Nelson sat very still. He was apparently stunned. His jaw dropped as he prepared to speak but found no words that could reconcile what I’d said with the things he knew about me. He shook his head a few times as if to dispel the uncertainty. Finally, he closed his mouth, crossed his arms across his chest, and nodded for me to continue again.
“For example, when I saw the meteor hit Russia, I didn’t know it was Russia. I saw the meteor streaking through the sky and colliding with buildings, but from the vantage point of the vision there was nothing in the image that allowed me to know where it hit.” Nelson looked like he was holding as steady as anyone would under the circumstances, so I went on. “As to when an event will happen, I’ve only recently tried to categorize the kaleidoscope images into some kind of pattern… to understand the timeframe, but I can’t find a pattern. It can be as little as a few days or up to a few months. The only thing I know for sure is that the images I see don’t change until the event happens.”
“Mike, have you considered contacting a research facility that specializes in paranormal phenomena? An agency like that could make sense of more than just the timeframe. Perhaps experts would have more success in pinpointing dates and times. Research…,” However, I cut him off in midsentence.
“Hell no!” I nearly shouted, reacting quickly to the suggestion. Then I lowered my voice, “Nelson, I can’t take the chance that others will find out about this—my life could change forever. People with paranormal abilities are often locked away and studied; you know that. Someone would eventually want to find out why I’m different or why I see these events. No, Nelson, I’d never consider that option. That’s why I’ve been so careful to never reveal this secret—I don’t want the government or some secret society on my ass!”
“I think that’s a little paranoid, Mike,” Nelson finally said with a deep sigh. “I wish you’d give me more to go on. As your friend, I have to admit this admission is mind boggling, and I’m more than a little worried for you. As a doctor, I’m intrigued. It’s amazing. You don’t appear to be under duress or exhibiting any signs of grandiose behavior or psychosis. Other than the story you’ve told me, you seem fine. I have to wonder what happened to cause this, because it’s just not the Mike I’ve known for many years.”
The definition of psychotic break came rushing back to me as if I’d taken Psych 101 the previous day. Textbook descriptions of paranoid patients repeating, ‘I see things’ or ‘I hear things’ or ‘someone is watching me’ poured into my mind.
Nelson must think I’m psychotic.
“Well, maybe if I’d come to you sooner you’d have a little more faith in what I’m telling you, Nelson. But the truth is that I haven’t told anyone about this and didn’t think I ever would. Watch the news. After you hear about the ‘attack of giant plants’ we’ll have more to discuss.” I chuckled softly at my own reference—it sounded sci-fi. Hell, everything I’d told Nelson today sounded sci-fi, but it didn’t change the fact that it was true. I stood up to leave.
“Mike, I have one more point to make…It seems the sixth sense you had in college has evolved into the dramatic version described today. I’d like to focus on how that happened at our next meeting. I have you scheduled for next Wednesday at two o’clock. Does that work for you?” Nelson asked.
“Yeah, I’ll see you next week. Give Sarah my love and pat the kids on the head for me,” I replied with relief, glad to conclude the meeting.
“Ok, Mike, ok,” Nelson, lost in thought, said again. He looked heavenward, rubbing the bottom of his chin with his index finger and thumb. Then, he stood and came around from behind the desk. “Oh, and Mike, start a journal. Write down everything that happens, even the minor stuff, and journal your thoughts as well. Don’t leave anything out or monitor it. I want your honest, free flowing assessment of everything that you think or dream between now and next week. Bring it to the next appointment,” Nelson said as he walked me to the door. All the while, his hand was on my back, patting softly as if I was an errant child that he attempted to comfort in some way. This gesture was amusing, but I understood how difficult it was for him to hear the things I’d shared. I left Nelson’s office and walked briskly down the crowded street to Cavenders coffeehouse. A shot of espresso sounded appealing.
Cavenders is a chain internet café and serves every roasted coffee a person can imagine. A latte breve with an extra shot has always been my ticket to happiness. After the stressful meeting with Nelson, I wanted a coffee and a cigarette.
As hard as it was to tell him, it had also provided a sense of freedom not easily explained. I took the hot cup of Java to an outside table and fished the electronic cigarette out of my shirt pocket. I drank the coffee and puffed on the e-cig in silence before walking home.
As for Nelson’s suggestion to journal, I began right away. Just the act of recording my thoughts seemed to help, and once I began to write, I couldn’t seem to stop—it was cathartic and purifying. It allowed me to see things I’d previously ignored and refused to question.
Is it necessary to look at a thing in order to see it?
I started writing in the first volume of a set of three journals that my mother bought when I went to work at GMS, my first and only employer. GMS had promised travel and adventure. Dawn had suggested that, while I traveled the world, the journals would be an appropriate place to record meaningful events and places visited.
The journals, nine by seven inches each, were bound is a rich Moroccan leather and hand tooled. Roman numerals I, II, and III were embossed on the individual covers. The inside flaps were lined with goatskin and the edges were laced with a goatskin thong. The plain paper pages, approximately one hundred per book, were unlined and handmade, bound in sheaves rather than glued.
Like the visions, the journals were a very costly gift that I’d never appreciated. I’d kept them in a bedside table all these years, taking them out on occasion to dust and oil the leather, but they’d only been a keepsake, something to remind me of Dawn’s love.
Chapter Five
The next morning, I sat on the deck with a morning coffee. I went over the previous conversation with Nelson again in my mind, thinking and rethinking it. I worried over it. Even though we’d been friends since Columbia, did I really know him?
My parents dubbed us the ‘College-Five’ because we gravitated to each other like magnets…me, Tasha, Sarah, Nelson and Joe. I’d met each through one of the core classes all freshmen take. Our connections were immediate and difficult to describe. My mother said we were ‘kindred-spirits’ or ‘like-minded.’ We’d stayed friends throughout our entire educational endeavors and remained friends now. I’d limited visits with my closest friends in recent years—all in an attempt to hide my secret. I’d convinced myself that I was protecting them.
I’m a New York City boy, educated in the public school system, from the Upper East Side of Manhattan. It sounds glitzy, but it isn’t. We lived in the middle section off 61st Street. A few blocks in any direction could put you in an entirely different situation, even in harm’s way.
I’d felt lost in junior high and high school, but from the first day at Columbia, it was a completely different experience. I found my element. I discovered the ingredient that had been missing in life so far—close friends. I discovered that you don’t need a lot of friends; you only need a few friends with a lot of common interests. My parents had suggested I live on campus even though we didn’t live that far away. They wanted me to have a full college experience, complete with living on my own. I’m grateful for their foresight because it was paramount in my personal development.
I met Tasha Jones the first week in Chemistry 101 lab. She was slender, cute, and blonde. Our first lab assignment was to synthesize aspirin. We were advanced students, but due to budget cuts, we’d never had a proper chemistry lab. Our experiences were purely theoretical. The class was paired into two-member teams to perform the hands-on experiment. My partner, eager to finally have chemistry tools at his disposal,
hogged the entire assignment. Tasha’s partner left her to do the work alone while she flirted with one of the male students. With our stations beside each other, Tasha was overwhelmed and close to tears. I moved over to offer assistance.
Making aspirin required exact measurements, precise calculations, and a calm, cool head. I talked Tasha through the steps as if I’d done it a thousand times before. In the end, we were the only team with time to perform a recrystallization to purify the product. Tasha was ecstatic and called me her ‘tall, dark, and handsome knight’ from that day on. She confided that she was from a small town near Albuquerque, called Rio Rancho, and couldn’t wait to leave the dry, dusty place behind her. She never looked back and vowed she never would.
I met Sarah Rubenstein about three weeks later in a Philosophy study group. She was from Indianapolis, educated at an all-girls school, and the eldest daughter of Jewish parents. Her father was a successful Ophthalmologist, and her mother an avid supporter and chairperson for The Juvenile Diabetes Foundation. Sarah’s younger brother was diabetic. The family structure and her brother’s struggle with his illness had made her a very outspoken young woman. There were many heated discussions between her and Professor Studebaker. We became fast friends, and soon, Sarah joined Tasha and me in our unofficial group at lunch and between classes.
Nelson Fitch was from Boston, educated at preparatory schools and the middle child of Jewish parents. His family was established diamond dealers. Nelson had two older and two younger sisters and felt like the odd man out at home. We were in the same Psychology class but we hadn’t met. When Nelson noticed Sarah and Tasha sitting with me at lunch, he wasn’t shy about joining in. He demanded to know why I had two beautiful girlfriends when he didn’t have any. I laughed and then introduced him to Sarah first and later Tasha as dear, sweet friends.
Joseph Talbot was the final member of the group. He was short for most freshmen, and although he grew to six feet during the time spent at Columbia, he was bullied because of his dialect and height. Joe was from Vicksburg, Mississippi, educated in the public school system and the only son in a family with three daughters. His parents struggled with expenses on a daily basis, but Joe had earned an academic scholarship to Columbia, and his family held fundraisers to pay for his initial trip to New York and one month’s living expenses. He worked part-time jobs throughout college just to eat.
Joe was in my Political Science class and we knew each other by sight only. One day after class, two guys held Joe cornered against a wall when I walked by. I’d never liked bullies and my height alone was enough to intimidate most. I leaned over to talk to Joe about the assignment and the two bullies skulked away. Joe joined the group that day, and it felt complete. The College-Five was official.
We were all on scholarships despite our family’s ability or inability to pay for an education, and all of us were shy and insecure, at least in the beginning. The days at Columbia taught us much about life and our true natures—not the pigeonholed insecurities and reputations we’d acquired in high school. The friendships gave us confidence in who we were and the direction our lives would take. We spent many hours together sharing our beliefs and philosophies about life in general and what we wanted from it.
Today, Tasha lives in London as a top-notch, award-winning photographer. Sarah is a freelance journalist working from home, which also allows her to be a devoted mother. She’s successful in her own right on both fronts. Nelson teaches Psychology at Columbia and has a small, but successful, clinical practice on the side. Joe works for the Federal Bureau of Investigation, recruited straight from Columbia. He’s risen to a position of authority as one of the youngest agency directors. I’ve chased the geology train around the world and back.
In general, all of us are doing what we love most. Tasha is highly acclaimed in Europe for her amazing photo shoots and she’s in a committed, long-term relationship. Sarah and Nelson have been married for nineteen years and have two wonderful children. Joe is divorced, but highly involved in his career leaving little time for a social life. I’m satisfied with my job along with the freedom and travel it offers, but I’ve had six relationships since college. None of them included marriage or children. I’m unattached and a dedicated bachelor by all accounts. If truly honest, I’m also a bit lonely.
Is that loneliness driving my desire for change?
I can’t share the secret with a partner and this ‘holding-back’ is something a woman can’t abide. I’ve come to understand that when a woman thinks a man is hiding something—she assumes it has to be another woman. Even if I’d wanted to explain, I can’t. Who would understand that I see visions of the future through a kaleidoscope? It’s a preposterous notion and the mere mention might cause dissection in some lab.
After the recent discussion with Nelson, I wondered if what he’d said was true.
Did I have the gift when at Columbia?
Adom seemed to believe that. If so, why couldn’t I recall it? Why did talking about it make me feel out of sorts and a little crazy?
Still, I wondered why I’d told Nelson. The logical reason that came quickly and with conviction—I needed to tell someone. I’d needed to talk about it for a long time. I had to break the pattern and routine of secrecy that stifled me if I wanted change.
The silence was choking the life out of me.
Chapter Six
The next day, I walked to Cavenders for a coffee and breakfast croissant. I intended to spend a couple of hours on one of their computers to research new pesticides or herbicides. I wanted to understand more about the plant images from the vision. After fighting and denying the ability for many years, I’d finally begun to research the images as they occurred. In the current vision, some type of herbicide, used to kill weeds, had the opposite effect. The weeds had become prolific and gigantic, almost hybrid.
I was a creature of habit—Cavenders was another place I frequented when in town. It was a good spot to settle in for a few hours. Although the coffeehouse was often crowded, most of the customers were only stopping by on their way to work and would soon clear out for a brief time before the lunch crowd began.
I ordered a sandwich and a latte breve with an extra shot from Tony. Tony ran the place, and although Cavenders was like a revolving door for the regular employees, Tony had been there as long as I could remember. I took the coffee and sat at one of the tables in the back near a window to wait for the sandwich. I was seated a few minutes when a stunning brunette approached my table with coffee in hand. I whistled soundlessly. She was a real looker, and she held my gaze for several minutes before she asked to join me.
When the coffeehouse is crowded, it’s not uncommon to share a table with strangers. I didn’t think anything unusual about the request. I gestured at the empty seat and nodded. I’d never considered myself handsome, so I didn’t take the request as a come-on.
I have thick dark-brown hair and eyes colored like a cat’s, a strange grey mixed with a little green. My complexion is good, and although it’s originally fair, I have a healthy tan from working outside. My physical condition is strong with hard abs and glutes. My legs are like tree trunks. Over the years, I’d found that women found me attractive, but were often shy, especially in the beginning. Later, they confided that I seemed aloof and mysterious, almost unapproachable. That reaction forced me to be more out-going than I’m normally inclined to be. Now, the brunette’s approach was refreshing; she didn’t find me unfriendly.
Her name was Casey—Cassandra Beatrice D’Angelo to be exact—and she was truly a gorgeous woman. She was in her mid-thirties, about five feet nine inches tall and slender with an athletic tautness to her body. Her complexion was a creamy-soft olive, characteristic of Italian descent. Dark, smooth hair hung down her back and emphasized blue eyes that sparkled like the Mediterranean Sea. I smiled a boyish, lop-sided grin. The breakfast sandwich arrived.
“Would you like a sandwich or something to go with the coffee?” I asked.
“No, just the coffe
e, darling,” Casey declined the offer as she flashed a perfectly white smile through full, exotic lips. I wondered what it’d be like to kiss those lovely, inviting lips.
Casey was anything but shy. She immediately launched into a series of stories about herself and at intervals asked appropriate questions about me. Her enunciation and verbiage were unusual. I tried to place it, but the best description was the 1940s movie era. She reminded me of characters played by Katherine Hepburn, Rita Hayworth, or Vivien Leigh, but I couldn’t decide which one. Probably, all of them.
Each sentence was punctuated by ‘darling’ or ‘dear’ and further flourished with comments such as ‘I do declare’ or ‘how insufferable.’ Despite this eccentricity, the conversation was easy and relaxed. While drinking coffees over the next several hours, I began to find both Casey and this peculiarity enchanting.
She was one of ‘the D’Angelos’ of Manhattan and had recently returned from Rome. We laughed at the coincidence that I’d also been in Rome during my assignment to Terni, Italy. Apparently, the world was smaller than imagined. The D’Angelos are old New York money and, as it is with most wealthy families, they had their fingers in many pies. Casey confided that she’d traveled to the ‘old country’ on family business for her father who was turning over more and more responsibility to her since her childless marriage of eight years had recently ended in divorce.
“I do declare! I only came in to get a coffee, but I was so attracted to you, darling, I decided to stay rather than take it to go,” Casey said easily while again flashing a brilliant smile. I admired that the admission was forthright and, not easily flattered, I smiled in return.
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