Cha Cha Listens to the Universe

I’m listening! I say to the Universe. Sitting up straight and ready to take notes.

First, she tells me I should post the last beat I wrote, the one about Inspiration. The Universe loves the Cha Cha Beat. She’s my biggest fan. When I post she gets excited. She wants more. She knows I’ve got more to give. Give it all you’ve got, she always says.

*

What else do you want to know?, the Universe says.

Gosh, I say. Ummmm, like everything. My mind tornados around all the balls I’ve got juggling.

Slow down, she says. That’s better, she says.

Hey, Universe, I say.

Hey, she answers. Our conversation slows, but we are both present.

So what’s up?, she says.

I feel silly, I say, that I need so much help.

Don’t feel silly, she says, I’m always here! Infinite wisdom at your service.

She floats with me while I sit on the rocks, waiting for the words to come.

This is fun!, she says.

I say, This is fun, isn’ it. She’s the kind of friend you can sit with in comfortable silence.

I don’t know what to say, I say.

And that’s okay too, she says.

It is the last half hour of sunlight on this January afternoon. The sun is nearing the end of her tour across the cloudless blue sky. Soon she will meet the ocean, and take her warmth with her.

Let’s light a fire!, says the Universe, preparing me for nightfall. She’s speaking metaphorically. The Universe loves metaphors.

Take this, she says, handing me the transcript of our chat. Light it up!, she says.

The Universe is giving me an assignment.

I’ll see you next time!, she says. As if in sync, the sun fades behind some low-hanging clouds. That was fun!, she says a few moments later as the sun pokes back out.

What’s for dinner?, a third voice chimes in.

The Universe stares me down, daring me to order in again. She says, you should cook, Cha Cha.

I say, but but ok, trying to remember the last time I made chicken tortilla soup.

That takes a few hours to cook, doesn’t it, says the third voice. And it’s already almost five. You still have to go to the store. And which store are you going to anyway?—Who invited this guy?

It’s time to go, says the Universe.

One more sentence!, I say. But she’s gone and so is the sun. As I pack up my things my thoughts shift to making a list of everything I need from the store.