The Forgetting Saloon

Welcome to The Forgetting Saloon! If you are looking to forget your past then you have come to the right place. I have been in this business for ten years and not to sound boastful but I can assure you that I am rather good at what I do.

I had discovered my psychic abilities at the age of 19. Unlike some in my profession I wasn’t born with these abilities, I had to cultivate them. I worked as an apprentice with several renowned psychics, and after a while I felt I was ready to hang my own shingle. What I lacked in age and experience I made up in panache. I creatively named my business The Forgetting Saloon. A saloon where people could forget their troubles and start afresh. But fate has its own way of chartering destiny.

It was a chilly day in early January when a middle aged man, who I will call Johnson (alias due to client confidentiality agreement) came warily into my shop. I noticed him looking uncertainly around the shop to gauge the authenticity of my abilities. Maybe it was my comforting presence in a colorful gypsy attire or maybe it was his own desperation that made him stay.

“I’m somewhat in a fix,” declared Johnson. “I owe money all across town, and certain unsavory characters are now after my head. I desperately need to have my fortune told. There’s a big poker game tonight that I simply must win. I want you to foretell me the cards I will be dealt.” 

“You, my friend, have come to the right place,” replied I, reassuringly, fixing my turban as it kept covering my eyes. “Come sit on this armchair and follow my lead.” 

He was a little hesitant but let me lead him to the plush purple velvet armchair with the red paisley cushion by the fireplace. I asked him to sit still. I pulled out a crystal hanging on a red string from its sacred wooden box. That was my first experiment with hypnotizing someone and I was extremely excited.

“Now, Mr. Johnson, take a deep breath and clear your mind. Follow this crystal that I swing in front of you with your eyes,” I instructed. “Heed the words I say.”

“Forget the past, the past has ceased to exist….” I chanted, the way I had seen some other psychics from my apprenticeships.

With my words ringing in his head soon Johnson seemed to be in a trance, his eyeballs following the crystal. 

“What can you recall of your past?” I asked.

“Nothing,” He replied. 

I was thrilled at the success of the hypnosis. I gently brought him out of his trance.

“You are now in the here and now,” said I.

“Who are you? Or rather who am I?” asked Johnson, “And what is this horrendous set up? Are you a part of a theatre troupe?” 

Oops! He had come for a future reading, but I had erased his past. Never mind, I was but a novice. I gave him an aggrieved look and proceeded to explain why he was there in my shop. 

“I can’t seem to remember any of that,” he declared impudently and left the store in a huff. 

It was then that I remembered that I had forgotten to tell him the cards he was going to be dealt at the poker game.

The next morning the newspaper headline caught my attention. The article read that a prominent banker who apparently owed money all over the city had been shot in the alley behind a psychic shop by certain unsavory elements of society. Under the article was a photograph of Mr. Johnson. I was saddened at his demise, and I guess it really didn’t matter that I had not told him about the winning poker hand he was to be dealt the night of the poker game.

After that particular incident I realized that my talent lay in helping people forget the past. I would give them a chance to start anew with no baggage of past memories.

I cannot even begin to tell you of the sheer number of people who wanted to wipe out the past, and I was the answer to their prayers.

My most famous client was Cynthia (alias), an upcoming actress. She was trying to get over her illicit lover who also happened to be the director of her upcoming movie.

His wife had accidentally read through his daily journal and found out about the affair. Things had gotten nasty. The wife had taken to constantly haranguing Cynthia, not caring whether it was night or day. 

“She keeps threatening that she’ll ruin me. Oh I can’t deal with the unpleasantness of it all,” cried Cynthia, “It hurts my sensibilities. I wish I can forget it all. Can you make it go away?” 

I rose to my higher purpose and helped her forget, thereby giving her a new lease on life.

One day walking down the street I could’ve sworn I saw Cynthia. But it really couldn’t be. The homeless woman in raggedy clothes sitting on the pavement by the train station definitely could not be the beautiful actress! 

Despite all the good I have been doing, sometimes people look at things negatively and tell me I do more harm than help. But still business over the past few years has been picking up.

Today, I woke up feeling exceptionally blessed and the world around me seems to be imbued in a positive vibe. I just know that good things are headed my way. I’m a firm believer in Karma, the concept of what goes around comes around. 

The bell at the door of the saloon chimes as my first customer of the day walks in. I peer to see who has entered. Maybe it is a Maharaja, or a politician or even a famous actor!

Who are these two men who have just entered the shop? They look like a bunch of thugs!!

They start to throw things around; I am confused and petrified. They are causing too much chaos in my peaceful environment. 

“Hey, careful with that crystal globe!” I exclaim. “What is the meaning of all this?”

“Charlatan, what did you do to our Tony?” says the man with the huge mole on his cheek giving his face an unpleasant look. “He can’t seem to remember anything. We found your business card in his coat pocket.”

Who is Tony? I look through my register of visitors. Oh, the young man who was barely 21 years of age and so tormented by the tragic incident. 

“Of course... Tony, I helped him forget that awful robbery which led to the ensuing murder of the elderly couple,” I exclaim.

The two men look at me in horror. 

“You know way too much for your own good.” says the one with the unpleasant face, menacingly coming closer.

My psychic abilities are now on high alert, or rather, they are off the charts! 

‘Red Alert, Red Alert’ beeps through my perceptive brain.

“Just shoot her and let’s get out of here,” suggests his counterpart.

BANG goes the gunshot. 

I open my eyes to plain white walls. I’m hooked to a million monitors and tubes.

“Where am I?” I ask the grey haired lady in scrubs who is hovering near my bed. 

“Praise the Lord you are awake! You are in the hospital, dearie. For a while there we thought we had almost lost you,” replies my own Nightingale. “How do you feel?”

“I feel fantastic, but I do have one question - who am I?” I ask her.