Once in a while something so unprecedented, so bizarre happens that you just can’t not bring it up. I had myself one of these encounters this morning in what one might call the wee hours. Before I proceed I must confess that yes, I can differentiate between dream and reality. Fact and fiction. The truth and bs. And this, my friends, couldn’t be truthier if I tried.

I always sleep on the left side of the bed (viewed if you were standing at the foot of my bed) and I face the right. God knows where I’m strewn in a deep sleep but this is my launching position. I said the wee hours earlier because I’ve never referred to hours being wee ever before but the homemade truth is that it must have been more like 6 am because there was light in the room. I opened my eyes and there he was, all one foot six inches of him, standing on the unoccupied pillow.

I didn’t jump up to my feet. I barely batted an eye. I just felt a strong sense of peace and I laid there, sleepy eyed yet attentive enough to take this all in. He extended his adorable little hand and said “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Velveteen. Master impressionist and part-time magician. Tickled to meet you.”

With my thumb and forefinger I shook his hand and told him my name. “Master impressionist. You must be good. Who do you do?”

He took a seat on the pillow, stretching out his tiny legs. He wore a little black suit with a crooked bowtie and a teensy top hat. “Nobody you know. Or maybe. For example, Ken Nooberman from downtown, I do a mean Nooberman. Phyllis O’Malley from the post office? Ring any bells? I don’t do a lot of girlies but her I nail.”

I smiled then he asked me why I was smiling. “I don’t know. This is fun. I like you. And I Iike how you do impressions of average Joe’s nobody knows. It’s safe but not discrediting. I imagine your magic is fantastic.”

His face got a little crumply and he spoke in quiet tones. “If I can speak plainly I will confess that my slight of hand has suffered tremendously as of late. Maybe it’s why I’m here, or so I hope. Maybe I need to be inspired? To have a fire set under me? I feel I’ve lost a great part of me.”

He put his little face in his little hands and started to cry, all sniffly and quiet like. It was like a dream and though I wanted to put a hand on a knee or display some form of caring I just laid there, watching. He wiped his eyes and asked me a question I’m still debating and will for some time I’m sure. “If I come back will you help me? And if I stay is that okay with you? Just briefly, no doubt.”

I told him about the cats and the kids, and he didn’t seem fazed. “Even though weakened, the magic protects me from such inquisitors.” Ultimately I told him sure. Then I literally blinked and he vanished. His little imprint is still on my pillow so I know it wasn’t a dream.

And if he comes back I shall enjoy that. You gotta meet this guy.

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