Crystal Visions

I always wondered why people say, “you can’t go home again.” , when I have quite literally flown from Florida back to New Jersey every October for the past ten years. Home. Right? Oh, I do believe I just epiphanized the meaning. Home is never the same after you leave. Everything changes, sometimes evolving, often devolving, but surely altering continually whether we like it or not. Home became a place that held memories of a time when home meant so much more than an address. Still, the friends I left behind were always welcoming, comforting and emotionally cathartic and I couldn’t wait to see everyone again, even if the most important people in my life were no longer there. 

 I loved Autumn in Jersey; the changing leaves, Halloween decor and myriad of seasonal events including haunted hayrides and pumpkin picking at the family-owned farms and orchards. There was still plenty of “Garden” left in the State among the highways and housing developments if you knew where to look. I was perfectly content with an itinerary laden with passive entertainment including hot apple cider and carved Jack O'Lantern displays on the impeccably manicured lawns of the McMansions in Monmouth County. This year however, my lifelong friend and last of the single lady rebellion insisted on a girl's night at the iconic and nostalgic Seaside Boardwalk. Oh, the memories! 

“Just throw your bag downstairs and come up to the kitchen; I made coffee.” 

Spending time with Lynne was the absolute highlight of each trip to New Jersey I have made since moving away. She was the same sweet, funny, awkward and sincere person she had always been. I remember when we met, the first day of sixth grade, she was new and looked so alone standing on the blacktop waiting for the bell to ring. I said hello and weirdly asked her when her birthday was. She answered, February 27th, which is my birthday as well. It was an instant best friend moment right out of a Judy Blume novel. It wasn’t until our freshman year of High School when we met Kellie, the embodiment of teen angst, that we graduated from Judy Blume to John Hughes; spending most of our time making sure Kellie was sober and safe. “Ok, I’ll be right there.” 

“What time did you tell Kellie we’d pick her up tonight?” I asked, taking a long satisfying sip of freshly brewed pumpkin spice coffee. 

“Around five. It takes an hour to get to the boardwalk, and it will be at least another hour to find a place to park that doesn’t cost a small fortune or put our lives in jeopardy.”

“Seriously? It’s that bad now?” 

“You’ll see. I propose we take a quick walk down the boardwalk, call it Memory Lane and find a nice restaurant on our way back home. You know, sit, chat, share a bottle of Chardonnay, like civilized humans.” 

“Agreed. We’ll stay long enough to appease Kellie’s whim. I have to admit, I am curious, it’s been so long since we hung out down the shore together.” 

“I’d rather eat sushi.”

“Lynne, you have a fish allergy.”

“Exactly.” 

Historically, Lynne and I left the fantasies, dramatics and elaborations to Kellie, while siding toward the more mundane, and that dynamic hadn’t changed. Lynne did not exaggerate when hypothesizing our time of arrival, as it was nearly seven-thirty before we set foot on the Seaside Boardwalk. Gone were the days of pulling up on someone’s front lawn and offering them ten bucks to leave our car there. Now, the lawns along the strip were roped off and marked with warning signs against trespassers. How cynical things had become. 

The glaring neon and carnivalesque barking from the midway game shysters detracted from the majestic roar of the Atlantic, not one-hundred yards away. What once enticed us with the tantalizing scents of frying onions and cotton candy battling for dominance now stunk like piss and stale beer. Sadly, saltwater taffy and frozen custard had long been replaced with cleverly named alcoholic drink stands, including The Tipsy Tide and Three Sheets to the Tradewinds. It was all too woefully ironic, and I had to admit, Lynne was not wrong; Seaside was now entirely void of marvel and magic; and felt nothing like home. 

It saddened me to think this seedy chaos was once the pinnacle of summer entertainment for families by day and frenzied rambunctious teens by night. Truly, we thought we were invincible back then as we paraded down the main strip and prowled through the alleyways between the rows of venues and attractions, seeking the attention of the opposite sex. Now, they sat out in the open smoking weed, getting drunk, and looking to commit a crime, or hook up in the public restroom with any random and willing participant, all before the break of dawn, when they were likely to return to their underground crypts and condemned motels. 

 Kellie quickened her step urging us to follow. “Do you remember this?” she asked, pointing to a tiny booth nestled between yet another satirically named bar and sunglass shop. “There is no way Miss Lillian is still alive!” she announced, stepping from the boardwalk into the shop. Incense smoke billowed from several stone burners carved like skulls, in an attempt to create a mystical atmosphere. Cheap scarves in hues of blue, orange, purple and gold hung haphazardly from the makeshift walls. Dollar store area rugs were strewn over the wooden planks of the boardwalk, serving no purpose other than collecting the sand caked in their weave from the soles of every shoe that had entered. Nothing seemed different, not in the past thirty years. This 15x15 parcel refused to progress as if it were satisfied to remain frozen in time.  

“Wow. Of course, I remember. We visited Miss Lillian every summer for our annual tarot reading. She was so creepy, but we kept coming back to her. I used to think she put a spell on us so we’d continue to revisit and pay her for readings.” 

Lynne rolled her eyes and sat in one of the folding chairs in the 5x5 waiting area. “Miss Lillian was at least eighty years old the last time we were all here together. I seriously doubt she’s still scamming kids out of their money to tell them what they want to hear.” Her cynicism, however warranted, did not dissuade me from appreciating the time-honored attempt at mystical ambiance. Strands of colored beads and baubles hung between the waiting and reading areas providing little to no privacy. Metal shelves still branded with the sticker from Home Depot lined the side wall, housing several old books, a row of dusty love spell candles and two baskets of assorted crystals. Tucked between the meager retail offerings was a sign which read, “This Property Protected by Sasso Surveillance” Yet, they came, they paid money, they believed in a psychic who relied on video surveillance; laughable and somehow endearing.

Kellie spotted a rusted old bell perched on a metal folding table between the two chairs which served as Miss Lillian’s waiting area. “Ring for Service.” was handwritten on a well-worn sheet of notebook paper taped to the table. Again, wouldn’t a psychic know we were out here? She amused herself by dinging out familiar tunes on the bell; first it was Jingle Bells, then on to Happy Birthday. I could see she was plucking at Lynne’s last nerve, but my attention remained on the baskets of crystals marked for sale. One larger piece in particular seemed to call to me as I reached in and selected the fluorite point from the bunch. It felt cool in my hand, and I was drawn to the variegated purples and greens. The patterns and striations were mesmerizing, and as it held my gaze, the crystal warmed and illuminated in my hand. I was overwhelmed with feelings of euphoria and empathy. Still holding the crystal, I turned my face to the exit, hoping to ground myself with the grungy reality beyond Miss Lillian’s booth.

 She stood in front of me and waved, as if she were waiting there for years; waiting for me to see her, to believe she was still with me, that the only divide was the one we create to explain the difference between life and the afterlife. I had no doubt of her presence as I addressed her aloud, “Hi Gram.” I wanted to run to her, hug her; oh, I had so many questions. I placed the crystal back in its basket and stepped out of the booth. Alas, she was gone. Instinctively, I looked to my left, then to my right but there was no sign of her, my beloved Gram, my deceased Gram. I whispered to myself, “what the hell just happened?”

A hand touched my shoulder, ever so lightly. “Hi, I believe you’re next.” The voice was unfamiliar, yet sweet and soothing. 

“I’m sorry, what?”

“A reading? I feel compelled to speak with you before I see your friends. Please, won’t you join me?” 

I followed the young woman back into the booth, past the colorful curtain of plastic bead strands and into a dimly lit chamber, intentionally decorated to fit the stereotype. A round table cloaked in purple velvet centered the space. Resting in the middle, a predictable crystal ball and tattered deck of cards, Tarot, I assumed. “Sit.” 

I obliged, the woman smiled warmly and opened her right hand, presenting the very fluorite point I had been admiring earlier. “Take it.” Her dark hair and eyes were reminiscent of the Miss Lillian I remembered from thirty years ago, and I surmised a familial connection between the two. “This crystal found you, it is your portal to your loved ones on the other side. It knows you struggle here on Earth without them and will help you to call upon them in times of need. They will guide you when you cannot seem to make sense of our constantly corrupt and perilous world. Do you understand?” I shook my head, she continued, “You have the gift, my great Aunt Lillian knew that. She told me you’d come for the crystal when you needed it most.” Again, all I could muster was an awkward head shake and blank stare. “Please, take it and leave, but know this before you go. The crystal will summon the dead instinctively; it does not know who to contact without your focus. You must be mindful of your thoughts when you’re holding it, otherwise you will see and hear all the earthbound spirits wherever you may be. Do you want to give it a try while we are here together?”

“Yes.” 

“Who would you like to see my dear?”

“My Dad.” I choked out the words as I wrapped my fingers tightly around the crystal. Almost instantly, my father materialized, standing behind Miss Lillian’s protege. “Hey kiddo.”

I gasped, my tears burned, blurring my vision before spilling down my cheeks in streams of pure joy. “Oh, you look wonderful.” I managed. 

“Listen kiddo, now that you know what to do, you can call on me any time and I will show up for you, no matter what. But for now, you need to get Kellie home, she’s had enough fun for one night and it’s in her best interest if she quits while she’s ahead, ok?”

“Ok, Dad. I love you.”

“Call me later.” he said matter-of-factly before fading from view.

I blinked hard, “It cannot be just that simple.” 

“Oh, but it is, if you believe. The gift I speak of is the benefit of an open mind and open heart. I can show you.” She plucked a pale pink crystal from her front pocket and called for her great Aunt Lillian. The translucent image of the old Gypsy woman manifested slowly and intentionally, greeting us warmly. “Good evening girls.” She was donned in her signature broom skirt and oversized gold hoop earrings. Her graying hair tied in a bright yellow scarf, both wrists ladened with chunky plastic bangles in every color of the spectrum, appearing to me just as I remembered her from so many years ago. 

“Auntie, it’s always good to see you. This is Kate, does she look familiar to you?”

“Yes, she does.”

“She has finally returned to claim her crystal after all these years.” 

“Did you warn her to stay focused on one particular person at a time?”

“I did.”

“Good girl Ava, now I must go. I have been assisting with crossovers and I am weak. I cannot hold this form for long, but I will return to you soon. Be blessed my children, and know we are always with you.” 

Ava blew an affectionate kiss to her aunt as she returned to the other side in a haze of pale blue light. “She is so pleased that your crystal found you.”

I wanted to be bewildered. After all, I just communed with the dead as if it were an everyday and common undertaking. Instead, I felt confident, curious and grateful. "May I ask one more question before I go?”

“Of course, but what good would I be if I didn’t already anticipate your query? The answer is yes, everyone has the capacity to communicate with the dead. Once the living loses a loved one, a crystal is designated to them so they may always be in touch. The catch is finding your crystal, and not everyone receives that privilege for one reason or another. One must be worthy; you don’t get that new cell phone from Santa if you’re on the naughty list, get it?”

“I do. Thank you, Ava. How much do I owe you for my crystal?” As much as I hated to rush away from her, I couldn’t help but heed the warning my father left me with, regarding Kellie. I do have one more question though, can I tell my friends about the crystal?”

“Of course, although I cannot guarantee Kellie will accept the information, I do know that Lynne has had her crystal since her mother passed on five years ago. Surely, she will welcome the conversation. And you owe me nothing, my new friend. That crystal was already yours, even before you picked it from the basket.” 

I dug a twenty from my pocket and placed it on her table next to her card deck. “Lynne, really? That is amazing. We have always been connected somehow. I’m excited to share this with her. But first things first, time to get Kellie home.” 

As I emerged from behind the Mardi Gras inspired partition, Lynne stood and paced impatiently gesturing to Kellie who was leaning against the dilapidated wooden frame of the booth, flirting with a man half her age. “Let’s get the hell out of here.” Lynne declared loudly, pulling Kellie along by her jacket sleeve. Once again, Lynne and I were responsible for Kellie’s safety as we escorted her away from the young man who would certainly bring about regret and possibly a round of antibiotics. Glancing back just for a moment, for one last look at the iconic sign, weathered, worn and hanging slightly askew above the tiny booth on the boardwalk, I noticed something I hadn’t before. “Miss Lillian: Fortune Teller, Palm Reader, Medium and Crystal Bearer.”  

We walked the length of the boardwalk in silence, heading back to the lot where we parked just a few short hours ago. The fluorite point tucked securely in my front pocket allowed me to see the earthbound spirits moving among the living, some with conviction, while others appeared aimless. I felt for them as I intentionally refrained from making eye contact or speaking directly to them. It was a struggle to keep my focus on my friends, still blissfully unaware of the life changing occurrence I had just experienced in Miss Lillian’s booth on the boardwalk. “Lynne, remind me to tell you about something Ava said to me when we get back to your place, ok?”

“You got it. We can stay up all night talking, just like we did when we were kids. I’m so glad to have you home.” 

Home.