Small Mediums at Large

The True Tale of a Family of Psychics

I've had this conversation thousands of times. I hear myself talking in the room while my interior voice begins sorting out what I'm going to say next. I hand her the glass of water and motion to her to take a seat at the table. She looks the room over. The stove, the refrigerator and the bathtub are just a few steps from the reading table. In a glance I see how pretty she is, raven haired with perfect, clear skin.

"I'm so nervous," she says. "I've been waiting months to see you. All my friends have been here. Everyone's talking about you."

I start seeing flashes of her in the future. She's smiling and walking with a man. They're in Central Park. He kisses her on the cheek... I pull back and look away. It's too soon. I don't want to know this yet.

Her big silver bracelet hits the table and she gives a quick apology.

"You're really famous, aren't you," she says, adjusting herself to the chair. "How long have you lived here?"

"Twenty-five years."

"How could that be? How old are you? You look so young and different from what I expected. I thought you'd be an older woman with lots of jewelry and..."

"A crystal ball and a black cat? I'll be fifty-five this year, I didn't feel like wearing the gypsy thing today, and my turban's at the dry cleaners."

"You're not fifty-five! That's amazing! You look so young and so... normal."

"You mean, paranormal?"

"You're so funny. I feel comfortable with you. I love your apartment, you have such great sunlight. High tin ceilings are so wonderful. Are those oak cabinets original? I love this neighborhood. I come down here a lot. Do you know that psychic who lives near you, Frank Andrews?"

"Yes. I know him."

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