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Small Mediums at Large

The True Tale of a Family of Psychics

from Chapter 1    (page 3)

"I didn't like him. I went to him for a reading last year. He threw me out of his house! He yelled at me, told me I wasn't listening to him, that I was obsessed with my boyfriend and that my boyfriend was just using me. He called me stupid! And said if I didn't change I was going to get cancer! I left there sobbing. I was upset for weeks after that. He's so mean."

"He's a good psychic, pretty direct, he doesn't have much patience."

I didn't tell her that Frank is my brother. I needed her to be open and unafraid so I could read her. I handed her my deck of cards. "Now, let's get started. Shuffle. Don't think about anything in particular, just put yourself into the cards by letting your energy flow through your body and into the deck. Let your mind go. Relax. You can't make a mistake. The cards will fall where they're supposed to."

"How do Tarot cards work?"

"Each card is an archetypal picture representing the changes we go through in our lives. The cards tell stories, something like Greek mythology. I've developed my own understanding of what they're saying from years of working with them. I'll try to explain as I go along. When you feel you've shuffled enough then cut the deck into three piles."

I watch her hands shuffling-- a flash of a silver ring through a blur of fingers. For a few moments I have a rare feeling, stillness. Then the bones in my face start hurting. Slowly, a sensation of fluids seeps into the sides of my arms and legs, through my skin. My feet are freezing. My neck and head are gripped by pressure. We were just talking and laughing, now suddenly I'm sad. Why?

I look at this woman at my table and I can hardly remember who she is. She's smiling, watching me, eager to hear what I have to say. What's happening here? I recognize the feeling. Abandonment. Someone just walked out of my life without any explanation.

I look around the room trying to reconnect with myself. In the corner, my old stove from the '40s, its clock always says five after four. On the wall, the green shelf where I keep my tea pots. The refrigerator, the bathtub. Something forcefully shoves me up against the tub. I'm startled. An ornate mahogany bed came flying into the room out of nowhere. Kate is standing next to me. I remember her now, she's the client sitting at the table. This must be her bedroom, her bed--

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