Is it for real?

Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky, or so she has heard.

Ida was a private detective that relied solely on her keen observational skills and analytical thinking. There was no room in her life for the blurry lines that magic perpetuates. It was for this reason that Ida was determined to prove that the rumored magic clouds were none other than hallucinations cooked up by ‘shroom eaters, that hope seekers picked up.

“Right, that would be Mr. Jones, Sally from the bakery, and uhhh..” Ida attempted to recall the names of people who has witnessed the magical clouds.

Her pencil tapping distracted George, her best friend and loyal partner, from his chores. “It is Mrs. Potts’s nephew Kevin, Ida,” he barked, obviously annoyed. George was trying to untie a very difficult knot but had lost track of his train of thoughts with Ida’s ramblings and tapping. “You should really gif..urrghh.. masik a sans,” he has resorted to using his teeth to conquer the knot.

“What are you on about, George? Magic doesn’t exist. Now stop obsessing over that knot and let’s go interview these witnesses”, Ida marched out of the room, determined to prove George and the town wrong.

In their little Volkswagen Beetle, a 1970s classic, George and Ida drove to meet their first witness, Mr. Jones. Samuel Jones was a respected retired English school teacher in his late 60s. He lived a quiet life with no spouse or children. Everyone in town knew Mr. Jones as “the lovely, reserved old man”, which is why Ida was a little intrigued that he would be a part of this spectacle. “George, do you think that Mr. Jones is perhaps just going along with the rumors, you know, because he is lonely and wants to feel included?

“Why would he do that, Ida? I have watched him for 21 years now…” George pauses to Ida glaring at him. “Ok. ok. I am exaggerating. I know. But 3 years really does feel like 21 years. ANYWAYS, as lovely as he is, he has never participated in any town events, so why would that change now?” George was adamant to bring a little magic into Ida’s life.

Krrrrrkkkk..boof boof….

The sound of a dying engine startled both George and Ida. George immediately placed his delicate hand on Ida’s, which is now gripping the steering wheel so tightly, it had turned a shy red. With half-trembling hands, Ida turned the engine key, half a prayer pinned to her lips. The engines roared, ready to go. Ida and George let out a sigh of relief and continued their car ride in silence.

“Come on in and make yourselves at home,” greeted a cheery Mr. Jones. This was indeed a peculiar behavior. George and Ida strode in and settled on a couch perched by the fireplace. They both decided a little warmth was needed after the terrifying incident with the car.

“On the couch, I see, why not?” Mr. Jones shrugged with a smile. He glanced at George as a sign of approval and situated himself on the reclining seat opposite them. He was indeed in a good mood today.

Ida cleared her throat, unsure of where to begin. “Well, thank you for agreeing to meet us, Mr. Jones-”

“It’s Sam. Mr. Jones sounds too formal and frankly…old!” he interrupted.

“Alright, Mr..uhmm Sam. Can you describe your experience with the magical clouds?” Ida had taken out her leather-bound notepad and a fountain pen to inscribe Sam’s words. She wanted to make sure to catch every detail of his story. It would be easier to tear it apart that way.

Sam jumped out of his couch unexpectedly, his eyes twinkled with excitement. Ida and George were unsure and slightly afraid of Sam’s actions. Ida clutched her bag with one hand, just in case they needed to bolt.

“The skies opened up to me,” Sam started off, his voice lowered as if it was a secret privy to a select few. “I was on my daily walk, but I must have lost track of time because I heard the midnight chimes of our town clock. I quickened my pace, a little nervous about how the darkness surrounded me. Suddenly, it happened!” he squealed excitedly.

Ida and George retreated to the edge of the couch. George used his body to shield Ida from the twirling man in the living room.

“Wha..what happened Sam?” Ida hesitantly asked.

“The dancing purple clouds, of course!” Sam exclaimed. “The whole sky turned a cotton candy pink and the clouds started taking the shape of people. At first, I was scared. Were they ghosts? Or perhaps aliens?” he continued while cupping his face. A true resemblance to The Scream painting by Edward Munch.

“But no! They were beautiful and magical people-clouds. Sweet, sweet clouds dancing ever so happily,” he swooned and melted into the couch.

Ida and George were still glued to the couch, afraid that any movement would trigger Sam. George was already mapping their escape route. Surely, two young and fit beings can outrun a single sixty-something years old man. Apparently, Ida was also thinking about it because she whispered to George, “On the count of three, aim for the door and run”. George gave her a nod of approval. “1…2… -”

“I NEED TO SEE THEM AGAIN!” a silent Sam started wailing. He was inching dangerously close to Ida when George pounced on him and screamed, “RUN, IDA!!”.

Ida bolted out of the door with George following right behind her. They zoomed into their Beetle and locked the doors. George scanned their surroundings to see if crazy Sam had followed them, but he was nowhere to be seen. They did, though, hear his wailing, albeit faint. With all that chaos, Ida had forgotten all about the failing car, but now that she is seated, hands on the steering wheel, tears started to roll down her cheeks.

George was panting quite heavily, giving himself a moment to catch his breath, and on high alert when he noticed the wet drops on Ida’s left cheek. He knew. “Go on Ida. Start the engine. It will work,” George nudged Ida.

“I..can’t George. What if he never starts again?” her voice shaky.

George tilted his head, making himself extra adorable, something Ida could never resist. “I’ll be right there with you if that ever happens.”

Ida looked at George, her eyes filled with love for this wonderful soul that had come to her at a time of need, and has never left her side. George has seen it all. The sloppy, lazy Ida, the adrenaline-packed-hyperfocused Ida, the old lady Ida, the emotional mess Ida and the romantic sucker Ida. “I don’t know what I would do without you, George,” she said while ruffling his hair. Any other guy might have stopped her, but not George. Ida’s happiness was his happiness.

Ida took a deep breath and turned her car keys. A little resistance at first, but the Beetle lived. “Phewww, that’s a relief,” Ida exhaled. “I think I had enough adventure for one day. Shall we call it a day and head to Sweet Hill to watch the sunset?”

“I am with you on that. Crazy Sam is all I can handle for today.” George nodded and spent the rest of the car ride enjoying the warm wind wrapping his face and making his hair fly.

Watching the sunset of Sweet Hill was a 3-year-old tradition for George and a 21-year-old tradition for Ida. They parked the Beetle not too far from the viewing point and paced down to their usual bench. George noticed Ida clutching something in her right hand, and nudged her about it. Ida slowly opened her hand to reveal a polaroid photo of a child, no more than 3, in goofy glasses in the arms of a chubby middle-aged man. He was bald and wore a checkered shirt. The child and man were evidently happy, a big smile to prove it. George recognized both of them. It was Ida and her father. George has never met him, but, Ida used to talk about him a lot.

“I can’t lose him again, George. The Beetle is the only thing I have left of him,” Ida said in between sobs.

“That’s not true, Ida. You have me,” George said as he snuggled up close to Ida. Ida placed her hand over George’s silky hair and smiled.

“That is why I named you after him, George Matthews Jr.,” she said with her new-found energy. George barked and wagged his tail in agreement. Together, they watched the sunset, basking in the golden hour of the magical moment of their own making.