My Future, Me and Mr. E

There was a time I obsessed over the future and had an entire lot of psychics at my disposal, ready to summon spirits and read auras. There was the Guatemalan woman who read cards in the back of a botanica - the tarot cards read on a table behind a checkered cubicle curtain – who said I would continue my studies in 2005. I was impressed, until she thought I was a high school student. Then there was the Dominican woman who read las barajas atop a four legged folding table inside her hall closet. Once while lighting a white candle, she told me she pictured a terrorist attack with water as the weapon. Now, what did that have to do with my love life? And how I can forget the Dominican Spanish speaking Haitian. His spiritual center located downstairs of an income tax/real estate/cash delivery business. He predicted a man I dated would call me in three days, and he did! But in the next visit he urged me to break “the hex” cast on my romantic life by purchasing his special love bath. I was disturbed and immediately turned off, and at that instant I decided I would refrain from going to psychic’s regularly. Allow events in my life to take place without advance warning. But I had one more trip to take before going cold turkey. It was time to go to New York City’s Greenwich Village to visit J.D., the infamous Italian gay psychic.

I arrived at J.D.’s lavish home with my friend Chloe two months before my 25th birthday. A tall thin man opened the door and led us into a bi-level apartment. He motioned us toward the white leather couches sitting amid bamboo plants and glass tables. As we took our seats, he offered us a drink from the water cooler that stood against a white wall (just like in an office.) Chloe and I declined the offer. He then opened a black book, asked for our names, and then for seventy five dollars each. I dug into my purse, gave up three twenties, a ten and a five, and sunk back into the couch, starring at the sculptures, the paintings, the giant flat screen TV. It seemed J.D. was making quite a living telling fortunes.

I was the first to go. I rose from the softness of the couch and left Chloe searching through the fashion magazines stacked atop the coffee table. After walking up five steps and turning to my left, I entered another immaculate room. There was J.D. - bald, overweight, and color coordinated in what resembled silk pajamas. He sat behind a desk, swiveling in his chair and waving me in. While I approached, he stopped swiveling and began scribbling notes on a post-it. I sat there for a few seconds waiting for his voodoo magic to take place – a candle lit, a moan, the sprinkling of holly water, the unwrapping of a set of tarot cards, anything - but he just sat there, starring, scribbling away. I leaned back on the chair and he finally brought down the pencil and spoke.

“You’re 24. An Aries. So that means that you’re a bit of a handful at times. Men have a hard time keeping up with you,” he said.

I laughed. “Yeah, something like that.”

“But they’re the ones missing out, honey. When you’re in love, watch out! You give everything! You’re passionate, loyal, trustworthy, giving, and you can go anywhere and have a blast. They’re fools!”

I smiled. This psychic was fun, and so right.

“And I also see children all around you, lots of them. You’re a teacher.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Man, you’re good.” I said.

“Honey, it only gets better. Let’s talk about why you’re really here, your love life” he said.

I laughed, inched myself toward the front of my chair, and pulled at my pinky ring to ease my nerves.

“Your next relationship will be at 26.”

My eyes widened.

“What?!” I shouted.

“Honey, don’t get all huffy on me. This is going to be good for you. This man is going to sweep you off your feet. He’s going to show you things you’ve never experienced, honey. You are going to be in heaven, in love. But it will be when you are 26. Not now. Now you’ll just have fun.”

“But 26 is so far away,” I replied.

I leaned back, feeling defeated once again.

“Listen to me. It’s going to happen at 26. And his first name, his first name will begin with the letter E. You can’t fight Destiny, honey!”

I gave him half a smile and pushed myself off the chair. It was all J.D. could tell me at that moment. I would have to take it or leave it. We shook hands and he told me to come back at 27. Not in a month, not in a year, but at 27. I nodded and while walking back down the stairs I wondered if I could live a life of uncertainty. If I could actually survive the months with that one inside tip. I promised myself it would have to do. Meeting Mr. E at 26 would just have to do. Because I couldn’t fight Destiny, honey.