Sahara Beige

"I summon you, Florence Nightingale, to come forward. Florence, if you are here, please make yourself known," Brad said, speaking into the silent space of the dimly lit room. My hands are slightly clammy and sweaty from excitement and a little fear. My arms start to strain as I hold Angela and Alice's hands over the brown coffee table in the center of our group. Brad is across the coffee table from me and has his eyes closed, trying to stay open to the spiritual world.

"Brad, do you feel anything?" Alice asks. She had severe doubts about the effectiveness of a séance before we even started, but she was still excited to try.

We collectively decided to try to summon Florence after a few mixers. Being in nursing school and all, we wanted a little inspiration before our Med-Surge exam on Friday.

"No, nothing yet," Brad said, slightly opening one eye to look at the offerings on the table. Brad prepared for our ritual with a small bowl of water, table salt spread around it, black and clear crystals, burning incense, and candles.

"To attract the spirit," Brad had said before starting, "We need an object that was theirs or means something to them." Unfortunately, none of us have any of Florence Nightingale's personal possessions, so we figured a stethoscope was the next best thing. In the hopes of attracting our spiritual visitor, we have snaked my Littmann cardiology stethoscope around the water bowl.

"I don't know. This might not work," Brad says, shifting his weight in his seat. "We can try for a few more minutes, but it's hard to summon a spirit without having something they personally possess." We all continue to sit in silence, quietly willing Florence's ghost to signal her presence. A flicker of light? A feeling? An exorcism moment with Brad flailing around and growling in a demonic voice? Anything.

Brad calls himself a witch but doesn't like to identify with the Wicca religion, which my ignorance could not understand the first time he told me. Instead, he explained that his beliefs are spiritual, centered on nature, and he believes that mystical beings, such as Big Foot and Skin Walkers, live among us. He creates spells, successfully performs séances, and even once summoned his dead cat while performing a séance with his brother.

Personally, I consider myself a spiritual person, but still an atheist. My encounters with spirits and paranormal experiences have left me questioning what happens to us after we die. When I was a child, I would see ghosts. However, I intentionally shut off those supernatural connections as I grew older because they left me feeling frightened most of the time. Now an adult, I want to try and regain some of those abilities in a way where I feel safe.

My friendship with Brad has opened me up to those connections again. He has taught me how to protect myself when encountering spirits and other paranormal beings. Although I have become more receptive to learning about mysticism, I still don't believe in Big Foot.

"Yeah, I don't think this one is going to work," Brad says in defeat, our hands unwinding with each other in unison.

"We could try summoning someone else?" I suggest in earnest.

"Like who?" Brad says. "It should probably be someone close to one of you so the connection can be stronger."

I ponder this, as the rest of us are, and consider whom I might want to have a final word with. My Grammy was the last person close to me who passed away. I had a very close connection with her growing up. She was a loving grandmother and was a nurse in Sitka when she met my Papa. When I applied for nursing school, I thought of her and felt proud that I was carrying on the family profession.

I never got closure when she died. Her diagnosis of stage four brain cancer was sudden. It was discovered after she felt dizzy multiple times and had a fall. Her brain looked like a slice of Swiss cheese on the MRI scan from where the tumors took residence.

I flew down from Fairbanks, Alaska, to see her as soon as she was diagnosed. I spent a few days with her, mostly crying and trying to soak up what I knew would be my last quality moments with her. I also saw her as she was dying and regretted seeing her in that form. I had never seen a person actively dying before. Seeing someone you love bloated, gurgling with every breath, and in a coma was scarring.

"We could summon my Grammy," I suggest. "She passed a few years ago from multiple brain tumors. We were really close," I somberly say. The light-hearted mood of the group turns slightly darker.

"Do you have anything of hers?" he asks me. I start to dig around in my purse in pursuit of an object. I haven't intentionally brought anything with me. I wasn't planning on taking part in a séance tonight. After fiddling through loose change, gum wrappers, and receipts, my fingers find a rectangular tube of lipstick.

"Yes! I do!" I say with some surprise. I have forgotten I have it with me, even though I use it often for pre-clinicals where I have to wear professional dress clothes.

My Grammy was a classy lady and liked to wear Chanel lipstick. When she died, all of the cousins, myself included, got a few lipstick tubes each. My favorite color is called Sahara Beige. It is a rusty nude and looks great with my fair complexion. I also like how it tastes on my lips and the brand's elegance. It makes me feel classy, just like her.

I hand the tube to Brad, who places it next to the water bowl and my stethoscope.

"No, don't remove it," I say to him as his hand pulls the stethoscope off the table. "She was a nurse too." I can see understanding in his eyes, and he places it back in its original place.

"Okay, now everyone try to clear your mind," Brad says as we all hold each other's hands. "Focus your thoughts on Marylin's Grammy. We welcome you, what's her full name again Marylin?" Brad says, opening one of his squinted eyes to look in my direction."

"Emma Ostermyre," I say back.

"Thank you," Brad continues. "We welcome you, Emma Ostermyre, and summon you here today. If you are present, please make yourself known." A calm washes over the group, and then Brad says, "I can feel her!"

I expected, at this moment, I would be anxious or excited. But the room's energy felt like a warm blanket wrapping around my body, calming my nerves. Then, slowly, a familiar scent began to fill the air. Floral uplifting notes with a suggestion of sophistication. Clinique Happy. My Grammy used to bathe in Clinique Happy lotion when she was alive.

"I can smell her," I say. I can see in Alice and Angela's faces that the possibility of communication with the dead just became real.

"Yeah, it's her lotion," I say to no one in particular, "She used to wear it all the time. Do you guys smell it too?" I ask.

"No," they all say. But, I am thankful that my Grammy gave me this little gift. A chance to honor her presence in a way only I can experience.

"She wants to tell you that before passing, she had made amends and said her goodbyes to everyone she needed to. In the afterlife, she has spent some time reflecting on her time on earth and has made peace with things she may not have been able to resolve," he says with a smile. "Did she have a nickname for you? I keep feeling something like a busy movement and birds. I don't know," He says to me, now trying to concentrate on the influx of information only he is receiving.

"Yeah, she used to call me her little hummingbird," I said with a tear in my eye. I have never told him that before.

"That makes sense," he says, nodding his head with closed eyes. "That's really special. She's getting ready to leave, so is there anything you want to say to her?"

"Yes, I just want to tell her I love her and think about her often. And I'm glad to hear she's now in a peaceful place."

"She's really proud of you," Brad says. "She's so happy to see how far you have come and wants you to know that she is looking out for you. Okay, she's telling me she wants to wrap things up," he says, chuckling, "Like, she doesn't really know why she was summoned and is ready to go," the room breaks with laughter. After a few moments, Brad confirms that she's gone.

I remove the tube of lipstick from the table. The aroma that persisted during the ceremony now dissipates. All that is left is the smell of the incense and candles still burning.

I sit, still cross-legged, looking at that tube. Remembering the woman who once chose that shade; now, my favorite shade. Reminiscing about how she taught me to hand-sew by making handkerchief dolls. How she would frame the artwork I made and display it in her home for years afterward. I remember the straw hat she would wear in the high desert Oregon heat. The way she would kiss my Papa and their loving embraces with one another. I also remember how their home always smelled like ironing starch, cleaner, and bacon. I cherish these memories and know I will never be able to have those moments again. But I am thankful I could have one last conversation with the woman who showed me so much gentile love and kindness as a child, an adolescent, and an adult.

"Wow!" Alice says, eyes wide open as she scans our faces. "I didn't think this was going to work!"

"Yeah, that was crazy," Angela says, who had been an active observer throughout the experience. Now, she is practically jumping in her seat with excitement.

"Man, I've gotten more skilled at this than I thought! So," he says, readjusting himself in his seat. "Who's next?"