“Please forgive my honesty,” Veronica said as I put my right hand on the small table.
Why not? I had a come to her broom closet of a studio to hear whatever she could allegedly glean from reading the lines of my palm. As John Lennon liked to say, just gimme some truth…
“I’m a spiritualist,” Veronica explained. “I’m not a witch or a fortune teller.”
This was on Saturday night and I was feeling no pain, as the saying goes, having knocked back a couple of glasses of wine over dinner at one of my favorite Mexican restaurants.
I had nothing to do, which has been happening with depressing regularity lately, and I told myself that this would be fun, even though there was some part of me hoping to
get…something more out of this experience.
It’s seems strange that in this age of the Internet and the selfie stick so many people are looking to the mystic arts for answers about love, money, and career.
But I’ve always had a need for a bit of the magic in my life and I have a lot of company. I could only imagine what my late father, who loathed all things supernatural, would’ve have thought if he could have seen me now.
I got the idea to do this a couple weeks ago when another psychic—where are they all coming from?—was giving out fliers on Fifth Avenue advertising readings for 10 bucks.
I had originally planned to see this woman on Saturday, but, after walking into an empty studio on two separate occasions, I decided to take my spiritual business elsewhere. And that’s how I met Veronica.
“Watch your head,” Veronica told me, nodding to the low-hanging shelf over my chair.
I heeded her warning, but not for long as I cracked my cranium on the damn thing just a few minutes later. Shit, why hadn’t Veronica predicted that?
“You’re blessed with a long and healthy life,” Veronica said, despite my throbbing coconut. “You’re a very giving person, but people have used that against you.”
Oh, they have indeed, far too often and for far too long. Veronica went through a nice mix of compliments and cautions, some of which were surprisingly accurate.
“Forgive me for saying this,” she said, “but you have a lot of negative energy. You absorb it from people around you.”
Right again. Veronica correctly surmised that I’m depressed, that I’ve been having difficulty sleeping, and that I’ve been going through some bad times lately.
“You’ve been having trouble making decisions,” she said.
Another bullseye. In fact for the last two weekends I’ve planned on going out with my Meetup group only to agonize, debate, and finally bail at the very last minute. And I wound up doing virtually nothing.
Veronica also picked up my tendency to ruminate about the past.
“You went in the wrong direction 12 or 15 years ago,” she said.
I think it was more like 30 years ago, when I failed to make good on all my talk about moving to Los Angeles and pursing my dream of being a filmmaker.
Still, my sister encouraged me to think about something that might have happened—or failed to happen--in the time frame that Veronica described, but I’ve yet to come up with anything.
At the end of the reading Veronica suggested I get a special psychic makeover and I must say it sounded tempting to have my chakras dry-cleaned. Maybe this would be the thing that finally sets me on the right path.
But then she told me it would cost 350 bucks. Please forgive my honesty, but that’s too goddamn expensive.
Nevertheless, I’m glad I went for the reading.
It really was fun, except for the head banging business, and even though I don’t believe in it—or at least I don’t think I do—the session got me looking at how I’ve been living my life and that’s certainly worth a sawbuck.
We all want answers, we all want to be happy, and we all want to be loved. You just have to find the right way to get there.
Maybe I should try voodoo…