Maya's Aura: The Awakening

by Smith, Skye

  "Something like that. I know what you mean." The door bell chimed. "Damn, that will be your watchers. Wait for me. I have to put some clothes on."

  Karen stood and did a nude pirouette. "Yeah, like I am going anywhere dressed like this. Where did I leave my clothes?"

  "On the deck, but they are ruined. Sorry, but I don't have anything that would fit you."

  "Rub it in. I hate getting old. Thirty next birthday. Yuk. Ancient."

  "Here, how about this?" Maya said coming out of the closet. "It's the spare silk robe in case we are entertaining in the hot tub."

  "Good enough. I was worried you were going to offer me Wal-Mart sweats. God, wouldn't the gutter press love to get a picture of me in sweats." Instead of taking the robe she wrapped her arms around Maya and hugged her and hugged her. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," Karen whispered into her ear.

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  MAYA'S AURA - the Awakening by Skye Smith

  Chapter 17 - In present day San Francisco

  She stepped off the bus and began to walk down the hill. She loved the view from the next corner. You could just see the towers of Golden Gate bridge and a sparkle of Pacific water. Usually there was a ship to watch as well. No ship today. She lifted her long skirt so she could skip up the steps of the house. It was tall and skinny, but from the roof there were great views. Too bad you had to climb stairs no matter what you wanted to do in this house.

  "Hello the house," Maya called out, up the first of many staircases.

  "In here," came a familiar voice from the dining room. She followed the voice into the room. There was a very pregnant woman dressed in a loose muumuu sitting in a dining chair with arms, twisting at her hair and talking on the phone. She told the person on the line to hold on and then she covered the mike with her hand.

  "It's my real estate agent from Hollywood. She has an offer on the house."

  "Snap her hand off," replied Maya, throwing her cloth bag on one chair and sitting on another.

  "It's a low bid."

  "So you only make 200 percent profit instead of 300. Karen, get rid of it before it slides down the hill. You never stay there any more. It's a relic of your past. It's not kid friendly. In fact, that whole city isn't kid friendly."

  Karen took her hand away from the mike and said, "Okay. I'll take it but with no conditions.

  Yeah. Straight up. Fax me the initial agreement and I will fax it back signed. Give the originals to my lawyer and he can courier them.

  Okay. Okay. So who is the buyer?

  I don't mean the name, are they bankers or into oil? They are the only ones with money these days.

  Yeah, that makes sense. Thanks. Bye." She pressed the 'off' button on the phone.

  "Nasty divorce in Orange County. She got half. She wants to be one of the Ladies of the Canyon. Well, good luck to her. That crowd has moved on to where there is no smog." She looked at her friend. "Mom's gone for groceries. We had another fight."

  "Well, selling that house solves your money troubles. It can only get better."

  "Yeah. The baby will make it all better. What have you been up to?"

  "Hanging out down near the protesters," replied Maya. "I discovered a coffee shop where a bunch of freelance photographers hang out waiting for the police to do something."

  "You, you are hanging out with the paparazzi?" Karen said in amazement. "That's a first. I thought you hated those guys."

  "They have their uses. Their presence is probably what is holding the police back from breaking heads."

  "Well, you be careful. The bankers want them cleared out. On TV they say the police are threatening pepper spray if they don't clear the square. I'm glad to see you aren't in your usual sundress. If they start spraying pepper, the less bare skin the better."

  "I would go down dressed like a Muslim woman," Maya laughed, "but they would probably shoot me as a terrorist." She shouldn't laugh. She was no stranger to completely covering herself from the view of men after traveling all over Asia.

  "Well , at least wear a full body suit under that, and throw a shawl over your shoulders. You can use it to cover your head and face. I don't know why you go down there. Why go looking for trouble?"

  "Karen, anti corporation demonstrations are going on all over the world. Governments are toppling. This is, like, worldwide big and I can touch it just by hanging at a cafe."

  "Hey," said Karen, "I watch the news. Those toppled governments were bad guys. Dictators. That is why they were toppled."

  Maya kept her mouth shut. She used to be just like Karen, believing everything she saw on the TV news. Not any more. Nothing like seeing the news in other countries to make you realize how corporations controlled the content of TV news. The dictators were toppled not because they were bad guys, but because they wouldn't let multinational oil companies run their oil industries. The topplings were just a continuation of the Bush oil wars.

  Karen stood up and stretched her back. "I am so tired of being pregnant. Why did I do this to myself?"

  "Not long now, sweetie," said Maya. "You're due next week. From the size of you, I would put money on your being early."

  "Don't remind me of my size. That's not fair. I never thought I would every say this, but I actually miss making movies. Here, help me to the couch so I can watch TV."

  They sat on opposite ends of the couch, but Maya grabbed the remote. She wanted to see the local news to see what was happening with the demonstration. It was just some local news announcers saying that the demonstration drew fewer people this weekend than last, and that city officials hoped it had run its course.

  She switched channels. It was showing 'the Glover' walking through a crowd shaking hands. She turned up the announcer. "Well, the Glover is looking unbeatable. All the other candidates except for the senator have virtually pulled out of the race. It will be a landslide at the convention. Next weekend he will make the last stop of his tour here in our fair city and then it is on to the convention. Let's all turn out to greet him."

  Maya threw the remote to Karen. "I suppose it will be impossible to get near him now."

  "Unless you're rich. He will always have time for the rich and the corporate bosses. He needs money to run for President. A lot of money. You have to wonder why that senator guy doesn't quit, too. He doesn't have a chance."

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  MAYA'S AURA - the Awakening by Skye Smith

  Chapter 18 - Three years earlier at U.B.C., Vancouver

  There was still a bit of fog in the Vancouver air even though it was after noon. Maya put her beach bag down on the bus shelter bench so she could hug her self for warmth. Maybe this wasn't a beach day after all. She should have brought her plastic raincoat to keep the licks of fog away from her skin. She hated the raincoat. It was a useful cover up, but it was ugly and tacky and plastic.

  Two guys in a flash sports car slowed down and tried to talk to her. She tried to ignore them. Why was it that the advertising for flash sports cars always showed a hot blonde in the passenger seat, but in reality it was always another man. Guys don't get it. Hot cars attract other guys. To give a girl a ride you have to give her friends a ride, too. Two seats are not enough unless you are picking up street walkers.

  The guys gave up and hooted as they roared away. Her flowered sun dress may not be as revealing as her yellow halter dress, but it still caused men to look. Sometimes, like at this lonely bus shelter on the back side of the park, she did not want men to look.

  As she paced the shelter she decided to buy something like a trench coat. It was only a matter of time before the rainy season started. A stylish trench coat. Tough to find in a thrift store. It meant paying the higher prices of a consignment store. Or how about a cloak? She loved cloaks. She used to play in her mother's when she was little. They are so flowing and romantic, especially when compared to the military look of a trench coat.

  She was speculating on why modern women were shunning the romantic clo
thes that she so admired when a rattletrap wreck of a pickup truck started honking. She turned her back and ignored it. Jerks.

  "Cherie, cherie, Maya," called female voice with an accent, and Maya turned back to the road, trying to see her. A hand was waving from the driver's window of the wreck. The old truck bumped and ground and lurched into a clumsy U-turn and parked with one tire on the curb of the bus stop.

  "Marique," she laughed aloud at seeing the Belgian woman. Now she even knew where Belgium was, and had memorized a bunch of facts from Wikipedia. "I didn't know you had a car."

  "Dis, merde, dis is not a car, it is grotesque. You go to la plage, de beach. Get in. I go shopping and then go back there." Maya climbed in. Thank goodness the seat cover was new and clean, because she didn't want to touch the filth of the rest of the cab. Marique ground the gears of the old-fashioned column gear shift, found first and leaped and jerked to finish a three-sixty across four lanes of road. Luckily nothing was coming.

  "Dis is Randy's truck. It is his funny on the flashy cars of Vancouver, but it is a beetch to park."

  "What's funny about it? It's in better shape than my mom's. I learned to drive on one of these."

  "I learned to drive in a Citroen," Marique said. "I 'ate this truck."

  "Pull over. I'll drive," Maya said, pointing to all the empty parking spaces along the side of the park. "Pull over now before we hit traffic. Randy is insured isn't he?"

  "Oui, the papers are good. It is the truck that is bad." She stalled against the curb, hit the steering wheel with both hands and then smiled and slid herself along the bench seat while Maya climbed over her.

  While Maya refreshed her memory about such trucks, Marique babbled on about how she hated it. "Randy likes it because no one steals it, and because he can change lanes even in the 'eaviest traffic."

  Maya signaled and pulled away from the curb, testing the clutch. There was no play, and she slipped it into second without a sound and rumbled down the street. "Where are we going?"

  "The liquor store. I 'ave sold all my beer early, and there are still many men on the beach."

  "I didn't know you sold beer. I thought that was Randy's gig."

  "Oh, I try to make money from the beach, too. This year it is 'ard. Turn 'ere, and then you must get into the left hand lane." The traffic was heavy on the cross street. "Just put on your signal light, and watch all the Mercedes and Bay eM Vays get out of your way so you can change lanes. They don't want to risk their shiny cars against this beast's rusty bumper."

  Maya was amazed. It was just as she said. The Mercedes and BMW drivers of Vancouver were notorious for not letting you in. All she did was put on her signal light and a space opened up for her to change lanes. A hot Bimmer was now overtaking her, using the space she had left open in the right lane. It made three lane changes to weave past slower traffic, and without a signal or anything.

  "Those Bimmer's are mechanically the worst cars in the world," Maya observed.

  "Non, all the men, they swear they are good," replied Marique.

  "Well, did you see that one? It was brand new and already the signal lights don't work. And look, there must be something wrong with the steering already because it is weaving all over the road. There see, he almost hit that lady in the crosswalk because his brakes don't come on soon enough. Bad cars."

  "Non, that is a bad driver."

  "It must be a bad car. I can't believe that everyone who owns a Bimmer is a bad driver." She began to laugh.

  "In my country we call them Porscheholes. They drive like they are too important to share the road. Oh, you make fun with me!" Marique laughed. "You know the hardest thing with learning a new language is the humor." She peered up the steet. "Turn left into that parking lot. There is a parking spot in front of the bank."

  She waited for a break in the traffic and pulled across the road and towards the bank in the middle of the lot. "That's a handicapped spot. Oh, it's okay, the car next to it is pulling out."

  "The liquor store is over there."

  "Yes, but there's a clothing store right here. Oh good, it’s a consignment store."

  Marique snapped her hand up and down, the international sign for expensive, as Maya rolled into the parking space. A horn tooted. "That flashy Mercedes is mad at you for taking the last spot," she said.

  The Mercedes parked in the handicapped spot and a balding, chubby man in an expensive suit grabbed his briefcase and walked into the bank. "Porschehole," spat Marique.

  Marique looked out her window. "That shyt, there was an old lady waiting for the handicapped spot. When you get out, slam your door into the side of his car."

  "No," muttered Maya looking down at the car. "That could cause problems for Randy. Don't get out yet, I'm not straight in this spot." She rolled the truck back and then forward. The truck was now parked so close to the shiny expensive toy that the mirrors almost touched. "I'll get out your side."

  Marique was already out of the car talking to the little old lady. Luckily the car on the other side of the jerk was pulling out, and Marique helped the woman to park her old Nissan station wagon. "Yes, more over. You won't scratch it. Give yourself lots of room to get out."

  Maya started to giggle. With Marique's guidance the old Nissan was parked so close to the Mercedes that it was sandwiched between it and the truck, and impossible to get in any of its doors. The old lady had lots of room to get out and Marique helped her further by getting her walker out of the back.

  "Oh dear, I'm too close," the woman worried, "he won't be able to get in."

  "Pah," laughed Marique, "he didn't care about you. Why should you care about him?" She walked over to Maya. "We should stay and watch the fun when the porschehole comes out of the bank."

  "Good, that means I have time to check that consignment store." Maya looked at Marique’s shirt, a man's checked shirt, tied above her waist, and then at her cutoff jeans. "Maybe we can find you a nice sun dress."

  "I don't have money for clothes. Dis trip to Vancouver has been a disaster for my money. I don't even have enough to get back to Belgium. Last year was so good. I save five thousand dollars and spent the winter in Goa."

  "Is Goa a city in Belgium?" Maya wracked her memory for what Wikipedia had said.

  "Cha, Belgium is cold in the winter. Goa is a place in India with many warm beaches where you can hide from winter."

  Maya made a mental note to look up Goa on computer maps, and then took Marique's arm.

  "Come on, it will be fun to look. I need a new coat, or maybe a cloak, for the cold mornings." She walked into the shop and found a stylish trench coat almost immediately. She shuddered at the price ticket. The woman who owned the shop said she had no cloaks. They were rare these days.

  "Oh, look Marique." Maya held up a smartly cut travel skirt in beige, with a belted waist and buttons down the front and kick pleats in the back. "Try it on. I bet it hugs your hips and swirls around your legs." She looked at the price tag. "Never mind."

  Marique was motioning to her to come to the window. She looked out. The porschehole was stomping up and down looking from one side of his shiny car to the other.

  "Come," said Marique, "we go to the liquor store so we walk by him."

  "You!" yelled the porschehole, "that's your truck! I saw you arrive."

  "You parked after I did," said Maya calmly, "so if your car is scratched, you did it. Whyever did you park so close to me?" She had to give Marique a hard stare to stop her from laughing out loud.

  Bored old retired people were starting to come out of the coffee shop next to the bank to find out what was happening. "Serves him right," said a tall old man. "Where's your handicapped sticker, twit."

  "Move your truck," he growled at Maya. His face was growing red and dangerous.

  "Move your car," she answered back pleasantly.

  "I can't get in my car."

  "Oh," she said with mock innocence and squeezed between the car and the truck and went to open the truck door. She looked back at him, and
she though he was going to have a heart attack.

  "No!" he yelled. "You'll dent it with your door! Get in the other side."

  "Well, make up your mind." She shimmied back to the sidewalk. A couple of guys in hardhats on the way to the liquor store stopped to watch her move. "If you are such an expert, then here's the keys. You move the truck. If you scratch it, then it's not on my insurance."

  He snatched the keys, went around to the passenger side, opened the door and looked into the dusty cab. He grunted as he pulled himself in and then slid along the bench to the driver's side. He turned the key and the old beast whined, groaned, and lurched forward. He had forgotten the clutch. He looked at the column shifter, and looked down at the pedals, then exited the same way he had gotten in.

  "Bitch," he snarled at Maya and she had to duck as he hurled the keys at her, narrowly missing her head. He was immediately slammed up against the bank's window by the two hardhats, one on each side of him.

  "Hey numbnuts," said the one in the white hard hat, "apologize to the lady else you'll be buying this bank a new front window." They eased their hold on him when the bank manager came running out the door.

  "Let him go, or else I'll call the police," said the manager, and then he looked around at the growing crowd, and at the sleek Mercedes in the handicapped spot. "He's a very good customer of this bank, and I will not allow this."

  "So, your good customers," said Marique, putting on her most attractive accent, "they can park in this spot and little old ladies cannot. Perhaps you should call ze police, eh?" She looked around at the crowd. "Do you think he should call ze police?"

  "Yeah," called out one of the retirees, "the cost of the ticket will teach him a lesson."

  White hard hat spoke up. "You still owe the lady an apology." He let the man go, as did his workmate.