The Sixteenth Sense
Okay, remember that scene where the little boy is standing in the kitchen looking completely normal and benign? And his mom is walking around doing normal and benign mom things? And then she steps into the little mudroom or whatever the room is, just off the kitchen? And then she steps back in and sees something that made every person in the theatre jump thirty feet straight up?
Remember that scene? It was in The Six Sense. And what made everyone wig out was all the chairs around the table were suddenly and impossibly stacked one atop the other. No way for the kid to have done it in three and a half seconds, and no explanation for it either.
Okay. Keep that in mind.
So we’re out at some restaurant this past summer, right? Just chit-chatting away with other grown-ups having grown-up conversation. Conversation like, “Yeah, I’d like to see that brochure again too, because I’m pretty sure having children and teaching them to talk back was not a part of the package.”
One of my children — and by now, I’m going to wager all my regular readers know exactly who I’m talking about without naming names *cough* Beta Male *cough* — was hovering nearby.
I should .•*•Time Travel•*•. here real quick and tell you another story, though. A story that will set the stage here even more and, if nothing else, explain why the seemingly paranormal became the New Normal a loooOOoooong time ago.
[.•*•Time Travel•*•. Star date: Summer 2000]
I’m sitting at my desk working on my computer. I’m type-type-typing away at something and then sit back and think. As I’m thinking about what to type next I’m looking at the monitor.
And amazing new thoughts and concepts and ideas start flowing one after another in a cascade of brilliant and free-associative articulation. Which was incredible and liberating and transcendent.
It was also illegible because it read like this:
“ad axkljcxfh qh 4rtgqyxbcas f@#$sdafh f231[po23rn q3r4j1 ewf 2314"
My eyes were popping out of their sockets because while all this was happening, I was sitting back with my hands crossed, head tilted all RCA dog and everything...
AND. NOT. TOUCHING. THE. KEYBOARD.
It only lasted a few seconds, but in those few seconds, I went from curiosity to confusion to horror to laughter.
Because when I glanced from the computer screen channeling the devil to the keyboard, I saw one tiny little hand reaching up from under the desk and scrambling over the keyboard clickety-clacking type-type-typing to beat the band.
Okay, that was one of the first times Beta Male left his little footprint fingerprint on the world around me.
[end .•*•Time Travel•*•.]
Back to the restaurant.
Turn to left, talk to guest on left. Turn to right, talk to guest on right.
Set fork down.
Turn back to guest on right to answer question whilst simultaneously reaching for aforementioned fork on my left.
*Brain notes absence of fork. [Time span: roughly 2.8 seconds]
Turn to left to pick up fork—see kitchen chairs stacked one atop the other forks—scream like little girl.
“Alex would you please stop doing that!?”
Oh! I repeat myself (and I don’t care to do it) I like Beta! A LOT!