Pandora's Box

The last Sunday of our trip to Maryland, during a stroll along Annapolis's Main Street, C, our friend Debra, Debra's boyfriend Chris and I spontaneously dropped into a storefront with a big red neon sign flashing "Palm reader." We were feeling impulsive and were looking for some fun. And neither Chris nor C had had their palms read before.

We climbed up a narrow stairwell into a bland living room: beige carpets, white walls, and two brown couches with a large screen tv flashing scenes from midway into some Kevin Bacon war movie. There was a young Latino couple with an infant huddled together on one of the couches.

We moved the piles of paper off of the other couch to make room to sit down. The couch seated four, so I crouched down on the floor beside C.

"I'll be with you in a moment. I'm in the middle of a reading." A deep, though-undeniably-female voice called out cooly from behind a doorway.

After about five minutes, a full-figured woman with an olive complexion and shoulder-length, straight black hair came out from the doorway. "Who's next?"

We all turned to look at the couple on the couch. The entire room listened as the clairvoyant explained the rates for the different types of readings:

$5 for one palm which tells you about your character
$10 for two palms - past, present and future reading
$25 for more in depth psychic reading

We all chose two palms, including the couple on the couch. The mother followed the medium behind the closed door.

When she was finished, Chris went in next. He came out with his eyes open wide, like a deer caught in headlights. "Wow." He was dumbstruck. "Wow" was all he could say so he said it again.

C went in next. While she was tucked away in the closet with the intuitive, we prodded Chris to tell more. In a cheerful, excited tone, he began, "Okay, well, she told me that I was a good person." Then he paused. "You know, I didn't breathe the entire time I was in there."

C came out seeming slightly nervous. She walked stiffly to the couch with a big, polite smile on her face. "It was good. It was interesting."

With that, Debra went in next. While Debra was cloistered off with the telepathist, C explained more, "She said I was opinionated." With that, she laughed. I laughed with her, as this was not news. "And she said I was creative and that my creativity comes out in clay and jewelry. She also said I was Wiccan in a past life. And that I had been condemned and I needed to make sure I didn't make the same mistake in this life." C refuted the creativity comment, but seemed to be interested in contemplated the significance of this condemnation in her past life.

I went in after Debra came out, so I only got to hear something about Pennsylvania from her reading.

"Hello. Have a seat." The spiritualist gestured towards the chair facing her.

"Put your hands out like this." She demonstrated holding both of her hands, palms upwards, touching one another at the pinkies.

Instead of looking at the lines intersecting across my palms, she simply held both of her hands a few inches above mine, palms down.

"You are better at writing than interacting with people in person. You were a writer. But you are on some sort of break. But you will write again."

I couldn't help but correct her. "No, I'm not on a break. I'm still writing."

"No. Something has changed. You aren't writing for yourself anymore. But you will go back to writing for yourself again. This is healthier for you."

"You are confused with your spirituality. I see you will explore many religions but not find any that fit. You will come up with your own beliefs assembled from many faiths. Are you Catholic?"

"I was raised Catholic. But I don't practice anymore."

"You teach people. I'm seeing teaching and the heart. Are you a teacher?"

"No, I'm a nurse." I didn't want to explain that I do a lot of health education as part of my job, especially when working with the dying. I didn't want to give her anymore than I had to. I wanted to know by my own intuition if her supernatural abilities might be genuine. So I didn't give her an inch.

"You should be doing pediatric cardiology nursing."

I didn't confess that I am not fond of either. But I did finally admit, "Well, mostly I work with patients who are dying."

"You need more balance spiritually with life and death. You need to explore pediatric cardiology so you will have some of both."

"You are in a new circle of people right now. And I'm sensing there is someone in this group who is hostile. Alcoholic, perhaps or someone with a chemical imbalance." Is there anyone who doesn't have someone with a chemical imbalance in their lives?

Despite hating her suggestion of pediatric cardiology, the comment that remains to haunt me was the one about my writing. Is blogging not going to be a good outlet for my creative expression? Is that the mystic message she was passing on? Thus I have been paralyzed for days before returning to this virtual space. So... what's next?