Babeleh Maybeleh

The flashing blue light on his phone caught his eye but he refused to look and see what this notification was about.

“I don’t wear a sweater because you are cold and I don’t have to do a damn thing just because you are not sure what you think you feel.”

She told him she was sorry and that this was just how it was.

“I am in a different place than you are. I am sorry if you don’t like it.”

He snorted, “you aren’t in a different place now. I know exactly where you are and where your fickle hear are.”

He watched her eyes narrow and wasn’t surprised to hear the colorful stream of words that came from her mouth.

“You are a fucking moron. Screw you.”

“If you are lucky I might let you do it again, but then again I’ll probably say no just because I can.”

“You are so arrogant. Go fuck yourself.”

“Ya know, I take that back. I’ll say yes and wear a bag over my head.”

He saw her lip quiver for a moment and then watched the anger wash over her face. This time she said nothing, she just glared at him and walked away.

Somewhere in the back of his head he heard a voice that sounded an awful lot like Bogart say, “A silent broad is a scary one.”

“Damn, I think you may be right.”

“If I was you, I’d figure out whether you can apologize now or later. You played dirty pool and she isn’t going to forget that.”

“You can say that again Sam.”

“Sam’s the piano player, I am just a saloon keeper who ended up in Casablanca.”

“And I am just the guy having a conversation with a character from a movie.”

“Brother, that is not my problem, but if you love that dame you better do something to fix it because she won’t forget what you said.”

“No, and she won’t care about the double standards, the inconsistencies or that she told me were family and are forever linked.”

“Trust me, she hasn’t forgotten those things or changed her mind the way you think she has. She is a woman and her brain goes 10,000 miles a minute. If you stepped inside it you’d see her move from love-to-hate-to-like-to-love-to ten thousand others feelings in less than ten tenths of a hundredth of a second.”

“Ok smart guy, what does a figment of my imagination know about women and how would you fix this?”

“Flowers work wonders, but I don’t think you can use them this time. You’ll need to do more than be symbolic.”

“How about a ring and bent knee, and a request to have amazing sex.”

“How about losing the sarcasm idiot. Do you want a chance or not.”

“How about I kick shake my head and knock you back into imagination land.”

He chuckled and shook his head.

“Look at the tough guy who chased away his girl and wants to fight his imagination.’

“You have got a point. I guess I ought to try to make her understand my perspective and to see about helping her feel less pressure.”

“A sincere apology goes a long way, as for the pressure, well I don’t know how you are going to fix that one other than by being very patient and letting her set the pace.”

I sighed deeply and shrugged my shoulders.

“If she loves you she won’t let you get away and if she doesn’t, well then you are already that much closer to finding a woman who does.”

“Wise words from the peanut gallery. Did you find that on an imaginary fortune cookie fortune.”

“Arguing with your imagination isn’t going to get you very far nor is it impressive.”

“Fine, if it makes you shut up I’ll just agree.”

Maybe it was my imagination, but I could have sworn I heard a few bars of As Time Goes By and then the mystery voice was gone.

Made me wonder if maybe it hadn’t been my imagination and then I wondered if that was better or worse.

What if we have guardian angels or some sort of spirit guides and this voice was them trying to get through to me. Would it make sense for mine to be like Rick in Casablanca or would he be more like Johnny Cash or Ray Charles

Would I believe it? Would I accept it for being real or would I apply science, logic and daylight to it?

Would it make sense for mine to be like Rick in Casablanca or would he be more like Johnny Cash or Ray Charles?

From a logical perspective it made sense to me that it could be any of those or even a talking dog. Hell if I am going to accept a voice coming from beyond why would it have to be in a logical vessel.


I walked around the house and looked  in the closets, on the ceiling and under the beds but I didn’t find hidden speakers or cameras.

Then I started talking out loud, “Hey, are you there? Um, spirit voice, uh, Mr. Spook, er spirit are you there? I have questions.”

But all I heard in return was silence.

After a while I got irritated and started yelling but still all I got in return was silence.

“You are starting to piss me off. If you really exist, I insist you answer me.”

Still more silence.

“Fine, don’t try contacting me again. I am done with you.”

I smelled his presence before I heard him and it wasn’t pleasant.

“You of all people ought to appreciate that sometimes a man needs time alone in his private office. I was busy taking care of my business.”

That made me shake my head.

“Are you telling me that you didn’t answer because you were taking a dump? Are you really trying to tell me that in the world to come we still have to worry about finding a clean bathroom? That is fucked up, someone call G-d and file a complaint.”

This time it was my spirit friend who shook his head.

“You have a filthy mouth and a dirty mind.”

“I’ll gladly take that over a dirty mouth and filthy mind. The way I see it I have a much better chance of convincing her to kiss me again with a filthy mouth and a dirty mind. Oh, and by the way I didn’t hear you wash your hands after you took your spiritual crap, if you don’t mind I’d appreciate you do something about that.”


The next thing I knew I was flat on my back and unsure of the time or where I was.

When I sat up I realized I was on the floor in my bedroom and it was the middle of the night.

I stood up, stretched and worked the kinks out of my back.

I guess it was a dream, with that I shrugged my shoulders and walked over to the kitchen to get a drink.

I took out a glass and pulled open the cabinet that contained my stash and found a post-it note on the bottle.

“Your Babeleh Maybeleh still loves you, be patient and let her set the pace.”

I am not the kind of guy who is easily rattled but that note was enough to make me almost drop the damn bottle.  I stood there holding it for a long moment trying to decide if that drink was going to make things better or worse.

Long minutes later I walked back into the bedroom and I swore I heard her whisper, “you know I do.”

That was enough excitement for me. I climbed into bed and announced that I was going to sleep.

“I don’t know whether to take this all as proof or truth of anything other than an active imagination so I am going to sleep. All will be clear in the morning and easily understood.

But when the morning came all I had was more questions and a feeling that I would find answers to them all whether I wanted to or not.


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