“Hello . . . Pete?” I stammered.
“I’m Sam,” he replied with a puzzled expression.
“Sam! Of course, Sam. I’m sorry.”
“You stressed out today? Anything I can do for you?” he asked kindly.
“Oh, no . . . I’m just on my way to the office! You know . . . where I work. I . . . I . . . think I’m late. Well . . . good bye, Pete!” I hurried through the door.
Go Back. Now! John insisted. I stopped in my tracks. You said you would do it. Aren’t you a person of your word?
Damn! Why, oh why, did I promise? I took a deep breath, turned around, and walked back to the unsuspecting doorman.
“Forget something?” Sam asked.
“Uhmmm, yes, actually . . . ” I stood woodenly, eyes darting this way and that, not knowing how to proceed. My heart started to pound, and my breathing sounded labored.
“Are you okay?” he inquired, now looking worried.
I simply nodded.
John started to speak. Just repeat after me . . .
“Just repeat after me,” I said to Sam, who furrowed his brow in confusion. John winced. I quickly surmised that I wasn’t supposed to repeat that. Too late now!
Your sister needs surgery, John said. Right away.
“Your sister needs surgery. Right away.” Sam looked extremely surprised. As virtual strangers, he had never discussed his personal life with me.
Not the one in New York—I’m referring to Karen, the sister in Florida.
As I repeated what John was saying telepathically, the doorman’s eyes widened. He stood rooted to the spot, oblivious to the other people coming and going.
“There is a hazardous growth developing in her left breast. The lump is pre-cancerous and has to be removed . . . now.”
With that, Sam took several steps away from me. He was clearly frightened.
“You must call her this afternoon,” I continued. “She’s depressed because of her marital problems, and she needs to hear from her big brother. You’ll make her laugh, like you always do. Then you need to tell her about the cancer. You’re going to save her life with that phone call.”
I proceeded to tell him that the psychic information he was receiving was courtesy of my guardian angel, John Reid. Poor Sam looked like someone who had just undergone electric shock treatments.
“But I don’t understand,” he replied, looking frightened, shocked, and suspicious. “How did you know I had a sister? And how did you know she was in Florida?” Then, raising his voice, he sputtered indignantly, “Karen doesn’t have cancer! And she doesn’t have marital problems, either! What’s wrong with you? Are you some kind of nut case?” And with that, the doorman turned and strode away from me.
I stood there staring dumbly, beet red with embarrassment, still clutching my purse and briefcase. I literally had no clue about what to do next. Should I chase after him and apologize? But that might scare him even more and make things worse—if that was possible. I would never deliberately hurt or scare anyone, and I felt miserable.
“Kim, good work! I’m proud of you,” John exclaimed happily.
“Why did you make me do that? Did you see how upset he was?”
“I didn’t make you do anything. It was your choice. And you did admirably—except for saying ‘repeat after me.’ That wasn’t the most auspicious beginning,” John chuckled with amusement.
“Don’t you dare laugh at me! Because of you and your cockamamie psychic predictions, I just scared the hell out of that man.”
“May I submit to you that if you had remained quiet and his sister had gotten malignant cancer, that would have scared the hell out of him.”
“You always have a glib answer for everything,” I hissed, tears flooding my eyes. I didn’t know why, but besides feeling humiliated, I felt incredibly emotional. The tears started to stream down my face, and I clumsily dug through my purse for a tissue.
John tried to reassure me. “If I know Sam, and I think I do, he’ll get over it pretty quickly. That’s why I picked him as a test subject for you.”
“So you look at human beings as nothing more than guinea pigs in the cosmic experiments you’re conducting?”
“You’re taking a rather melodramatic point of view. You asked for proof and now you have it. Remember what Oscar Wilde once said: ‘Be careful what you wish for . . . because you may get it.’ Did I ever tell you that Oscar was a friend of mine? A platonic friend, I might add. Very amusing fellow. We used to go to the theater in London . . . ”
I was clearly overwrought, and he knew exactly why—and yet, he was casually launching into one of his old stories? If it wasn’t for the relationship with him and all of the psychic information he shared, I wouldn’t have traumatized another human being . . . and I wouldn’t have been humiliated in the process. I had never felt so discombobulated, and I was keen to separate myself from the source of my anxiety.
I listened as he described a night at the theater in times gone by—as if nothing was wrong. His dismissive, casual manner about my feelings and everything that had just happened reminded me of David, which ignited a firestorm of anger inside of me.
I had gotten along just fine until John came into the picture. I had been leading an independent and empowered life—a little stressful, maybe—but I was taking care of myself just fine. Who did he think he was? Incensed, I interrupted his monologue.
“John, I want you to listen to me very carefully. Leave me alone. I want you to go. I don’t want to see you any more—and I don’t want to talk to you anymore. You’re not going to tell me what to do ever again!”
“But I didn’t—”
“Don’t speak to me!”
“But—”
“NO! I want you to disappear. Just go back to the planet you came from.” I continued to cry, and my voice became shrill. I had become unhinged, and I furiously gestured with all the force I could muster while still holding my purse and briefcase. “I want my normal, anal life back. Leave me alone before everybody starts to think I’m completely crazy!” John vanished immediately.
“Good,” I shouted. “And don’t ever come back!”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a woman and a little boy of about five standing by the bank of elevators. It was obvious from their expressions that they had witnessed the whole exchange. I realized that I had just made a terrible scene in the lobby of my apartment building. I had never been a person who created scenes—ever. Now I was really embarrassed. The mother placed herself between me and her young son in a protective gesture that was not lost on me. She stood staring as if I were a space alien.
“MOM!” The little boy urgently tugged at his mother’s sleeve.
His mother shushed him without taking her eyes off me.
“But . . . MOM!” More tugging.
She shushed him again with a stern expression.