Louie

I was walking home from work after an unusually stressful day, which ended an unusually stressful week. It was one of those days you just can't wait to be over, one of those day when you try to remind yourself: "this too shall pass," and than you feel a little silly for being so overly dramatic. A brief tingle of comfort trickles through your body and is soon squashed by the wallowing and the worrying and the always-tardy realization that hindsight is always 20/20. Well, the day was pretty much over, the very thing I couldn't wait to happen ten hours earlier.

Four blocs from home, a man walking in my direction, carrying a bouquet of flowers, seemed overly happy to see me. He wore a baseball cap with "España" embroidered on the front, and I'm pretty sure he carried a black backpack. He seemed to be of an undetermined age. Maybe 45.

- Hi, how are you! It's Louie.

The perplexed look on my face must have given him a clue

- It's me, Louie. You helped me with directions on Central to the mall.

I told him he must be confusing me with someone else. I assured him I had never even been to the mall, let alone told someone how to get there. Nope. Not me. Must have been someone else.

He was getting close. Maybe six feet now.

- No it, was you. I told you I played drums in the Village sometimes. You told me how to get to the mall from Central. You play?

- No

- Sing?

- No. I told you. It wasn't me.

He was standing at conversational distance now.

- Nah, it must have been you. She looked just like you. Two weeks ago. You told me how to get to the mall and I told you I played drums in the Village sometimes.

I was so physically tired and mentally exhausted that I couldn't find the strength to ignore him. Besides, at least I could have an interesting story to tell about my shitty week. OK.

- Look, Louie. I'm really sorry, but it wasn't me who told you how to get to the mall. I know this because I'm not even sure how to get there myself.

A little lie. I do know how to get to the mall. Never been there, but I know where it is. In case of emergencies, you know?

- I just moved here from California and I'm living with my brother. I'm helping him.

- That's nice

- I went for archeology in college. In Spain. I'm an archeologist.

- That's nice

- But I don't do archeology here. I work with my brother.

- Oh.

- Do you know of the Museum of the American Indian?

- Yeah, I've walked by it several times.

- I work there. I also play the drums in the Village sometimes.

- Good for you

- People here in Jersey City not so friendly.

- Really?

- I say "good morning," or "hello," and people don't say anything back?

- Really?

- People not friendly here. And they speak different Spanish. I speak Catalonian. They speak Mexican.

- Yeah. I heard they were two different things.

- You are my first friend in Jersey City. You gave me directions

- It wasn't me...

With that, he pulls out an old and won plaid walled from his pocket, the kind that folds in half and closeses with Velcro.

- I will give you my number in case you ever want to go to the Museum of the American Indian.

He opened his wallet and seemed to look for a business card. He flipped through the different partitions and than opened the bill compartment. In it, there was a single small piece of paper folded in half. He handed it to me.

- This is my information. I'm an archeologist. The name on the paper wasn't Louie, so he wrote it in. The paper, cut to resemble the size of a business card, was carefully written in blue and red ink. "Call Monday through Friday, 9 am to 3 pm. It gave a number, along with the words Archeologist and Barcelona-Spain.

With that, we parted ways.

- You're my first friend here. Call me.

I walked home and Louie walked in the opposite direction.