by Laury Falter
Everything seemed to be going fine until about midday; that was when the strange feeling returned.
A petite, giggling college student had just sat down when I sensed it. The hairs on the back of my neck sprang to life, pulling and twisting in an erratic pattern.
“Hi,” said the girl in a squeaky voice. She tossed her blonde hair back over her shoulder and gave me a toothy smile.
“Hi,” I replied absentmindedly, focused on my neck.
“So, can you really deliver messages to the dead?” asked the girl, skeptically.
“Yes, yes I can,” I said, drawing up a hand and rubbing at the skin below my hairline. It helped calm the reaction I was having but I still felt the goose bumps below my fingertips.
I saw her friends roll their eyes and sneer at me as they stood a few feet away, watching.
Just as I was turning my attention back to their friend in my customer’s chair, I caught sight of him.
A motorcycle had stopped and the driver had twisted his head over his shoulder, staring back in my direction. But this time it wasn’t the creepy guy who had watched me from the shadows yesterday and assumedly attempted to run me over. This one looked like someone out of a spy movie. He was hunched over a sport bike, dressed in all black leather with yellow stripes, a shiny black and yellow matching helmet, and a necklace dangling from around his neck. It was gold and a name had been soldered into the end but he was too far away for me to read it.
Through the clear visor I could easily see his face and it had the same intense, heated expression as the creepy guy from the day before.
My hands clasped in my lap began to sweat and I could feel my heart beginning to beat quicker.
“Excuse me…Excuse me!” The college girl leaned into my view. “Are you going to take my money or what?”
I paused to catch my breath, which seemed to have left me, before answering. “No…no. I don’t take the money until you receive proof that your message has been delivered.”
She blinked uncertainly at me and then leaned back to shove her money back in her pocket, clearing my view. “Why not?”
He was still there. Still staring.
“Um…because others in my line of work have given us a bad reputation. So I don’t ask for payment until I provide proof the job is done.”
She paused for a moment. “Oh.”
I could sense she was getting irritated by my lack of attention to her. Realizing I was being rude and only slightly caring, I decided that I couldn’t stop him from staring, so I would just let him.
“So, what would you like to say and to whom would you like to send it?” I asked, making my mind up to ignore him. This was especially challenging considering he made me feel panicked in the same way I had with the guy from yesterday.
The girl beamed at me and then wiggled in her seat as if she were getting herself ready for a big surprise. “I want to send a message to my grandmother. I’d like to say that I miss her and that we’re all doing well down here on earth and that I crave her sticky rolls.”
“Okay.” Easy enough.
Her face twisted in confusion. “Aren’t you going to write it down?” she asked, annoyed. Then she glanced over her shoulder to see what I was still focusing on instead of her.
“No, I can’t take the pad with me so it isn’t much good, but I’ve done this long enough that I have a very good memory. Don’t worry. Your message will be delivered verbatim.”
She didn’t believe me and made me recite the message back.
“That’s fine,” she assessed. “So…what now?”
“Give me her name, when and where she passed, and I’ll deliver the message tonight. If you come back tomorrow, or any other day thereafter, I’ll have her response for you.”
The girl’s mouth fell open. “Really? I mean you’ll really be able to tell me what she says?”
“If she has anything to say, I’ll tell you.” I shrugged, familiar with the shocked response.
The girl’s face lit up with a smile. “My friends told me not to waste my beer money, but I am SO glad I did!”
“Thanks…” I replied, hesitantly. I didn’t think she intended to be offensive.
“Now…” She reached forward and patted my hands that were folded in my lap. “You go over to that boyfriend of yours and make up. He looks pretty upset with you!”
“What boyfriend?” I asked, bewildered. I didn’t have a boyfriend. I didn’t even have a single friend in the city.
“That one on the bike,” she said, surprised, pivoting in her seat to find him.
We both looked toward his direction at the same time, realizing that he was no longer there.
“Oh, well…when he comes back…” she said with a smile and one final pat on my hands.
I was so focused on searching for him in the crowd that I didn’t even notice she had stood up and joined her friends.
As it turned out, I didn’t need to search too hard to find him. Around late afternoon, I asked Sylvia, the hemp jeweler, to watch my spot and my bike while I went for a muffaletta, a delicious olive sandwich that I’d eaten for lunch the day before, and was instantly addicted to on my first bite. I’d almost reached the deli shop when I felt my hair stand on end again and I instinctively looked behind me. He was quick, but I still saw him before he slipped inside a souvenir shop that sat behind a stand of masquerade masks and Mardi Gras beads. I hesitated but decided to confront him. I walked briskly to where I’d watched him disappear. As I entered the shop, I quickly searched the colorful aisles that were full of voodoo dolls in all shapes and sizes, dried mixes of Cajun and Creole spices, and shirts printed with catchy phrases. Nevertheless, after a thorough search, I found that he was no longer there. Figuring he’d slipped by me, I chose to forget it, quell my frustration, and go pick up my sandwich.
When I reached The Square again, I went back to taking customer’s orders. It wasn’t until the sun touched the cathedral’s rooftop and the last of the tourists began filtering away did he appear again.
Felix pranced up to me just as I was considering packing up my chairs for the day and stated excitedly, “Tofu.” He reminded me of a dog anticipating the taste of a bone.
“What?” I spun in my seat to face him, keeping an eye on a twenty-something guy who was deciding whether to be my next customer.
“Tofu. Also known as soybean curd. Do you like it?” he asked, his eyebrows rose in expectation.
“I-I’ve never really had it,” I replied, nervous as to where this conversation was headed after remembering his choice of breakfast foods.
It turned out, my concern was legitimate.
“Excellent! Get your chops ready ‘cause I’m making my special dish tonight…Tofu Turkey Tacos!”
“Mmmm,” I said, trying not to show my disgust.
“Not to be confused with tofurky, which is tofu made to look like turkey. I use a mixture of tofu and turkey so you get a variety of proteins and tastes!”
He beamed back at me.
“Wonderful…”
“We’re taking off now. See you back home!”
“Okay…” I nodded in response, ignoring how the way he said “home” made a nervous jolt run through me. Instead, my mind raced through all the fast food places available from here to the house.
Felix gleefully spun on his heels but quickly stopped, adding from over his shoulder, “Oh yes…Godzilla over there…” He nodded toward Rufus. “He asked me to mention he’s making hamburgers, if you want any of those too.” He rolled his eyes and shrugged, as if he couldn’t understand why.
I heard his car’s engine thunder to life a few minutes later, just as the twenty-something guy had moved back into the crowd. I sat patiently watching the last of the bustling tourists pass by, in no hurry whatsoever to rush home and smell tofu and turkey sizzling in the same pan.
By the time the din in The Square had quieted and the last of the tourists disappeared down a side street, I began to feel it.
The hair
rose up on the back of my neck – just as it had the day before, just as it had at lunch today. I drew in a frustrated breath and scanned the crowd, looking for the reason.
Slowly, the sensation grew more intense causing goose bumps to rise on my arms, peaking when my eyes landed on him.
The one dressed in the yellow and black leather rider suit was on his bike again watching me. A security guard approached him, but before they could interact, the guy took off down the street with dirt and exhaust kicking up behind him.
He was back a few minutes later and the hair on my neck began to steadily rise again, growing higher with each step he took as he arrogantly strolled toward me. He removed his helmet, and I could see he had dark brown hair that hung to his shoulders and the type of chiseled good looks I’d seen only on GQ models. He had striking clear blue eyes which bore into me as he stopped just behind my customer chair.
His stare especially unnerved me. It was unavoidable and contradicted his cheerful demeanor. While his jovial expression told me to relax, his feverishly concentrated eyes sent a silent alarm through me.
“Ello,” he said with an Australian accent. The goose bumps rose higher. His broad smile told me that he had no idea how his presence made me react. “Will ya take one mo’ customer today?”
I assessed him for a moment longer than I would others because of the affect his presence had on me and his oddly intent gaze. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t rationally find anything wrong with him. It was easy to believe that he was just another tourist with a quirky manner.
Besides, there were still a few straggling vendors left in case something did happen.
“Come on…” he said with a beguiling tone. “I promise not to be a problem customer.”
I gave in, lifting a shoulder in a half shrug. “Sure.”
He eagerly took a seat in the chair opposite me, throwing his green canvas bag down with amazing precision right next to mine.
Later, I wished I would have paid more attention to its position.
“My name’s Sharar.”
“I figured.”
His eyes widened in surprise at my response.
I glanced toward the necklace lying against his chest. I could see the name clearly now and pointed to it.
“That’s good. You’re good. I just returned from Taipei. Ever been there? Taipei?” He kept talking without waiting for an answer. “Bloody hot down thea. Got used to it though.”
“I guess that would explain why you’re not affected by the heat here,” I said when he paused. He gawked back at me in surprise. “Your jacket…and leather…neither is conducive to today’s temperature, yet you’re not even breaking a sweat.”
Sharar’s face lit up and he tossed his head back to release a long, loud laugh. “You’re observant. More than I gave you credit for.”
I didn’t respond immediately because my mind had caught his words clearly and I was a little taken aback by them. That was a statement someone made when they’d known you long enough to make that kind of conclusion. If what he said was true, he’d met me less than a minute ago and already he’d judged me to be observant. Unless I had met him before…which was a possibility considering how many people I’d met on the road.
“Do I know you?” I asked, instantly thinking back to all the places I’d been; clearly realizing that not one face in my memory resembled this man’s.
He gave me a peculiar stare. It looked as if he were trying to determine whether I was joking with him. “No, but we do run in similar circles.”
The hair on the back of my neck reacted to what he said. “Really? What circles?”
His broad smile wavered and I got the impression he wasn’t being entirely honest with me. “Eh…Enough about me.” He waved me off. “Tell me how this works,” he said, leaning toward me with resolute interest.
In reaction I leaned away, not wanting him that close. He noticed – I could tell by the disruption to his frozen grin – but he didn’t adjust his posture. Uncomfortable with our interaction, I launched into my typical spiel. “Well, I take your message, deliver it, you return for proof-”
“No…no,” he stopped me abruptly, his smile remaining stationary, unnerving me further. “How do you actually…do it?”
I took a moment to clear my throat, reminding myself that this was a fairly common question asked by my customers. However, this one appeared to take the question more seriously than usual. I began to feel as if he was researching me, and I considered ending his session.
As if he read my thoughts, he said suddenly, “I don’t mean to scare ya.” He allowed his artificial smile to fall. “I’m not so good with…humans.”
The fact he called people “humans” made his admission that much more exaggerated, and despite my reaction to him, I actually felt sorry for him.
“Me neither,” I said suddenly and then became embarrassed to have divulged that discomfort to a complete stranger, even if he had done it first.
“You too?” He seemed to feel slightly more relaxed at my acknowledgement and by affect more…human.
“Ever since I was younger and found my…gift. It set me apart from everyone else.”
He nodded sincerely. “You are definitely unique.”
I felt there was a hidden meaning behind his comment, but I wanted to veer away from me as the topic of conversation. “So, back to the business of delivering your message…”
“Ah, yes, that…”
“Yes…that,” I replied a little too abruptly.
He didn’t seem to notice. “Where were we? I believe you were about to tell me the ways you use to find the dead.”
“Right,” I agreed, a little uncomfortable with his stark choice of words. “There are ways to find your loved ones who have passed-”
“What ways?” he demanded, his smile returning to soften his assertiveness.
“Um…why is it you ask?”
“Curious,” he replied and when he saw that wasn’t a good enough reason, he added, “I’d like to make sure you’re not a phony, that my money will be well spent.”
His focus on our conversation still unnerved me, but I had to admit his rationale seemed consistent with other customers’ needs for confirmation, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt.
“Well, while I’m sure there is more than one way, I only use one in particular method. In the afterlife, with your loved one’s name and their place of death I’m able to easily locate them.”
He sat silent for a moment, staring. “Name…place of death, eh?”
“That’s right,” I said, not sure whether he believed me. “And if your loved one had a common name, such as John Smith, I ask for the date too…to help identify them.”
He leaned back in the chair, quietly assessing me. I noticed that his behavior had changed almost instantly. His grin was gone completely now, replaced with a tight, thin line. The kindle in his eyes had changed too, becoming muted. They looked vacant, dead. Now he didn’t look friendly at all, and I felt that I was finally seeing the true Sharar.
“Well, was bloody good to meet ya,” he said flatly, standing to leave.
“Did you want me to deliver a message?” I asked, confused.
His response was cold, distant. “Nah…Just wanted me confirmation.”
“Confirmation about what?”
He didn’t bother to answer. Instead, he strapped on his helmet and picked up his canvas bag. As he sauntered away, he called over his shoulder with an offhand comment. “You’re an interesting one, Messenger. I’ll give ya that.”
I couldn’t be sure because his voice was muffled, but he almost sounded wistful to me.
I watched him walk away, toward his bike parked not far from us at the curb.
That was when I noticed The Square was completely empty and the gas lamps lining the streets of the French Quarter were now lit and flickering hazy shadows against the old buildings. I tensed, and my body reacted, as I heard Sharar’s bike start with a rumble. I glanced in his direction
to find him taking off down the street.
He was gone, I told myself. Gone. Yet, the odd sensation I was having in response to him hadn’t ebbed at all.
Wavering between whether I should begin to figure out why I was having these sensations or if I should simply ignore them altogether, I took my chair and folded it. Shoving it between the slits in the fence panels that encircle The Square, I hid it behind a shrub; this will be my free storage space during my stay in New Orleans.
The last bit of light from dusk slipped away then. I was completely alone in the dark. The storefronts surrounding The Square were now closed. Even Café Du Monde, a coffee shop that stayed open year round, was vacant, sending an eerie reminder that even when it seemed that others were nearby…they really weren’t.
As I bent down to pick up my other chair – this one for the customers – I heard a slow, quiet whistle begin a few feet behind me.
I was instantly on guard.
This hadn’t been the first time someone – even someone with ill intent – had walked up behind me in the dark. Only this time I wasn’t perfectly calm like I normally would be, as ludicrous as that seems. Yet, the hair was still standing on the back of my neck and I was dwelling on the odd meeting with Sharar. I wasn’t sure if either one of those was the reason but…I was shaken.
In one smooth motion, I turned around, lifted the chair, collapsing it with a slam, and held it up defensively. The weight of it in competition with my slim frame almost took me down with it. I stumbled; realizing I must look like a bungling defender and wanting to kick myself. Steadying my balance, I looked up and planted my feet in preparation, only to find out it wasn’t Sharar at all.
Beneath the halo of the street lamps, I found that it was someone far more annoying - the lofty guy I had nearly ran over the night before.
My breath caught in my throat as I recognized him. I couldn’t mistake the elegant contours of his facial features or the way he stood straight, being so comfortable in his own skin. He swaggered toward me, thumbs tucked into the pockets of his dark jeans – jeans that fit him perfectly in all the right places. His blue shirt was pulled out to cool him off because he wore a buttoned up black vest. The clothes he wore fit the mold of his muscles and defined his body, which beneath them was clearly perfect. I watched him approach, my breath still caught, knowing that only he could pull off that type of style on a summer evening in New Orleans.