I met with a friend yesterday for coffee. We had a good chat over tea and a bagel, catching each other up on our respective lives, then meandering around therapy subjects. She's been doing EMDR for a long time, so, as a newbie, I picked her brain on general and technical questions. Two hours later, we gave parting hugs, and she said she intended to attend our potluck next month. I wave goodbye and walk around the corner to get on the scooter, and where I parked it in the little space in front of the beige and purple houses was...spacious.
Now, it's an odd feeling to find something you know you place somewhere, not there. I went and looked at the space, then up and down the street trying to remember if I'd parked it elsewhere. I scanned my memory, and recalled pulling up and seeing my friend on the corner, waiting for me, and me walking only a few dozen feet to greet her. So it wasn't around the block or across the street. Hmm, apparently it was stolen.
Next part of my strategy was to wander back and forth between the Empty Spot and the cafe. And yet that didn't make the bike appear. Then I called 911 and asked how to report a stolen vehicle, and they gave me the non-emergency number. I walked up the block, somehow thinking the bike may have wandered off and was grazing in another parking spot, but no luck. So I resigned myself to dealing with a stolen scooter, and started walking home.
I called the police when I got back, and they directed me to the impound. Not there, so I called back and they told me they'd send a cop out to take the report. I only had some of the information on the bike, but Heather was in her class orientation, so I could only leave her the dismal news on her voice mail. Then I was going to do some work, but couldn't concentrate, instead playing the video game my brother sent. Well, shooting up banditos wasn't soothing, so I finally decided (it's funny how long it takes for us to do the appropriate thing) to meditate. And a minute into it, vroom, it hit me where the bike was.
See, although we met at the Royal Grounds, she had originally wanted to meet at Peet's, up the street, because their coffee was better. The memory I had of her on the corner was true, but I layered it over the wrong real-time corner. Smacking my forehead, I left a message with Heather, a "This is your stupid husband calling..." type of thing, and then headed off, walking to get the scooter. Heather actually pulled up just then and gave me a ride, and I did some more mea culpas for being a twit and scaring her.
An odd event. I think, with my brain running with "stolen bike" narrative, that I was in a bit of shock and couldn't piece together the data to figure out what had happened. When meditating, apparently the dust cleared and there it was, but in the heat of the moment(s), the memories wouldn't jell.
The positive thing is that we confirmed that the bike is covered for theft (though with a depreciation for age). That's comforting, I suppose.
