I took another sip of my coffee, trying not to hate my life.

“Hey, are you going to finish that?” Charlene indicated a half-eaten croissant on my plate.

“No, go for it,” I mumbled, looking around for the waitress to top off my coffee cup. The coffee at this place was okay, but I had forgotten that the baked goods were not. It was nice to be able to sit on the sidewalk and watch the world go by, though. 

Charlene munched on the rest of the croissant. I wondered why no one noticed a full-sized llama hanging around with me. She had told me that she was only visible to me, but you’d think that someone would wonder why the croissant was disappearing all on its own.

“This croissant is pretty stale,” she said, swallowing the last flakes. “Next time, let’s go to that place over by the park.”

I nodded noncommittally. People didn’t see the croissant disappearing, but a crazy woman talking to herself? They’d spot that in an instant.

The waitress never showed up, so I left cash on the table to cover the tab and a tip, and then Charlene wanted to go to the art museum, so off we went. It seemed like a nice enough day for a walk, and I hadn’t been spending much time outside lately.

Charlene had first showed up at a party I had been at the night before. I looked at her and presumed someone had spiked something I’d eaten or drunk with some kind of designer drug. 

She was a big llama – maybe even bigger than regular llamas, but I had had very little experience with them, so I couldn’t tell. Her fur was dirty white and matted, and she definitely had a smell. She stood in front of me for a bit, batting those impossibly long eyelashes that have put llama images on water bottles and yoga outfits everywhere.

“Marge,” she had said (my name is Nicole), “It’s time to blow this scene.”

I think the way she talked was almost more surprising than the fact that she talked. 

“Umm, okay,” I’d said. “My name is Nicole, and you are – ?”

“Charlene.” And she actually nudged me towards the door. That was when I realized that she probably was something other than a hallucination.

We got to my building and took the elevator up to my floor. I had no idea what she wanted. I unlocked the door and we went in.

“Marge, honey, would you get me one of those IPAs in your fridge and pour it into a bowl for me? I’m parched.”

I guess it’s not strange for a magical being to know the inside of your refrigerator, but at the moment, it was a little embarrassing. Besides the IPAs, there was some moldy cheese, some seltzer, and something gray that probably used to be something. I don’t cook.

I found a sort of clean bowl, rinsed it out, poured her the beer, and put it down on the coffee table next to her.

“Thanks, hon,” she said, taking a slurp. I hate it when people call me hon.

“Listen, it’s late, hon. Get some sleep. Talk in the morning.”

“I have work in the morning.”

“You have forty-seven paid time off days that you aren’t going to use before they expire. Take a vacation day. I mean it. Go to sleep.”

So I went to bed. I fell asleep trying to prove to myself that she was wrong, that it was really only forty-three vacation days.

At the art museum, she wanted to look at all the portraits of rich people. I found an uncomfortable bench to sit down on. I was really bored. No one seemed to be around, so I figured it would be okay to talk to her here.

 “So what are we doing here?” I asked.

“You mean at the art museum, or cosmically, or, no, I guess you mean why have I decided to accompany you on your quest as your spirit animal. No particular reason. I think we can agree that we both hate pretentious seventies bands, risotto, and skinny jeans. So it’s like we’re soul mates. Ha! Just kidding.” She looked at me, and while I think it’s tough to parse a llama’s facial expressions, it seemed like she got more serious. 

“I just think you needed someone to take you in hand,” she said, “or hoof, as the case may be.”

“Uh, so what are you?” An idea came to me from the back of my head. “Are you a Pooka? Like Harvey, the giant rabbit in that movie with Jimmy Stewart?”

“Don’t be culturally insensitive.” I was getting better at reading her, and she looked pissed. “Pookas are from Celtic mythology. Do I look Celtic to you?”

“No, I just meant because you’re an animal spirit, or whatever. I’m sorry. Of course I know that llamas come from a different area of the world.”

She looked off into the distance. “Harvey – the real Harvey, now he was something. We were together for a few hundred years. But you drift apart, you know.  When it was good, though, it was wonderful.”

“Okay, then, so what are you doing here? Oh, right, I already tried to ask that and you derailed it. I’m doing okay, not great, but okay. I appreciate you wanting to look out for me, but I’ll be fine.”

“With that haircut? I doubt it. Get serious, Marge.”

“Listen, Charlene, I don’t respond well to cheap cuts. I’ve been indulging you, but now I’d really like to know what you want from me. And my name is actually Nicole.”

“Fair enough. Okay, look at the guy in this picture. Some eighteenth century aristocrat who had enough money that he decided to spend some of it on getting his portrait painted. Do you think he was happy?”

“Oh. My. Fucking. God, Charlene. I do not give two shits about this long dead prick. What does that have to do with me?”

“I was getting to that, hon, but I’ll cut to the chase. What do you love about your life?” She moved in closer as she said that, and I could smell her, all wooly and llama-y.

“I don’t have to love anything about my life,” I started, and then everything got blurry and I could feel the messy tears running uncontrollably down my face. Charlene put her big llama face next to mine. I was surprised that I was okay with that, and that it was oddly comforting.

“Okay, job, friends, family, what?” she prompted.

“Well, I started programming because it was fun, but I hate being in a toxic corporate boys’ club culture. I don’t have any friends, partly because I work all the time, but also because I meet too many people who never even look up. They never question anything. It’s depressing. Mom died last year, and Dad’s in a memory care unit and doesn’t recognize me.” I realized that I had said all that without a breath, so I stopped and inhaled. “And everything around here is so boring and predictable. On the news, if person A says x, then person B will have to say y.”

“Sounds pretty bad. Do you have a copy of your resumé?”

I handed her my phone. “Every place is going to be the same. You can’t outrun your problems. I just have to learn to deal with it better.”

“Hmm. Why did you downplay your experience at your current job? There. I fixed it.”

“Thanks for the help, Charlene. I’ll try to find some places to send it.” Somehow, I had expected more than a resumé update from a spirit animal.

“Right. Okay, Marge, they’re hiring on Tau Ceti-F. Software development, and you could come up with your own projects. They like your resumé, and they want you to come out there.”

“Out there? Like to another planet? Are you insane?” I thought for a minute. “Is this one of those sex/breeding/humans farmed for food things?”

“Tau Ceti-F is earthlike. Different flora and fauna, mostly, but pleasant enough. No, I think you would probably like the people there. Depending on how you look at it, they have eleven genders or none, but there’s not a lot of cultural baggage around it. The job has a good benefits package.”

“What salary – ” I started to ask, and then laughed. “Sure. What have I got to lose? Tell them I’m in.”

“Well, that was a quick decision. Okay, then, hon. Time to boogie,” and she headed for the exit.

“Charlene, you know people don’t still say that.” She kept going, heading down the marble stairs to the lobby.

The lobby was mostly empty, but I didn’t care anymore if people heard me. “What I want to know is, aren’t you mixing genres, mythology with science fiction?”

“Oh, look at you, getting all ‘breaking the fourth wall’ with me, Marge” she said. “Maybe you should know a little bit more about spirit animals. Maybe a better name for us is, ‘cosmic meddlers.’ Come on, let’s check out the gift shop.”