The Calling

by Jeffrey Hancock

  My work is done, and the theater is empty of life. There will never be a better time. I decided to indulge a fantasy I have held since childhood. Just like a little leaguer pretending to be in the big leagues by walking up to the plate and pointing where the ball is going, I walked to the center of the stage. An audience appeared before me. The hall was filled with faces from my past. Faces of grade schoolteachers to grumpy customers from my night manager days sat filling the seats. It has been a long time since I have fully indulged my imagination. This is going to be fun. I pulled the memory of the first time I saw Man of La Mancha. Richard Kiley sang “The Impossible Dream.” I was in awe.

  I envisioned myself in the title role, and with the memory of his performance inside me, I began. I know I can’t sing worth a spit, but I belted it out with no reservations. “To dream the impossible dream.” In my mind, the impossible dream meant not to let the limitations others place in your way to foil you. “To fight the unbeatable foe.” The unbeatable foe to me is that part of myself that listens to the naysayers. “To bear with unbearable sorrow.” To me, this line always seemed aimed at me and my depression, but now it means hiding the loss of our son from my wife. It is a burden I will carry until the day I die. “To run where the brave dare not go.” For me, not to let fear rule your life.

  As I sang this song, I let each line’s meaning, as I saw it, flow over me. I let the lines reinforce my own resolve. “To be willing to march into Hell for a Heavenly cause.” I had no reference for this sentence. Oh, I faced a creature bent on killing my family, but there was no bravery or nobility to it. I did what any man would do for his family. The best I could conjure is the men who stormed the beaches in Normandy, France. They certainly marched into Hell for what was a Heavenly cause. Would I have the courage to do that? To fling myself into what is most certainly my death for my fellow man? What is it the Bible said, Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. While I would never suppose I could improve the Bible, I would add to that quote loved ones, the innocent, and strangers.

  “And the world will be better for this,” I doubt the world would be better. There is evil in this world, both huge and petty. Even though the struggle is futile, it doesn’t mean we should give up. The struggle is the thing. The struggle makes us stronger.

  “To reach the unreachable star.” The unreachable star is obtaining that one goal, discovering that one belief and the serenity in knowing you can never truly reach it.

  Applause broke out from the audience. The sound of cheering filled my mind. I bowed to the audience. My imagined admiration was disturbed by the sound of a real set of hands clapping. “Who is that? I’m sorry, that wasn’t meant for anyone’s ears or eyes.”

  “It is just me, Isabella. Nathan, I am truly impressed; you killed it. I don’t think I have ever heard that song done better.” She said all this as she walked into the light, so I could get a look at her. She did not look good. The downward cast of the house-light from above was not flattering. It threw shadows down her face. She looked much older and tired.

  “You are kind, but I know I can’t sing. Please don’t tell anyone about my little indulgence. I would be too embarrassed if anyone found out.”

  “Okay, Nathan. I’ll keep your little secret, but I am not being kind. You sang it with such feeling. It was like your heart was open to me. Nathan, you did kill it.” Isabella left the hall for parts unknown.

  I thought I was alone. I never would have sung out like I did if I knew anyone was here. Why is Isabella here today? Theater people. I just shook my head mentally. I finished up what needed to be done. Grabbing the trash, I headed out the door. I tossed the trash in the bin as I walked to the bus stop. Home awaits.

  When I arrived, Char was sitting on the couch doing her crafting, and Moiraine was at the table with all her coloring supplies, making a new masterpiece. “I am off for the rest of the day, so are we going to use those tickets to the psychic fair?”

  Char put her crafting down in her lap, “I don’t know, Nathan. I’m not sure I want to expose Moiraine to those kinds of influences.”

  “Come on now, Char. I summon up her dead grandmother so she can talk to her, and she faced a pretty big zombie type monster in her dreams. I think she is well-armored against charlatans, and we will be right there with her. It will be fun. We can tease people who say they can talk to the dead. I can call up a ghost for them to really see. It will surprise the bejeebers out of them. Who knows, I may even pick-up a few pointers.”

  “Well, it will be nice to get out of the house. Taking a walk around the park will be good exercise, and I could use the fresh air. Let’s do it.” Char stood and said, “Moiraine, put your coloring away. We are going to the park.” Mo piped-up with a cheer of excitement then grabbed her artwork and ran for her room. Likewise, Char put her work away and headed to the bedroom. I waited by the door for my girls. We were off.

  We arrived at Balboa Park, and to my surprise, we found a parking spot right away. My luck has been running pretty good when it comes to finding decent parking lately. My luck with finding a new permanent job, not so much. We followed the flyers to the fair. I am surprised to find the flyers lead us to that grassy area near the stand of trees I like. It is not a big gathering. I saw fifteen pop-ups with tables underneath. The pitchmen are hawking their wares to everyone walking by. They sold everything from crystals and singing bowls to incense and essential oils. I counted half-a-dozen circular tents with conical tops. At the height of the center pole above the tents, little flags of different colors flapped in the gentle breeze. All the tents, save one, have dual colored panels, mostly combinations of blue, green, and red, all with white. One tent stuck out from the rest: no two panels had the same colors. It looked thrown together with left-over remnants from a quilting bee. In front of these pavilions, homemade signs told of all the services which could be had inside. There is a tea reader. There are a couple of palmists. One spirit medium claimed she could talk to the dead. If we have the time today, I just may test her. There are a few tarot card readers, and the list goes on.

  Our entrance tickets gave each of us a small reading with our choice of the divinator. I wasn’t sure what I wanted read. “Well, ladies, what fantasy shall we indulge in that this fair has to offer? Moiraine, do you want your palm read or maybe your chakra?”

  “It is all grass here, Daddy. There are no sidewalks to use the chalk on.”

  “It’s not chalk, Honey. I said chakra. The Indians say they are spiritual energy.”

  “That sounds weird,” Moiraine said.

  “Yes, Nathan. This is all a little over the top. This has been a nice distraction, but let’s go home now.”

  “Fine with me, but I do want to get a reading from that strange tent with all the colors.” We strolled to the tent. The sign in front of this colorful tent was professionally made. It was quite a menu. The vendor in this tent claimed they could read auras, tarot cards, interpret dreams, and tell the future. Tell the future, huh. I wonder if they know I’m coming. A sign on the tent flap read “enter,” so I did. Coughing a little as I entered, I wanted to alert the proprietor to my presence.

  “Have a seat, young man,” the woman said as she walked by me to close the tent flap. When she finished, she took up the seat across from me at the circular table. The table is covered in a deep purple cloth with stylized stars and stones. In the center of the table rests a crystal ball. This woman was close to my age. I could see crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes. She has a tired look about her. Her hair is jet black and styled loosely and puffed up a bit to give it some body. It is eighties hair all the way. She was dressed like she was cosplaying a gypsy, with a white blouse laced up the front third of the garment and with full sleeves. She wore a large skirt with numerous pleats. It had a colorful pattern on a black background. Over her shoulders and wrapped in her elbows was a shawl matching her skirt.

  I spoke out, “I have these tickets.” I placed the tickets on th
e table and fanned them out a bit. “I don’t know how you get paid out of the ticket prices, but you can have all three with this one reading. They are yours now. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m no tattletale. Is this all legit?”

  Before she said another word, she collected the tickets and placed them in a small money box she kept by her seat. “So, you doubt Esmeralda?” She raised one eyebrow and held out her hands. “Take them please.” I checked her hands to be sure she didn’t have a French Manicure. You know, just in case. As I began to place my hands in hers but before they touched, a huge spark of static electricity jumped between our hands. We both pulled our hands back instantly. There is surprise in her expression. I have no clue if there is an expression on my face. All I know is it hurt like Hell. Esmeralda said, “I see.” She held her hands out again. I drew my hands closer, hesitating in an instinctive fear of another shock.

  After our hands touched, she gripped both my hands strongly and inhaled a gasp of breath. Her eyes rolled back into her head. I only touched her hands. I swear. Did her toes curl too? Sensing another mind in my own, I turned my awareness inward. She is wandering around in the hall of records, the filing cabinets where I store my memories. I caught her as she started to open the drawer to my early childhood. “A little privacy, if you don’t mind.”

  “Sorry, most times, I am in someone’s mind by myself. I must say you have a well-ordered mind,” Esmeralda said. She began walking further down my memories when she came upon my safe. She brushed a finger across it. “I don’t understand. What is this?”

  “It is the place I keep all my happiest first-time memories, so I can relive the moments firsthand again.”

  “What kind of first-time memories?”

  “The first time I kissed my wife. The first time I called her my wife. The first time my daughter said, “I love you, Daddy.” Mostly memories of my wife and daughter,” I admitted. Esmeralda continued her walk through my mind. She found the knot of synapses I use to contain Da’von. Stretching out her hand to touch the knot, I reacted without thought. Fast as a viper, I grabbed her wrist and pulled her away. The look of surprise came to her face.

  “How did you do that? No one has ever stopped me that fast or that hard before.” She was rubbing her wrist as she spoke.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I don’t know what would happen if anyone touched that part of my mind.”

  “What is it?” Esmeralda asked.

  “The spirit of a man, or at least what used to be a man. It is trapped here until I find a way to safely move him to a prison, or I find a way to kill him.”

  “I am tiring. Let’s get out of here,” Esmeralda said, and my awareness changed. My question answered, “she is legit.”

  Esmeralda got up from the table and walked to the front of the tent. She flipped through some signs by the door and chose one. I glimpsed what it read, “The Spirits Are Quiet.” As she opened the tent flap, I heard her say, “I am sorry, but I am fatigued. It has been a difficult day. The spirits have been frightened away by too many unbelievers.” I was impressed she could say that without busting out laughing.

  She took her chair again and looked at me. In a sudden move, she pulled off the wig she had been wearing. Under her disguise of raven hair, she wore a messy pixie cut of blazing red. She scratched her scalp a bit, which emphasized her messy hair. “Say, do you want some tea?” She stood and rummaged around in the back of the tent.

  “Are you going to read the leaves?”

  “No, I’m going to drink it. Earl Grey, right, Nathan?”

  “Umm, how did you know?”

  “Too funny. You’re in a psychic’s tent, and you ask how. Considering you have the gift too, I would think you would be more tuned-in.” She placed two cups on the table along with a sugar bowl, a small carton of heavy cream, and a large thermos. She sat down again and started fixing her cup. She put one teaspoon of sugar in her cup and poured in some cream. Next, she opened the thermos and served us the tea.

  “You didn’t stir your tea?”

  “Silly. If you put the sugar and cream in first, when you pour, it stirs itself. It dirties fewer dishes.” She put her cup up to her nose, holding it with both hands. Inhaling deeply, she smiled. Closing her eyes, she sipped. Still smiling, she said, “Oh, I do love a good cup of tea. Back to the matter at hand. My name is Elizabeth Martin; you can call me Lizzy.”

  “Nice to meet you, Lizzy. Why the fake name and wig?”

  “It’s all part of the show. People expect the theatrics.” She took another sip of her tea. I took a deep drink of mine. Normally I sweeten my tea, but I didn’t want to dirty her only spoon.

  “Was the spark, the eye-rolling to the back of your head real or show?” I had come to this as a lark, but I am seeing it differently now.

  “Oh, that was real. I know you have questions. Let me just tell you what I got from our encounter.” I gave a head nod of approval. “You have a strong talent, but something is blocking you. I can’t tell what. I also felt you are a traveler.”

  “Yes, in my dreams,” I stated

  “Don’t be dense. You can’t travel in your dreams. You travel the astral plane. When you are on the astral plane, it can seem like a dream. It is a strange reflection of our reality.”

  “May I ask you several hundred questions?”

  A smile found her face as she lifted the cup for another sip. “You may ask one,” she said as she put her cup down.

  “The spirit living in my mind, can I kill it or contain it in something, so it never gets out? I lean heavily in the kill it camp. I must remove it from my mind. I fear it will all to soon learn how to usurp my body.”

  “Possess your body? I don’t think so. You’re talking myths and fairytales now. Creatures from this plane can’t do that, and any creature from the other planes would rip your mind apart in possessing you.”

  “I don’t know how to convince you it’s real.” Lightbulb! I held my hands out once more. “Enter my mind again. I’ll show you.” Lizzy took my hands, then almost instantly, I felt her in my mind. She stood there in my hall of records. “Have a seat.” I imagined a chair for her. Next, I created a table.

  “Nathan, that is amazing. It feels solid to me. How do you do that?”

  “I imagine what I want. I know it to be real in my mind. It appears. Okay, wait right here. I’ll be right back.” I returned with a stack of file folders with some of my memories in them. “Go ahead and peruse these.”

  Lizzy looked at me with a puzzled look, but she did open the first folder. She started flipping through each one. This was taking all too long, so I increased the speed my memories played out. You would think it would take just as long to experience the memory as the real event. But no. Remembering is faster for some reason. It helped, too, that I gave her only the memories where I interacted with Da’von directly. Lizzy finished the last page and looked up to me. Her eyes were as large as the saucers she used to serve the tea. Instantly we are back from my mind.

  Oh, my God. What did I do to her? Blood is slowly dripping out of her nose. She immediately put a hand to the right side of her head. I looked around and found some tissue. I took a few sheets and pressed them to her nose. I am scared to death. I had no intention to hurt her. I panicked and called out to Marlene, the ghost of Charlene’s mother. Char’s mother was a nurse in life. I am sure she’ll know what to do.

  “Oh, Nathan, what happened?”

  Lizzy spoke up, “I’m fine. It is only a headache and a bloody nose. Who are you? I’m sorry, but I am closed.”

  “I will make introductions later, Lizzy.”

  “Oh, sure. Pour yourself a cup.” Lizzy’s mind is definitely rattling around in her brainpan.

  “Marlene, what should I do?”

  “Nathan! Leave it to a man to get all discombobulated over a little blood.”

  “I’m sorry, Marlene. Tell me, when did WE get married?”

  Marlene said something under her breath, then spoke ou
t, “Just keep the pressure up on her nose and tilt her head back. She’ll be fine, maybe get her an ice-pack for her head,” instructed Marlene.

  Lizzy started talking, “Are you sure it’s okay? I’ve never gone this far on a first date.”

  “Lizzy, you are in your tent at the psychic fair.”

  “Aren’t you afraid someone will walk-in on us?”

  I guess I will go with the flow until her head clears. “Why you’re right. Let’s stop for now. Try to relax and let your headache fade away.”

  “Whatever you say, Greg.”

  “Marlene, I fear she had a stroke or something.”

  “Why do you say that? While it’s not unheard of at her age, it is extremely rare. Tell me what happened.”

  “Well, you see, she was inside my mind, and I was feeding her some memories as fast as I could. I guess it was faster than she could take it. I am so sorry, Lizzy.” Nathan, remember your manners. I thought. “Marlene, this is Lizzy. Lizzy this is my mother-in-law, Marlene.” Lizzy raised her left hand and mumbled a greeting. “Just to be clear Lizzy, Marlene is a ghost.”

  Lizzy pushed my hand away from her nose and started holding the icepack herself. I kept a gentle hand on her shoulder, so she could see and hear Marlene. “Nathan, you said she is a ghost?” The clouds are being lifted from her eyes.

  “Yes, she is.” I removed my hand for a moment. By Lizzy’s expression, I think she understood.

  “Nathan, you didn’t tell me you’re a necromancer.”