Meeting The Spirit

I wanted to tell you of a strange little meeting I had a few weeks ago with The Spirit that inhabits the back of the store next door to the Copper Gecko. I work up there one day every two weeks, not much, but it's sure fun to talk to the tourists who come in. Recently, we've got a writer from Washington DC who is conducting interviews with older Superiorites for the history of Superior he's writing. He interviews them in the rear room of the Copper Gecko. His name is Joaquin. Well, this day, Joaquin came in, asked me if I were Nancy, and got all excited and said that Leslie told him I could talk to ghosts. I said, not exactly.  But he asked if I'd take him next door to meet The Spirit. I said, okay. It was slow and we didn't have any customers. (Plus we have the key to the shop next door. It's empty, except for the model home furniture that's for sale and all the beautiful clothes of the owner's late wife, which I have been buying a lot of, by the way,for she was my size. But that's another story...) Anyway, I led him through the main room, through a small hall in the middle of the room, past the bathroom, where I first felt The Spirit several weeks ago, by way of the clenching in my heart, which I took to mean it had passed of a heart attack. Anyway, we ended up in the back room facing the back door and we turned to face each other. Suddenly, I was 'aware' (psychically aware) of Joaquin's face being slapped repeatedly, excitedly, like The Spirit was saying, "WOW! Look at me, you fool! You're here and I want you to feel me!" I said nothing to Joaquin,but watched his face intently, almost grinning I'm sure because The Sprit was so darned excited to be getting to meet The Writer. "What's wrong?" Joaquin asked suspiciously, "What's going on?" "What are you feeling?" I asked, smirking a bit. Gosh, the dude's left cheek was getting psychically pummeled!! "Uh, he's trying to get your attention by slapping your cheek," I said. "What!" Joaquin's eyes sprang open. "What's he look like?" He looked fearfully over his shoulder and I looked too, half expecting to see The Spirit. "I don't know," I said, "I'm only feeling him. I can't see him. But he sure is trying to get your attention." "I can't feel anything," Joaquin grumped, turning to leave the room. (Yeah, it's kind of silly standing in a darkened room with a total stranger you've only just met, now, isn't it?) Anyway, we made our way toward the front of the building and I stopped briefly by the bathroom, telling Joaquin that was where I'd first felt The Spirit. Joaquin still couldn't feel a darned thing. "I guess I'm just too egotistical," he admitted. "I can't feel anybody else." "Okay," I agreed. "In that case, I bet you'll make a fine spirit yourself someday when you die." We laughed and left the buidling. But it was pretty much an eye opener for me and I wanted to share.