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M. GOT off the bus at 8:40 A.M., in the middle of Florida, hungry.
Money was no concern, as it would not be for anyone with so much cash tied into their bedroll. What troubled me was, What happens now? Here's warm Florida. Not only no soulmate waiting at the bus-stop, but no friend, no home, no nothing.
The sign in the cafe, when I entered, said that it reserved the right to refuse service to anyone.
You reserve the right to do absolutely anything you want to do, I thought. Why put up signs to say so? Makes you look frightened. Why are you frightened? Rowdies come in here, break things up? Organked-criminals? In this little cafe?
The waiter looked at me and then at my bedroll. My blue-denim jacket had one little torn place on the sleeve where
the string was coming loose from my mending, the bedroll had a few tiny spots of grease and clean oil from the Fleet's engine on it, and I realized that he was asking himself if now was the time to refuse service to someone. I smiled hello.
"How you doin', there?" I said.
"Doin' all right." The place was nearly empty. He decided I'd pass. "Coffee?"
Coffee for breakfast? Aak! Bitter stuff . . . they grind it out of bark, or something.
"No thank you," I said. "Maybe a piece of that lemon pie hotted up for a half-minute in the microwave? And a glass of milk."
"Sure thing," he said.
Once I would have ordered bacon or sausage for this meal, but not lately. The more I had come to believe in the indestructibility of life, the less I wanted to be a part of even illusory killings. If one pig in a million might have a chance for a contemplative lifetime instead of being skrockled up for my breakfast, it was worth swearing off meat. Hot lemon pie, any day.
I savored the pie, and looked out the window into town. Was I likely to meet my love in this place? Not likely. No place is likely, against odds in the billions.
How could I already know her?
Accordin
g to the wisest souls, we know everyone everywhere without having met in person-not much comfort when you're trying to narrow your search. "Hi, there, miss. Remember me? Since consciousness isn't limited by space or time, you'll recall that we're old friends. . . ."
Not a likely introduction, I thought. Most misses know that there are a few strange folks in the world they want to
be a little cautious with, and that is definitely a strangefolk introduction.
I brought to mind every woman I had met, going back years. They were married to careers or to men or to different ways of thinking from mine.
Married women sometimes unmarry, I thought, people change. I could call every woman I knew . . .
"Hello," she'd say.
"Hello."
"Who's this?"
"Richard Bach."
"Who?"
"We met at the shopping center? You were reading a book and I said that's a terrific book and you said how do you know and I said I wrote it?"
"Oh! Hello."
"Hi. Are you still married?"
"Yes."
"Well, it's certainly been nice talking to you again. Have a nice day, OK?"
