He seems cloud happy, like he’s still inhabiting the thin place between realms and is just now returning to this world and its ways.

I ask him how he is.

He blinks his eyes and then focuses them, as if reorienting himself to his mortal body. I can see his energy rising to the surface. Not two seconds into the day and he is already excited.

“My body is tired but my brain wants to jump and my hands want to open the fridge and eat the grapes and my feet want to kick in the water.”

You are so many things when you are four.

Standing beside me now, Star, his Teddy Bear, in his hand, his countenance changes. It’s as if he’s had some time to think a bit and now there is something that needs to be said. I look at him. He looks back, a grown-up expression on his face.

“ I have many powers. My powers are colourful. This power is yellow.”

And then, small before me, he begins to dance.

Everything becomes the sun. And we’re two small creatures within its vast yellow halo, the new day upon us.

The only thing it said was, “Stop.”

Intrigued, I called the number to investigate and see who had left the mysterious message and what it might mean, but was immediately sent to a voicemail box that gave no indication of who, or what, might reside at the receiving end. Not wanting to give up on this communication, I texted back. These are the messages that ensued:

*********************************************************

Unknown Texting Entity: Stop

Me: Stop??? Stop what???

(One day passes)

Me: Can’t stop.

Me: Won’t stop.

Me: Maybe in the name of love. Maybe I will stop in the name of love.

(Another day passes)

Me: No. Changed my mind. Will NOT stop in the name of love.

(Two days pass)

Me: Is this the Instant Pot?

Me: You can see into the future, can’t you, Instant Pot?

Me: Is it true? Is it death by water for me? The Tarot reader said it was, but I’m not sure I believe her. I think she might have been unreliable. She was weird,  smelled exactly like a Harveys. Very suspicious.

( One day passes)

Me: And I’m never even in the water.

( One day passes)

Me: My wife told me that the Instant Pot cannot send texts, so sorry. I guess you’re not the Instant Pot.

( One day passes)

Unknown texting entity: Just stop.

Me: STOP WHAT???? YOU’RE KILLING ME HERE!!! JUST KNOCK OFF THE MEAN GIRL BULLSHIT AND TELL ME WHAT IT IS I HAVE TO STOP DOING!!!

Me: Sorry. I don’t normally lose my temper like that.

Me: I haven’t been sleeping well.

Me: Lots on my mind.

( Two days pass)

Me: You’re a demon, aren’t you?

Me: I always knew a demon would pick me to seed.

Me: I knew this would happen. Ever since I read The Amityville Horror when I was eleven.

Me: That’s when I created a portal for you to enter into my life, wasn’t it?

Me: Fuck it!

( One day passes)

Me: Well demon, as you can see into my soul, you know that I’ve wanted to stop for a long time.

Me: The problem is I can’t stop.

Me: That’s why I haven’t been sleeping well.

Me: I. Just. Can’t. Stop.

Me: It’s all I fucking think about.

Unknown Texting Entity: Paske, gen anpil moun ki rebèl, plen diskou sans ak desepsyon, espesyalman sa yo ki nan gwoup la sikonskripsyon. Yo dwe bese, paske yo ap deranje tout kay ki nan kay yo lè yo anseye bagay yo pa ta dwe anseye-e ke pou dedomajman pou malonèt.

Me: Is this you, Jen?

Me: Are you fucking with me?

Me: If so, this is NOT funny.

Me: So not funny.

Me: I just had to take two Lorazepams, you fucker.

(One day passes)

Me: Okay, this is Michael’s wife Rachelle writing now. Listen, if you actually are a demon, why did you start off communicating in english and then switch to whatever you switched to, when you saw my husband start to panic? Why not just continue with english? Seems like a rookie mistake to me.

Me: I think you’re a false prophet!

Me: Demon! It’s Michael here again! The above, the blasphemy about you being a false prophet? That was written by my wife, not me! I would NEVER say that about you!!

Me: Rachelle here, demon. Could you make yourself useful and tell me where Jones put the car keys? And if you’re the reason why the remote is always disappearing, you’d better knock it off. Don’t think I won’t holy water the shit out of this whole place. I will. And I have a Bissel steam cleaner that can suck you right out of the sofa.

It’s a real ghostbuster, so just consider yourself on notice.

A dead calm.

Existing just outside of time, lives hang suspended there as people wait to discover the toll they must pay to continue their passage.

Sitting across from me an older, Indian woman reclined in her chair, drifting. Beautiful in sleep, her third eye combed unknown realms before she returned to her mortal body and woke into the hospital lights, tired and disappointed.

A man, his eyes closed, breathed carefully while listening to his iPhone. He was so concentrated, so brittle and alone, and his lips moved almost imperceptibly as he repeated the words he was listening to.

An incantation.

A mantra.

A prayer.

And as if in response, a tired nurse coming off shift– her jacket already on– approached him and gently placed her hand on his shoulder. His eyes flashed open in alarm, and she smiled, asking if there was anything she could do for him. He quickly, reflexively, shook his head no, but she stayed, and growing more beautiful by the word, she spoke with him until something inside the man softly dissolved and the rigidity passed from his body.

Later, a cab pulled up at one of the hospital’s entranceways and a man on oxygen support and his wife got out of the car. They were excited, moving quickly, as if on a game show or late for their vacation cruise of a lifetime. I got inside the car they just left and the cabbie was a happy and talkative. He told me that the guy who just got out, after years of waiting, after countless false starts and failed matches, had just received the phone call that he was going to get a lung transplant and to come in NOW! The man, the driver said, was going to be able to breath again, he was going to be able to go to the family cottage and once again, just like when he was a boy, go swimming in the lake at night.

And as we pulled away from the hospital we passed by a couple of petite Asian women in vividly coloured bubble jackets waiting at the crosswalk. Smiling, they leaned in toward the traffic, swaying slightly, like brightly-lit balloons just about to lift off into the sky.

************************************

Rachelle: Is everything okay?

Rachelle: Oh.

Rachelle: Well, I don’t know why Netflix would be down.

Rachelle: But you’ve already seen Making a Murderer three times.

Rachelle: Yes, your thirst for justice is unusually obsessive.

Rachelle: No, strong. I wrote strong.

Rachelle: Must have been autocorrect.

Rachelle: Well, you’ll just have to be be brave, my love, I’m sure Netflix will be up and running soon and you can return to your Making a Murderer studies.

Rachelle: But tell me, how is Jones doing?!

Rachelle: Oh, he’s such a strong, little boy!

Rachelle: Well, you can’t take your eyes off him, you really can’t.

Rachelle: You should always be looking for his left.

Rachelle: Look, he always hits you with his left first. It’s his plan.

Rachelle: It’s not a dirty plan. He’s just a sweet, playful little boy!

Rachelle: So, just so you remember: The left comes first. And then when you’re dazed and trying to put your glasses back on, he will hit you with the right and then start kicking. Both feet. Every time, Pickle. You have to prepare for it.

Rachelle: I know he thinks it’s funny.

Rachelle: Well, I disagree, sometimes a bleeding nose can be very funny.

Rachelle: I know you get nose bleeds from the blood-thinning medication you’re on.

Rachelle: Sure. It’s not because Jones is stronger than you.

Rachelle: Yes, it is entirely possible you could still take Jones in a fight, but I wouldn’t bet on it.

Rachelle: He has muscle definition in his back. Do you?

Rachelle: So, he’s sleeping now then?

Rachelle: And you fed and changed him?

Rachelle: What does he look like sleeping? Does he look like an angel?

Rachelle: I don’t believe you’re in his room.

Rachelle: I think you just made that up.

Rachelle: He’s not talking in his sleep.

Rachelle: Send me a photograph of him sleeping.

Rachelle: Oh, you’re very clever.

Rachelle: I know you got over 130 on an online IQ test.

Rachelle: Pickle, you tell people you meet at parties that. You tell everybody that.

Rachelle: Yes, you are a genius, yet you still can’t drive or hold down a job. It’s fascinating, that.

Rachelle: Yes, the wildly misunderstood genius community is subject to a lot of bullying.

Rachelle: You’d think all those geniuses would be able to band together and cast a spell, but I guess I just don’t understand how genius works.

Rachelle: What?

Rachelle: Jesus.

Rachelle: Look, there is no way that Jones’ Exersaucer is haunted.

Rachelle: Yes.

Rachelle: It is creepy that it plays music of it’s own accord, and only when you’re in the room, but I don’t think it means it’s the Exersaucer of a dead child.

Rachelle: Well, no.

Rachelle: I don’t know the history of the Exersaucer.

Rachelle: Yes, I did buy it used.

Rachelle: Yes, so in theory it could have been sold by a grieving family that lost their child to a possessed and murderous Exersaucer.

Rachelle: I must say, watching Making a Murderer so obsessively really has really made you a better lawyer.

Rachelle: Netflix is back up, isn’t it?

Rachelle: I thought so.

Rachelle: Just don’t watch the horror stuff, okay?

Rachelle: It’s not good for you. Your doctors said so.

Rachelle: No, your doctors do understand genius.

Rachelle: Look, just throw a blanket over the Exersaucer if its scaring you!

Rachelle: Okay.

Rachelle: I will be back in about half an hour. You wanted the low sodium Triscuits, right?

Rachelle: Yes, I got it, LOW SODIUM.

Rachelle: Love you, see you and Jones soon, you’re doing great! xoxo

Being generous and broad of heart, Rachelle has given access to our account to members of her family so that they can piggyback on our subscription and not have to pay to use the service.

What follows are the texts I received from my wife when I brought up the subject last week:

***************************

Rachelle: Oh, if it says the account is already in use when you try to watch, it means that someone in my family is probably watching.

Rachelle: We gave them access to our Netflix, remember?

Rachelle: Look, they do a MILLION things for us, you can just wait half an hour before you watch Arrow, okay?

Rachelle: I know you relate to the lead in Arrow. I know.

Rachelle: Yes, you got an arrow in your foot when you were a boy and ever since things have “changed.”

Rachelle: Of course, of course, it was certainly life-defining when you encountered a practice arrow that bounced harmlessly off your foot!

Rachelle: Must have been like meeting Bigfoot or seeing an angel!

Rachelle: Look, I’m not diminishing the arrow-harmlessly-bouncing-off-your-foot experience.

Rachelle: I know it doesn’t have to draw blood to hurt, or to alter the course of a young boy’s life.

Rachelle: I’m not mocking you.

Rachelle: Okay, yes, of course I’m mocking you!

Rachelle: Lordy, you can really be difficult, you know?

Rachelle: I know you REALLY love the show.

Rachelle: But honey, you’re unemployed and can watch it anytime you like.

Rachelle: Okay, I guess you can’t watch it when somebody else is using our account.

Rachelle: Yes, sure, game, set and match to Michael “Destiny’s Arrow” Murray.

Rachelle: And yes, I know that your fantasy baseball team is named “Destiny’s Arrow” to honour this pivotal moment in your life.

Rachelle: Leeches???

Rachelle: Are you really calling my family, the family that does so many kind and thoughtful things for us, leeches?

Rachelle: Un-fucking-believable.

Rachelle: Remember when my dad drove all the way down to Toronto from Alliston because you couldn’t open the patio table parasol?

Rachelle: Or when my mother typed out 150 pages of your Fantasy novel—Destiny’s Arrow–because you thought you might have a variation of carpal tunnel syndrome?

Rachelle: No, I don’t think autocorrect changed Peaches to leeches.

Rachelle: I simply do not believe you.

Rachelle: I think that you’re lying to me.

Rachelle: Yes, I think you lie all of the time.

Rachelle: Really?

Rachelle: Well, when we met and you said you didn’t have any “emotional baggage.”

Rachelle: When you said you were 5’9, that was another lie.

Rachelle: That you were good at sports.

Rachelle: Do you want me to go on?

Rachelle: Look, if you send my parent’s a bill for $3.50 each month, “so that they can carry their own weight,” I will kill you in your loud, nauseating, snoring sleep.

Rachelle: Be back from work around 7:30, please be dressed this time.