All a Dream - Or?

All a Dream – Or?

By Lori Madigan

Purse over my shoulder, phone in my pocket, sunglasses on my face. Off to work, and what is sure to be a sweets-laden morning break in celebration of my 30^th birthday.

I go out the door. And step into my past.

Well, what the . . .

I should be seeing a street lined with beautiful oaks, deep green lawns, and vinyl-clad two stories. Instead, I’m looking over sun-scarred grass, tropical flowers, and a swamp beyond. This is the scene I saw every day growing up in rural Louisiana.

This makes no sense, all wrong, alarmingly wrong. The terror hits like a 100-foot tsunami, and I spin around to go back inside. But the door has already shut and locked.

I grab my keys from where they always are in an outside purse pocket. But what I see is a single unfamiliar key on an unfamiliar ring. I step back and take in the whole door, and it’s not the right one but I do recognize it. It’s the door to my childhood home.

I look toward the driveway for the car. But there’s no car, no driveway either, just a dirt expanse leading to the back. At a glacial pace I turn back again to the outside. And it’s all still there. I must be dreaming, have to be dreaming. If not, I’m somehow back in Louisiana.

Well, if this scene is really real, I should be able to walk into it, and a few steps in there’s the ball my older brother Louis and I used to toss around. He learned early on to taunt me with, “Josie, you throw like a girl.” I pick it up and throw it. Like a girl.

OK, so now I know this part is truly three-dimensional. The house, then?

Yes, I’m seeing the whole thing and it indeed is where I lived as a kid. I catch my reflection in a window and discover – surprise – I am a kid. I don’t have purse, phone or sunglasses. Just a book bag.

Cautiously, I go on into the house. And from a familiar voice, “Hi Hon, how was school, did anybody know it’s your birthday?” Mother!!! And in short order, the next oddity.

I hear myself answering, “Great mom, our teacher is so nice. Whenever it’s someone’s birthday she hangs a Happy 10^th Birthday banner on the chalkboard and then writes your name underneath. And everybody sings the birthday song.” What’s more, I remember this whole thing, though “remembering” means my adult mind is still in my brain even as I walk, talk, and act exactly like my childhood self.

I go into the kitchen, give mom a kiss, and then spy the pretty cake she has made for me, chocolate with marshmallow frosting running down the sides and sprinkled with colored sugar. Mom sees my long stare at the cake and reads my mind. “No previews of the frosting.” The younger me says “Darn it,” and the older me thinks it. Never lost my love of frosting.

Mom’s just pulling a roasted chicken out of the oven, followed by a pan of golden biscuits. She tells me to put the bowls of mashed potatoes and buttery peas on the table and then go call “the men.” I go down the hall to the den, and there’s Louis finishing a model for his woodworking class and dad reading the paper, a bottle of beer and a jar of spicy peanuts at his side.

At dinner we talk about our day’s activities and I’m able to join right in, my adult mind alone in its amazement at this feat. During dessert mom says, “Aunt Bela asked that you stop by because she has a present for you. And I’ll give you a nice piece of cake to take along.”

Louis, with an ear-to-ear grin says, “Hope she eats the cake and not you.” My mother, sharply, “Louis!” But his grin remains as he adds, “Everyone knows she’s a witch.” “No one knows that, Louis,” this from dad, “now just behave yourself!” Grin gone.

Aunt Bela isn’t really my aunt, or as far as we know aunt to anybody in our town. But that’s what everybody, of all ages, has always called her. On the walk to her house next door I’m thinking about the fact that those boys aren’t the only ones to speculate about Aunt Bela. She does sort of invite the buzz with her flowing skirts, exotic jewelry, and dramatic makeup. She also makes frequent trips to New Orleans, to visit friends there she says. But she’s never gotten into any trouble, caused any problems, certainly never hurt anybody. I like her, think she’s fascinating, and love visiting her home with all its interesting objects.

She’s already standing in the open doorway as I come up her walk. She envelops me in a warm hug and ushers me inside, where all the shades are drawn and there are votive candles glowing everywhere. “How are you feeling,” she asks and at first I don’t know what to say. Does she know I’m kind of a double me? I finally look at her and say, “Fine,” and immediately notice two things. One, my voice is different and, two, Aunt Bela has aged. A lot.

“Take a seat here, Josie” she says and I settle into a plush chair covered in purple velvet at a small round table with the same covering and holding many of the objects from her shelves and cabinets that had intrigued me as a child. “I’m so thrilled you’re here, and look forward to a nice long visit.” “But won’t my mom wonder where I am?” “Oh,” she replies with a big smile, “the 10-year-old you has already gone back home with a pretty scarf and birthday card, and the whole scene has been tucked back into its proper time slot where life will unfold just as it did, you go to college, meet and marry the man of your dreams, have two wonderful sons, work your way up in the publishing world.”

Astonished, I realize that I’m now my adult self again, purse, phone and sunglasses all restored. But it feels like something is still not completely back to normal.

Aunt Bela looks at me for a moment, seeming to gather her thoughts, and then says, “Time for some truths. So . . . let’s start with this. Since you were a kid, you’ve heard whispers that I may be a witch or voodoo priestess, or maybe even a gypsy or satanist. I’m actually none of those but rather a member of a secret sisterhood blessed with what we call The Power. Those born with it possess the unique ability to re-order reality, move around the components to bring about a desired outcome. For us, living things, buildings, vehicles, mechanical devices, infrastructure, even time and space are like so many pieces on a gameboard. Out of great respect, though, we rarely mess with nature.

“In complex situations, and many of them are, we always take an active role in moving around the relevant pieces as needed, But, and this is pretty cool, in simple cases or those requiring instant action all that may be needed is your mere presence. Your special gift switches into auto-pilot, still working through you but sort of behind the scenes and at warp speed, and then delivers the optimum result.

“For the most part we’re intervening to do good where it’s most needed. As you can imagine, events in New Orleans have kept us quite busy through the years. But we can also arrange some bad happenings when that’s needed. And then on occasion we also give ourselves some comic relief by cooking up some harmless mischief for folks that are just plain ass annoying. I guess it’s our strong sense of right and wrong that makes them such irresistible targets.

“Now here’s another truth. I knew from the moment I first saw you, just days old at the time, looking into your little baby eyes, that someone in your ancestry possessed The Power which had been reborn in you. You had little wisps of hair, and on the pretense of brushing them back I laid my hand on your forehead and created a bond between us.”

She continued, “Think back on your life, the wishes that became reality, the circumstances that turned in your favor, the impossible becoming possible.” Oh my gosh - the chance meeting that led to my marriage, the series of openings that fast-tracked me to becoming the company’s youngest senior editor, the time when I was trapped in a busy intersection with an SUV barreling right toward me but never hitting me, even good heavens the big, big jackpot in Las Vegas. As others start rolling into my mind., I ask “And you did all that?” She smiles and says, “Sometimes it was you, sometimes me, sometimes us.”

“So is that how today happened,” I ask. And Aunt Bela replies, “Actually your mom had a big part in it too.” “Mom? My mom!”

“Well, she didn’t know she was doing it. “Go back to the memory of this evening’s family scene. Do you remember what happened after returning home from bringing me birthday cake?” Yes,” I replied, “I told mom you had offered to teach me some magic tricks and she got a funny look on her face, and said we’d have to wait on that. But I had this deep feeling that I really needed to learn right now, and kind of uncharacteristically yelled at her, ‘Wait? How long!’ And mom, also somewhat uncharacteristically, yelled back ‘20 years!’ Then she calmed down and you probably remember we both came back here.”

“Of course I remember. Everybody apologized and you told me about the 20 years.” “And Aunt Bela, I remember you repeated 20 years, maybe two or three times.”

“Well, I saw an opportunity there. As much as I wanted to start teaching you back then while your mind was most impressionable, maybe I could double the receptivity by combining a youthful mind with the urgency of a “due date” that parental influence created and I reinforced. The second part was already in place, the suggestion planted deep in your mind that at age 30 you had permission to learn the – well - we’ll call them magic tricks. I knew, even if you didn’t, that you had to arrive here today, so I just had to manipulate time a bit to get you back into your 10-year-old mind.

“I also had to make sure your adult mind stayed active so you didn’t become stuck in your 10-year-old self - and then once here that some of your child mind remained for the benefits of that impressionable age.” Oh, so I was still kind of a double me and that’s why things still seemed a little odd.

“So now, if you’re willing,” Aunt Bela said, “I’d like to teach you how to tap into The Power that is in you. I know this is all a lot to take in, Josie. Let’s go have a nice cup of tea in the kitchen while you think about it.”  While the proposal percolates in the back of my head, we chat about the times we’d shared back when. And it hits me that now I know why this woman had always fascinated me so much.

Cups empty, she looks at me. I nod, my heart aflutter with equal measures of apprehension and excitement. And truth be told, still not sure this isn’t a dream.

We take a seat back at the little round table and Aunt Bela tells me to remember all those events I’d recalled, saying now we want to be able to take control of such experiences.  And that’s both for ourselves and others. And so it begins, intensive training to access, understand, develop and activate the gift within me. After an hour I stop and say I’m going too slow and I’m starting to feel discouraged. But Aunt Bela is having none of it, tells me there’s no question The Power is in there, we just have to cultivate it. And we continue.

Now it’s the end of the second hour and I can actually feel The Power, as if it’s coursing through my mind, body and soul. Aunt Bela tells me I’m ready for the enhancements, ceremonial icons that she says can bring about a quicker or more specialized result. And so she takes me through the objects, one by one. This one is for this, that one is for that, and so on. She then scoops them all up, tucks them into a red velvet bag and hands it to me.

I’m exhausted but exhilarated. I go around the table to give her a hug, saying, “I still can’t quite believe this all happened.”

She stands up too, saying, “Josie, I’ve taken you as far as I can. The rest is up to you. If you want to continue developing The Power, practice all you can. If, you want to just return to normal life, you can. If you want to make this your life’s work you can. If you want to want to just let it be a part of your everyday life you can. I just ask that use your extraordinary gift to guide you in goodness.”

“I will Aunt Bela, I promise I will.” And I thank her with all my heart. “My pleasure. We have to make sure there are always other generations to perpetuate the good work. And one last thing – you’ll know instinctively if you meet someone else with The Power, and as for everyone else, best not to try to explain.”

“And my last thing, uh, how do I get back home?” “Easy, after you go out my door, turn around and you’ll be looking at your very own door.”

I do. And it is. And my watch shows no time elapsed. Wait. So that couldn’t have really happened, but what did? Still stunned, I think I must have momentarily blacked out and had a flash dream about Aunt Bela. What other explanation could there be. None, I tell myself, none.

Off to work in heavy traffic when I see a dog step into the street. Oh no. And the next moment he’s safely on the other side, trotting down a side street. OK. When I arrive the CEO’s assistant hands me an envelope with my quarterly bonus, way larger than usual. OK. At coffee break where the table holds about a million calories for my birthday, here comes Francine, pushing her way through everyone as usual to overload a plate, gloating over all the mistakes she’s found in her proofreading job, cozying up to editors. I look away, and then hear an Oh S**t! and Francine is looking at caramel frosting and cherry filling and chocolate cheesecake all down the front of her dress, the paper plate sticking at the hem, then finally falling onto her shoes. OK. On the way out at the end of the day, a fellow editor’s car won’t start, and I say try again, vroooom. OK.

Ah, can’t be anything to all that. Even though it was all in one day. Could there? Nah. My car is right where it should be, the key fits, I have all my usual stuff. Normal, all normal.

As I toss my purse into the passenger seat, the main compartment falls opens. Something in there moves, just a little, a tiny shake.

The red velvet bag.

-  end -