Objective

Bring an object. I'll tell the rest. That was the advertisement and everyone knew it wasn't a repair shop. An object from a “dead relative”. Any object. I could bring in my dead mom's dildo and get a reading right? Your mother's vibration is rising. But, serious. What if it could work? What if she could sense the vibrations from objects of Mom's and tell me what they meant or why they were or weren't important to her. What if something I'm throwing away was of scentimental value and she never told me. We didn't talk much the last twenty-three years of her life because of family differences. I tried to make amends before her death, but felt she didn't understand my amends because of the drugs. This time they were legal drugs like morphein, though. The thing is, what if I never see this woman again and what if this is the real deal? I must've lost my mind. Right, I'm going to bring her mom's panties and Mom'll tell me she's pissed at me for bringing her panties. What am I doing? It's $60.00 for a one hour reading so I e-mail her and asked if it mattered what the object was and asked what other people brought in. 

           She e-mailed me back and said it didn't matter what object as long as the objects were from someone who was “dead”. She doesn't do readings of anyone living or know anyone who does. They must be “dead” and the object has to have been the soul possession of the person who'd died, but as to what object, it made no difference.

           So, I put my credit card through and booked the one hour reading. It was only $60.00 afterall. I could afford it. 

*

I came with the object. I felt foolish. Suppose the medium said this was the wrong object? Suppose Mom didn't talk to this medium or want to talk to me through this medium. Then what? $60.00 down the drain. I entered the business which had new age books everywhere. Things like Think Thin, Be Thin You Can't Afford the Luxury of a Negative Thought, books about witch craft, hinduism, etc. But, I met the woman, a middle-aged woman with white thinning hair, Caucasion, wrinkles, in a black and purple dress almost meant for a funeral.  The woman named, Darla, smiled and said, “You must be Rachael?” I nodded. 

           “Did you remember to bring the object?”

           I felt in my front right jeans pocket. The one made for coins, and felt it: “Yes,” I answered.

           “Good. Don't show it to me until we're in the back”

           She took me through a hanging curtain and a regular door and we entered a room with lace hanging on the walls, the scent of lavendar was everywhere and the lights were dim like a romantic restaurant. She pointed to the seat and I sat down. The she played some music and made sounds like, “Om, Ahm, Um” or something. Then, she said, “Let me have the object” but in a more masculine voice. So, I felt in my pocket and pulled it out. It was bigger than I remembered, but there it was. She felt it and meditated for a few beats and said, “This was your mother's personal garment which she only wore for her husband.”

           “Yes,” I answered.

           “Her vibration is in this object. She's telling me you're looking to marry someone who a sheep in wolf's clothing.”

           “You mean a wolf in sheep's clothing?” I asked.

           “No. That's not what I mean, Deedoo. I mean a sheep in wolf's clothing”.

           Deedoo. That was the pet name she had for me as a child. This woman sitting in front of couldn't have known that, unless. .. . No. Impossible. Mom IS here.

           “What do you mean, Mom? A sheep in wolf's clothing?

           “He looks strong, wild, a leader, because he's trying to catch you, but after a few years you'll realize he's timid and can't do much for himself. He's not a good fit.”

           “Ma!” I said. “You never liked my boyfriends.”

           “There's a man you'll meet at the subway in two weeks who's a wolf in wolf's clothing. In fact, he's in contruction and he's rough, but you'll love him. 

           All the usual questions psychics get came into her head: Will I find true love? Will I have kids? How many? What career should I change to, etc.? But, instead, she asked an unselfish question. “Are you at peace, Mom?”

           There was a pregnant pause and then the answer: “Mostly, yes”. 

           “You still mad about the fights we had?”

           “No, but we should've talked about it more.”

           “Mom, to make sure this is you what were the names of the two dogs we owned in the house where I was born?”

           The woman smiled and said, “Charlie and Joey” and I smiled.

           “This is you, Mama. Am I going in the right career?”

           “No. You're not. Quit trying to impress me and your idiot boyfriend and think about what you love doing.”

           “Ok. 

           “Will I have kids, Mama?”

           “Of course, but not with this clown.”

           “What do you want to tell me, Mama, that I haven't asked?”

           “You know what's best for you better than I do. Better than your boyfriend does. Meditate every day for a month on what you want for you.”

           “Ok, Mama. What else can you tell me?”

           “I'm sorry I was a bitch a lot. Mom's have troubles too.”

           “I understand, Mama. You were doing the best you could.”

           Because of Einstein's Theory of Relativity, the sixty minutes seemed to pass in 60 seconds and the session ended and the lady came out of her meditation and drank a glass of water. I put Mom's item back in my small pocket. The psychic then took me to her front desk and got my signature verifying her payment. She asked if I'd like to schedule another appointment with her and I thought about it and after a beat, said, “Yes. When are you next available?” and the answer was the following week. So, I did. Then, I took my keys out of my purse and went to the car, opened the door, turned the ignition and wept. I miss my Mom. I miss her stories, I miss her hugs, I miss calling her. I miss her and now she's here again, sort of. What if I'm an idiot or being scammed? No, she knew the dog names. She knew the dog names. 

           I dried my tears with some napkins from my take-out lunch and starting driving home, when I saw my mom out the side of my window, but I couldn't make out what she was trying to say. Then, I stopped the car as I was about to rearend someone and I was told, “You're a psychic, too”. Weird. I've never been psychic. So, I decided to stop at the library and check out the 300's, which is the new-age sections. Books like, So, you're a medium. Now what? And the like. Then, a lady said if I needed asssitance to let her know. I picked up a few books and went to check out. They must think I'm nuts.