Nobody’s reached out yet about Sora’s hat.  This all feels pretty hopeless.  Nope, sorry.  I’m still doing that.  It’s despair I’m feeling, but I can still be hopeful.

At this point it’s basically blind faith.  Some would even say naive.  People all over the world are disappearing.  It’s how the hat thing started in the first place.  People were just vanishing.  Nobody knew what was going on.  But then in cities like New York and D.C. people started finding these hats on their rooftop gardens or balconies.

Then that one woman… what was her name?  That influencer?  Heidi?  No, Hailey.  Harley?  You know the one.  Saw a hat fall from the sky while she was live streaming?  I mean, everyone saw the hat fall.  I’m sure you’ve seen the clip by now too.    

Well, it wasn’t hard for one of her followers to match the hat with someone who just vanished.  People were already aware of what was happening, but the hat trend caught on.  People started writing messages and leaving their address so their family wouldn’t be left wondering.

But, I mean, not everyone wears hats.  It’s gotten so popular you can kinda tell who is still a denier.  I think those people are really angry because they seemed the type who would often wear hats before, and now they can’t.

I think everyone’s just panicked.  No one has the answers, and there’s no expert to look to for something like this.  It’s obvious everywhere people are just desperate to believe in something, anything.  And sometimes the act of believing is more important that the belief itself.

So, I don’t know.  I’ve been watching the markets around the world and it’s obvious people are just panicked.

I remember I told Sora I was an Econ major.

She said, “You are trying to ask me what my major is without asking a question.”

I protested, but it was totally what I was doing.  It’s really hard not to ask questions when talking to someone.  Especially, someone new.  Especially someone you just know is just so much cooler than you.

“No.” I said.  “I’m just sharing some information about myself.  I thought you might find interesting.”

She said, “Oh.  I see.  Well, I first menstruated when I was nine.”

I nearly fell out of the tree.

“I thought we were just sharing information about ourselves.” She said,   “Something you might find interesting.”

“No.”  I said.  “You’re right.  That’s just quite a… I just… well, you know, I thought…”.

“So what I’m hearing is that you want to spend the potentially last night of your life making small talk.”

“Yeah, no.   I mean, no.  You’re right.  Of course.  Why bother…”  But I caught myself before I phrased it like a question.  Sora smiled at me.  I think she was intentionally trying to get me flustered.  She was that type of person.

“I just thought we could start small, like, I would say, ‘I like your boots.’”

They were chunky, thick souled, black boots.  They came up to her shin, and were old, worn leather.”

“These are my Eubie Blakes.”

She paused.  Her smile grew.  She knew I wanted to ask, “what?”  Or “why do you call them your Eubie Blakes?”  But I didn’t.

I said.  “How interesting.”

She let me off the hook.

“Eubie Blake was a jazz player back in the early twentieth century.”  She said as she untied and re-laced up her boots.  “He was short.  Tiny guy.  But he didn’t take no shit.  He wore these huge, heavy boots for two reasons.  It was easier to reach the piano pedals.  And, if anyone made fun of him for his height, he would charge at them, full speed.  He’d lower his shoulder and knock them down.  Then he’d jump on their chest with his thick boots. Over and over and over.”

I laughed.  I pictured Sora charging at people.  And I could see it too.  She’d probably even done it, but I couldn’t ask.

I said, “So you basically have two weapons on your feet.”

“Was that a question?”  She pointed at me.

“Nope.  It was a declaration.  I was declaring your possession of two weapons tied to your feet.”

She had the greatest smile.

Sora dangled both her feet over the edge of the branch.  She looked down.  She spat a long string of saliva.  Our branch was about 10 or 12 feet off the ground.  The saliva didn’t make a sound.

“These boots won’t keep me on Earth when the wave comes.  No matter how heavy they are.”

We were silent.  The wind tickled the leaves in our tree.    

“Yeah.”  I said.  “Nothing will.”

The moonlight reflected off her boots’ shiny silver buckles as he slowly swung one leg at a time forward and back.

“Well, that’s not quite true.”  She lowered her voice to a whisper.  “There is something to keep the wave from taking us.”

“Really?”

And then she laughed.  “Got you!  That’s a question.”

She handed me the bottle of Jameson.

“Drink up.”