A Sunday Morning Like Any Other

Submitted into Contest #152 in response to: Set your story in an oracle or a fortune teller’s parlor.... view prompt


Fiction Inspirational

The area where I live has sections of town that make me feel like I am back in my old neighborhood in Queens, New York. I had lived in Astoria, New York, an area with cute restaurants, brick buildings, fun bars and pubs, little stores and bakeries and it is comforting, but also a bit melancholy to live where I do. I like that there is green space, trees, and places to jog with scenic views. I am glad to be living back up state, where I have been for 13 years, near family and with a great friend group, but, I never got the city fully out of my system. I spent most of my vacation time from work going back to the city, hitting up my old haunts, and visiting the friends that still lived there, but this weekend found me home and enjoying a leisurely Sunday. I had a routine for Sunday that I enjoyed, and would jog, take a long bath, and I would either go to brunch or get breakfast from the bodega. Sometimes, I would buy flowers from the market, or fill a blessing box, but, today I was walking up the street with an iced coffee, and bagel with cream cheese and lox, on the way home from the bodega that had all kinds of intresting salads, sauces, sandwiches, and drinks, as well as a bag from the little gift shop I had shopped at earlier. The nice thing about living where I live is that I am able to walk everywhere. I was passing by the spiritual store. I was lucky to live in a city with psychic shops and botanicas for my needs. I practiced a mix of Santeria and was a recovering Catholic, would still pray to saints. I am not sure what I call what I practice. I guess if I was going to call it anything I would call it my own personal religion. I did not believe in the bible, or that a man was closer to God just because a bunch of people say so. As a feminist/humanist Catholicism and I did not much get along. I also did not do well with men thinking they could tell me anything about anything. The only man I ever listened to or took advice from is my Dad, my confidant, trusted advisor, and the person who was always in my corner.

"Your father wants you to listen to him". I stopped and looked at the person belonging to the voice. She was tall, and thin, with short and curly greying hair. She was standing in the doorway of the psychic shop. I felt a bit sadness. The only way Dad could speak to me directly was through a psychic medium.

"Can you tell me things?", I asked her, nervously putting my red shoulder length wavy hair behind my ear. I felt a feeling of longing to be able to talk to Dad. I missed him so much. Even a few years after the loss, I wanted so badly to be able to see and talk to him. To hug him, to call him on the phone. Talking through a medium was the next best thing.

"I can. Come in. Please sit down here, across from me". I entered the psychic medium's store and took a seat at a table with a dark tablecloth, and there were crystals on the table, as well as tarot cards. It was a small store, but there was a plethora of spiritual wares for sale. I am a sucker for crystals, tarrot car decks, and velitas(candels to saints)

"Your father loves you and wants you to listen to him. He wants you to get off the roller coaster so that other things can come."

"That sounds like him. I feel him around a lot."

"He wants you to say hi to him when you feel him around. He will send you scents. Just a hint of a scent.

"Oh ok".

"Also, you need to put yourself out there". He must want me to get my reading read by people.

"Oh ok. I know what he is talking about".

"You are able to do similar to what I can do. You are an oracle."

"Is that what the dreams that show me the future, and the knowing things before they happen is?".

"It is. You are able to receive messages and give messages."

"That is good to know. I was worried I was crazy." I really did worry that I was crazy and was hesitant to share things about the dreams and the feelings with others.

"You are not at all crazy".

"That makes me feel a lot better".

"Your father is proud of you. He wants you to keep trying to reach your goal".

"That must mean he wants me to keep writing. He told me in my dream to write".

"You are an oracle. That is clear. Do you have any questions for me?"

"Does getting off the roller coaster mean I need to end a relationship for something else to come?".

"Yes. You need to do that to find the right man or woman". It was nice that she did not assume I was straight. I had been looking for the right man or woman, or someone in between for what felt like ever.

"That sounds about right. I think I will check back in in a few months.

"Please do. I hope you come back".

"I will!". I paid her $25.00 and a tip, a very small sum for what I had been enlightened to. It was still early. I walked around the shop, purchasing a deck of tarot cards, to add to the card decks I already had. I wasn't sure what to do with the rest of the morning. Finding out you are an oracle might make the morning kind of strange for someone, but for me, it was another Sunday morning. A Sunday morning like any other.

June 27, 2022 14:50

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Wendy M
06:32 Jul 08, 2022

I love your description of her home town it really paints a picture. Her loss of her father is also poignant. He must want me to get my reading read by people. - did you mean writing? You have a couple of typos. Car instead of card and tarrot instead of tarot. I use free software to check my stories. Grammarly is good, there's also Hemmingway. Good effort.


Laura Eliz
01:03 Jul 10, 2022

Thank you so much!!!!


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