This morning I was ever so rudely awakened at 6:30 a.m. by my brain. My eyes flew open in an uncharacteristic manner and I was wide awake. My brain was zipping around inside my head – neurons firing away – telling me it was time to get up, get up, GET UP!!! I was pretty sure that those neurons were misfiring and needed to be removed for further testing, as my body still required another hour and a half before it was going to want to crawl out from under the pile of warm blankets I was currently nesting under.
But none the less, I was unable to quiet the tidal wave of thoughts crashing through my mind so I pushed myself up against the pile of pillows at the top of my bed – being careful not to let the covers slip down too far – it was cold upstairs this morning. As I sat alone in the murky darkness of the bedroom – Sam, having already vacated our bed for coffee a half an hour before – I willed my mind to focus on the cause of this rude interruption in my beauty sleep. Within moments I’d located the perpetrator – it was Shirley.
It has been eleven years since she’s been gone now, but I still dream of her occasionally. After all this time I’m still unable to remember what her laughter sounded like. When she visits me, we mostly just have pleasant, telepathic conversations, although sometimes we’re back in the flower shop working together. This morning was different though. She wasn’t talking, but screaming. Screaming out in pain. Screaming in terror. Screaming in anger. Screaming that she’d been deceived.
The day she died, she’d made a phone call that had become an annual tradition for her – she called her psychic. She’d been calling this particular psychic for several years. The woman on the other end of the line would take her sweet time (it was pay per minute, after all) handing out what Shirley thought to be divine prophesy. There was always a word or two about her business, her finances, her marriage, her own happiness, and occasionally about some type of suffering; but never anything truly negative.
In this particular phone call, her psychic told her that her business would be very successful in the coming year, but to watch out for family members who’d try to borrow money from her. Also she was told that she’d have a time of great personal growth and happiness – a time like she’d never before experienced. There were other things too, but of course there wasn’t a mention of her dying later that day. No mention of a terrible car accident. No mention of lives being destroyed and a family being torn apart. It was all happiness and wealth and good karma and a whole other load of hogwash; all at the low, low rate of $3.99 a minute.
No wonder she woke me up screaming. She had been deceived. This woman…this psychic, was peddling a load of waffle that still stinks to this day. Psychic my backside….more like psycho.