“Aww, that’s sweet of you to ask. I’d love to order something, seeing as how I seem to have left my wallet in my pants,” I joke.
Gym Rat looks at me blankly, and I realize he has headphones in, and he wasn’t actually talking to me. “Yeah, I’ll get that. See you in fifteen.” He hangs up, and I start looking around, as if the traffic is suddenly fascinating. Man, I’m dumb.
“It’s a cool look. I dig it,” Beanie Hipster says to me, eyeing my outfit.
“Thank you,” I reply, tugging the bottom of the suit jacket down in the back to make sure it’s still covering my ass. It is, but there’s quite the breeze.
“Fucking millennials,” Armani Suit mutters with a shake of his head.
“Next!”
The men move forward in line, and I give another longing look as a pumpkin bowl full of alfredo gets whisked away.
“I really need to get some money,” I mutter to myself. Then my eyes widen, because I just realized…I’m basically full-human now, which means I really do have to get a job. Because as of right now, all I own is a stolen jacket, and I’m fairly certain that doesn’t count.
“Oh, fricken ass polyps,” I hiss as I internally kick myself. “I don’t have anywhere to live!”
My dawning realization comes out way too loudly, and everyone in line glances over at me like I’m crazy, before they go right back to staring at their phones. I want one of those things, too. I’ll put it on my humanized to-do list:
Eat from Fettuccine Afraid-O
Get a job
Get clothes
Find a place to live
Get a phone
Probably not in that order, but I’m hungry, so pasta is taking precedence. Also, I don’t think I could really get a job while being half-naked.
“Oh, wait, I could be a stripper!” I say, thinking out loud.
The woman in line with a baby on her hip shoots me a dirty look.
“Sorry,” I whisper. “I just got excited about the stripper idea.”
She doesn’t share my enthusiasm.
I wrack my brain, trying to remember some of the nicer strip clubs in town, when a gray-haired woman suddenly walks up to me. She has tanned skin that’s lined with smile wrinkles but is otherwise completely smooth and clear. Her hair is crazy curly, sticking up all over the place, and she’s wearing a long hippie-style skirt that goes all the way to her ankles with ruffles at the bottom and pot leaves as the print. And you know when you hear that expression twinkling eyes? She has them. I’ve never seen someone whose eyes actually did that, but hers legitimately shine as she smiles up at me.
“Your aura is magnificent,” she tells me.
I look down at my body as if my aura is seeping out of me like sweat or something, but I don’t see anything. “Oh. Uh, thank you.”
Two men come up to flank her. One is bald, looking a bit like Bruce Willis, and the other has a full head of white and gray hair, looking like he’s spent his entire life surfing, his skin leathery and his smile lines on full display.
“Sorry, she insisted she come talk to you,” the Bruce Willis look alike tells me.
“No need to apologize,” I smile. “Doesn’t every girl want to be complimented on her magnificent aura?”
I hear the Armani suit guy snort, and I shoot him a glare.
“I bet his aura is real shitty, huh?” I ask, hooking my thumb in his direction.
The woman glances over at him and tuts under her breath. “Oh, dear. His aura is indeed begrimed.”
“Ha!” I say, pointing at him with a grin. “She said your aura sucks.”
He glares at me, but then the food truck guy hands him a heaping bowl of spider-shaped ravioli, and he smirks at me with a shitty grin. “My aura may suck, but at least I have food,” he says before walking away.
Fricken ass.
It looks delicious—the ravioli, not the ass.
I force myself to look away from his overfilled bowl and focus back on the trio in front of me. The woman is now motioning up and down my body like she’s stroking my aura mist or something. “The past life of your reincarnated soul shines brightly within you,” she says cheerily.
“Oh, well, I guess you could say that my past life was very recent,” I tell her.
She nods knowingly, then she opens the cargo bag that she has slung over her shoulder and starts digging through it until she pulls out a deck of tarot cards and fans them out in front of me.
Meanwhile, the silver fox surfer dude looks across the street at the ocean with longing, and Bruce Willis gives me an apologetic smile, as if he’s worried I’ll be bothered by her. But how could I be? She has feathers threaded into her hair and bracelets that jangle when she moves. She’s so mellow and free-loving that you can’t help but like her.
“Pick a card,” she tells me as she holds the cards in front of me. “I shall read your fortune.”
“Oh, man, my fortune? That sounds ominous.”
“We all have one, dear.”
I feel like this is a very poignant time. Like life is literally holding out choices for me to pick. “What if I choose wrong?”
She shakes her head, making her poufy corkscrew curls bounce around. “There is no wrong. You’ll pick what you’re meant to pick.”
My armpits start to feel all sticky and wet at the weight of decision that’s blanketed over me. “Damn. I think I have FOPWTC,” I tell her.
She gives me a look.
“You know, kind of like FOMO, but this is Fear Of Picking Wrong Tarot Card.”
“There is no wr—”
“Yeah, yeah. No wrong one,” I say, cutting her off. “But see, the thing is, I need a lady luck to be on my side here. I don’t need her, or karma, or Fate and Destiny to screw with me right now. I have a very important personal mission. So if I fuck up and choose a bad card, this could ruin everything.”
The woman’s smile fades and her twinkling eyes narrow. Instead of her free-loving, whimsical self, now she just looks like a stern grandmother. It’s a bit scary. “Pick a damn card.”
“Okay, okay!” I slam my eyes closed and shove my hand forward, swiping out the first card my hand touches.
“Well done,” she tells me, her singsong tone back in place.
I drag my eyes open carefully as I flip the card over, scared to see what’s on the other side.
She nods down at the picture of the dude juggling. “Ah, the Fool.”
Of course I got the one called the fool. I shouldn’t even be surprised.
“Fricken fool,” I mutter. “That’s bad, isn’t it?” I ask. I can practically hear one of those karma bitches laughing at me. “Dammit! I knew I should’ve gone a little to the left.”
She shakes her head, a beaming smile on her face. “Not at all. In fact, this settles it. You’ll come with me.”
Taken off-guard, I look at her with confusion. “Uh...what?”
She nods emphatically, like it’s all decided. “You have a good aura, and this card proves that you are an innocent—that you are embarking on new beginnings. But you can be easily taken advantage of or fall from your own naiveté. You’re in need of outside help. The universe and Mother Nature worked together to push us together.”
“Uh…”
Don’t get me wrong, I do need help. But I’ve heard all about Mother Nature. The way some cupids tell it, she’s a real PMS’ing, mood-swinging cunt. Catch her on a bad day, and she’ll knock you down with whatever natural disaster strikes her fancy. The last thing you want to do is get on her bad side.
“You really don’t have to. I’m sure I’ll be fine…”
“Nonsense,” she cuts me off. “You have no pants on, and you’ve been drooling over pasta that comes from a truck for the past half hour. You’ll come home with us.”
“Us?”
My eyes flick over to the older men on either side of her. The surfer dude nods and throws an arm over the woman. “We’re her life partners.”
“Oh.” My eyes go back to the woman.
“Both of them?”
A teasing grin spreads across her wrinkled face. “What can I say? I’m a lot of woman to handle, and three was always my favorite number.”
Huh. Now the I Heart Polyamory button on her cargo bag makes more sense.
“Now, come on. It’s compost heap day, and I don’t want to be late.”
“Oh. Right. Don’t wanna miss that.”
I don’t even really know how my life has changed so suddenly, but I find myself following behind her anyway.
“Don’t feel obligated,” the Bruce Willis dude rushes to say as we all trail after her. “She tends to be a bit eccentric…”
The woman whirls around and smacks him playfully on the ass, cackling. “That’s not what you called it last night, Rob.”
That shuts Bruce—I mean, Rob—up. Even the top of his bald head looks like it’s blushing.
I carefully hold down the hem of the jacket to hide my bouncing bum cheeks as I hurry after her. She walks fricken fast for an older lady. Or maybe I just haven’t gotten the hang of this whole real body thing, because after only about twenty steps, I’m winded and sore.
I glance around as we pass by more street vendors and head up the sidewalk, past all the commercial buildings and storefronts. I have no idea where she’s leading me, so I’m just going to hope that she doesn’t turn out to be some unconventional serial killer.
“What’s your name?” I ask her.
“I am Hummingbird Sunshower,” she answers breezily.
“Judy. Her name is Judy,” Rob answers, making me chuckle. “The surfer asshole is Hale.”
“Nice to meet you all.”
Rob looks over at me expectantly, like he’s waiting for more. It takes me a few seconds before I realize he’s waiting for me to tell him my name. “Oh, uh, I haven’t really picked a name yet. I’m still working on it.”
Hummingbird Judy nods over at me, ignoring all the people who are forced to move out of her way as she walks. “Yes, child!” she says with excited arm movements. “Shed what society and authoritarian begetters have forced upon you, and say, no more! We will not answer to a word that does not sing with our soul. No more! You brand yourself! Pick a name that suits you.”
I nod. “Brand with a singing soul. Got it.”
She looks very pleased with my answer.
I guess Hummingbird Judy Sunshower really has a thing with names. Who would’ve guessed?
Chapter 9
After walking for about ten minutes, I follow the trio into the back of a van.
Okay, yeah. It’s probably not the smartest thing to do. I mean, everyone knows better than to follow strangers into vans.
But in my defense, this one has bright purple flowers hand-painted on the side of it, and huge bubble letters with the slogan, “Nothin’ but good vibes and smooth rides,” so I feel like it’s a safe bet. Although, if I’m being honest, the drive is a bit bumpy.
I sit in the back with Hummingbird Judy and Surfer Hale while Bruce Willis Rob drives. The back has bench seats all along the interior walls, with purple shag carpeting on the floor and a boom box built into the middle console. Floral curtains flap happily against the half-open window, and there’s a distinct smell wafting from the front, though I don’t know what it is.
I relax, listening to the three of them as they talk about their impressive cucumber yield this year. I wonder if that’s some sort of sex euphemism or if they really are just this enthusiastic about gardening.
But all thoughts of cucumbers go out the window when the van comes to a stop and I step outside.
They brought me to a nudist colony.
An honest-to-gods, everyone walking around in their birthday suits, totally nekkid commune.
Boobs and penises everywhere.
I look back at the gate that we passed through, seeing a sign that says, “Why be rude when you can be nude?”
“Is this because of the whole I’m naked beneath the men’s suit jacket thing?” I ask Judy. “Because this was an accident,” I assure her, pulling the jacket down over my ass.
She blinks at me. “Nudity is nothing to be ashamed of,” she replies.
I’ll take that as a yes.
The colony is made up of a hodgepodge of huts. Most of them look like they’re made of concrete or stucco, while others look more like art projects decorated with murals of neon paint and put together with sticks and hope.
“So…this is where you guys live?”
“This is our oasis,” Hummingbird Judy Sunshower says with a dreamy look on her face. “I knew your aura would fit right in.”
I look around the wide open space with a bit of awe. I never knew this existed here. After two months of flying around freely in this area, who knew there was this little hidden community?
For the most part, everyone seems like they’re around retirement age, so there’s a lot of sagginess going on. But once you get past the wrinkly balls and the boobs married to their belly buttons, you pick up on the unique energy of this place.
Besides the metal gate that goes around the whole thing to block the view from outsiders, this place is really open and friendly. There’s an artsy, freeing vibe here that you can’t help but feel.
We walk past the dirt lot where there’s everything from golf carts to BMWs parked in rows. Walking along the painted pavers, Hummingbird Judy leads us down the path, where I see an in-ground pool and spa area, a rec center, and a greenhouse. These nudists have it good.
At the center of a grassy quad, there’s a kumbaya circle thing going on where people are gathered, currently doing some yoga poses and chanting. I have to look away when they all bend over for Downward Dog, because that’s just a lot of asscrack hair.
A little further down, there’s a circle of nudies playing music. A short older dude is leading the impromptu concert, one leg crossed over the other as he balances his guitar in front of his Wiener Schnitzel.
There’s a woman behind him, swaying to the music and shaking a cymbal as she gyrates to the beat. I get a little distracted by the impressive mound of hair between her legs. Her vagina whiskers are long enough to braid. Which I know for certainty since it is, in fact, braided.
“This is our music space,” Hummingbird Judy tells me. “Wonderfully talented, aren’t they?”
I can’t really discern an actual beat to be honest, though I don’t say that. The people clapping out of sync aren’t helping, and the dude with the ukulele isn’t trying to harmonize at all. The lady with the rainstick is kicking ass though.
We pass the music space, and then we come to a path that looks like something out of an artist’s wet dream. Right alongside the palm trees, there’s a short wall that’s covered in art. The wall itself is only about three feet high, but it’s littered with hanging canvases and raw paintings done right on the wall itself.
Set up along the path, there are a lot of artists scattered around, all of them busy painting, sculpting, making jewelry, or doing other shit I don’t even have a name for.
You’d think that the guy carving the giant wooden bear would want to wear a protective cup while he works the chainsaw, but alas, he’s letting his peen fly free.
Artists are talking as they work, passing supplies back and forth as they do their thing. There’s a couple of people sitting on the ground with notebooks propped on their laps as they write.
I smile. “This is kind of amazing.”
“See? I told you she wouldn’t be weirded out.” Hummingbird Judy says, shooting a look at Bruce Willis Rob.
Rob gives her a look. “The last time you brought a stranger here, she started crying and wouldn’t open her eyes until the police came to pick her up.”
Hummingbird Judy acts like she doesn’t even hear him as she messes with the feathers threaded in her hair. “Anyway, you can stay here if you’d like,” she tells me. “We’re always open to welcoming a new bright soul. I think you’ll fit right in,” she says, eyeing me like she’s studying my aura again. “We have a guest s
hare system in place, so you’ll have to bunk up with someone for now until you decide to leave or stay.”
“That would be great, but I don’t have any money or even a job,” I admit. Then I tilt my head in thought. “Well, technically I do have a job to do, but I don’t get paid for it. I’m here to make Love Matches.”
Maybe that was too honest, but Hummingbird Judy doesn’t look at me like I’m crazy at all. In fact, she’s beaming. “Did you know—your spirit’s emanation practically glows when you talk about love!”
“Uh. Is that...good?”
She nods emphatically. “Very.”
“Oh. Okay, awesome.”
“Anyway,” she continues. “Our community here isn’t run on capitalism and greed. We all work the land, work together, and provide for each other. This is a community that practices giving,” she says, stressing the word with some swirling hand movements. “So what is it that you can give?”
I consider this. “Uh…”
What can I give?
“I don’t really have any skills…” I trail off nervously.
Rob and Hale give me sympathetic smiles like they’re not that surprised. Considering they found me salivating outside a food truck wearing nothing but a man’s suit jacket, maybe it’s not so shocking.
“Come on now, you just said you’re a matchmaker. Your skills specialize in love!” Hummingbird Judy tells me. “What could possibly be more precious than that?” she asks, gesturing to both of her men.
I nod. “Love is priceless.”
“Exactly!” she says, suddenly overexcited as she smacks me on the arm.
I rub the spot where she hit me and nod. “So I guess my skill is that I can help people fall in love...” I say, though it sounds more like a question, because let’s be real. I’ve never actually helped anyone fall in love. Yet.
“Yes. You’re our spirit guide to love,” she claims breathlessly, her eyes twinkling again.
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