I'm Not a Fortune Teller
I remember it perfectly.
It was the day after my birthday, and I was dressed in an uncomfortable hoop skirt, all decked out in my time-appropriate costuming. We were at the Renaissance Fair, and I got to spend the whole day running around in my favorite time period with my best friend, and a couple other fun people.
I had really wanted to go see the fortune tellers, they looked entertaining. And I loved messing with con artists. Especially for an actress, it was so easy to just speak monotone, give generic answers, and keep your face expressionless. This left them speechless, no gathered information to help them along.
You asked to come with me, saying you wanted to see what it was like, but you were too scared to do it yourself. So I let you come along, and when we entered, I immediately lost all emotion and gazed glassy-eyed at the fortune teller.
Her face crinkled in a thousand different places, smudging the already eccentric-looking makeup. She felt my palm, asked me to pick cards, asking me if I myself was psychic, and if I was skilled in the art of spirit-blocking. I struggled to keep my face emotionless as I replied with a no.
She only acknowledged you once, with some vague assumption that we were a couple. I refrained from rolling my eyes, saying no, we weren't. You gave no reply, keeping your wary eye on her hands as she grasped my arm. She made a comment on love and "painting all men into the background". Then she said that perhaps I have painted even you into the background. I was somewhat interested in what she meant, but I did not ask nor did I reveal that I was questioning her. Eventually, she realized that she must improvise in order to maintain the act, so she lead me out of her tent, away from you, and took me to another psychic, her mother. She claimed that she just couldn't get a read don me, and maybe you could help, ma? The older woman nodded in response, the hundreds of dangling objects twined into her hair jangling.
After a long, frustrating argument on the existence of love, she looks at me seriously with a glare in her smokey, aged eyes.
She told me, "One day, you will fall in love with someone."
And I scoffed. Because I couldn't even explain what emotion felt like.
"You'll be thrust into a world where your heart is more than just an organ."
But how could I be with just one person for the rest of my life?
"And he'll keep you on your toes...you're life will never be dull. He'll be just like you. Ambitious, clever, and eager to explore the world and all it has to offer ."
Right, because there's surely a guy like that out there, just for me.
"And God will bring you together, because you deserve it."
It sounds good, in theory. But I wouldn't believe it until it actually happened.
So it did. It happened that November night at the football game. As I watched you from a distance, seeing you -really seeing you- for the first time. I did fall for you. And when I did, my heart became more than just an organ. And you kept me on my toes, and you were just like me, and I wanted to spend every second of my time with you, and yes, I would have gladly spent the rest of my life with you. Only you.
But the very last part of the prophecy was not going to come true.
You had my heart, easily, but I didn't have your's. Because you were, just like me, and you didn't give your heart to anyone. Me falling for you...it was a freak accident. Or maybe a lesson to me, so that I would learn to not take affection for granted.
Since you're just like me, maybe one day God will teach you your own lesson, and maybe I'll get a phone call saying you're sorry, you had no idea how much it hurt...
But I don't know what the future holds for either of us. I'm not a fortune teller.