,” she answers.
“Mission?” I ask.
“Yes, well, that’s one of the signs I got. I was just finishing up at the seminary and one of my teachers asked if I felt called to do missionary work. So, I gave away everything I owned, then my house burnt down and now I am here. I just followed the signs.”
“I see.” I say. “What’s the job?”
“Oh, construction management,” she says. “Steel beams and girders and things like that.”
“Raising high the roof beam?” I ask.
“What’s that?” she frowns.
“Oh, just a writer’s joke. What else do you do?”
“Well, I’m a Reiki Master Practitioner and a massage therapist.”
“That would explain the aura comment then. Why don’t you write your own story?”
“Can’t write a letter, let alone a book. What kind of writing do you do?”
“The kind with words.”
“Funny. I mean what genre?”
“Probably metaphysical is the most apt description.”
“You don’t do biographies then?”
“Nope, never have. I am, however, working on my own story.”
“It must be interesting too.” she says.
“Yes,” I reply, “it must be. If not, no one will read it, will they?”