I want, so badly, to believe in rationalism.

The seat I had chosen was the only one facing the kitchen. Everyone else had assumed positions on couches, ottomans, stools, facing towards the television, towards the bedroom, away from the kitchen.

Which meant I was the only one who saw the green towel rise up, float and twist like a feather in an updraft for about five seconds, and fall to the ground.

Almost immediately the pit of my stomach dropped out, and I wanted nothing more to get out of the apartment. I excused myself, saying that I had a phone date with my Animus; I had started to say what I really saw, and everyone else said, "Shut up, shut up, you were just speaking Russian, then. Nonsense syllables, those, when you talked about the paranormal activity in the renovated funeral home."

I agreed. I laughed, I said, "Thanks for the great night." I walked out the door.