Monday, July 19, 2010

I'll Trade You a Charlotte for an Ollie

With the World Cup celebrations winding down, one would think that so would the energy of Charlotte and me. But whenever Charlotte and the Deputy are together, there is a defiance of normalcy and physics. Without redundantly accounting a night out on the town of Madrid, I feel it would better suit the loyal reader if I were to just describe how Charlotte and Brian seem to find the most odd situations.

We were in a smaller bar, chatting it up with ourselves and the people around us. We happen to meet a French guy and girl that were passing through Madrid. The onda is positive so we decide to join forces for the next couple of locales. I am not sure if they knew what they were getting themselves into, but Charlotte and I felt it almost incumbent to make their short stay in Madrid a bender for the history books. The Frenchies are walk down a cobble stone street and Charlotte and I bring up the rear. We turn a corner and Charlotte and I find an abandoned shopping cart, hibernating outside a local restaurant. Some people would see that and have a five minute discussion on whether they should get in and ride it, others would walk past it while they commented on the filth of Spanish streets. Charlotte and I, without uttering a single syllable, make eye contact and immediately assume our positions, her pushing as I rode. We speak in unsaid harmonies, for our minds are all too similar to waste time communicating. I think and she reacts, she thinks and I react, for we both know that our thoughts are transparent to one another.

Riding down a side street near the Sol neighborhood, the French toasts have got a little bit ahead of us and end up meeting a local to help them with directions. The French fries turn around to introduce the new companion to their new friends Charlotte and Brian, when swooping down the street comes a Scott pushing an American in a cart. Charlotte loses the handle as fate takes the wheel and steers me into a jutting street pole. The cart crashes, Charlotte approaches, I tuck and roll and get up in an almost choreographed dismount. We jump to our unspoken positions and in unison present ourselves to the local in a sort of flashdance, jazz-hands dance ending. It was all too natural and organic to happen to another pair of people but just indicative of how our short but profound friendship had become.

The week with my Scottish enabler ended wildly and filled with glee. I told her my weekend would have been the same if she had walked into my room, picked me up, spun me around a hundred times, threw me to the floor and left. It felt like Hurricane Chaz had her way with my life and I loved every second.

Sunday morning rolled in and Charlotte was out the door. Ollie came back from two weeks of traveling and she needed a place to crash, so the Deputy was sure to oblige. Ollie slowly saunters up my infernal staircase of no elevator and into my room. I swear there was an air about her, as if her traveling exposed her to so many things that she had come back a different person. Her voice a bit lower with a sporadic raspy tone; her seated posture was such a way that exuded wisdom of the academia of the streets. We shared stories in a two hour fit of laughter as Charlotte and Ollie met on some very unique terms. Charlotte sadly left, but Ollie is here for a couple more days.

It is storm season in the Deputy household, but all will calm as now Hurricane Ollie has only one more day to wreak havoc. Very excited.

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