Second Time Around
“Is this what you wanted? I hope you’re satisfied! You never even warned me,” muttered Dex to the casket. Taking a deep, shaky breath he sighed, “You didn’t even have the decency to say goodbye.”
“Sorry sir, what was that you said?” asked the minister.
“Oh nothing, sir. I think I still need a minute to process my feelings. Please, proceed without me.”
The funeral procession continued on, Dex left the room, refraining from causing any more of a commotion. According to his watch it was 11:59 a.m., which, as of yesterday, had become a daunting time. To many, 11:59 a.m. reaffirms that it is a minute too soon for the afternoon to begin and that half of the daily struggles at work and in school are complete, but to Dex that recurring interval in time would forever tarnish his mundane afternoon ritual.
You see, a few days earlier, Dex was just a typical kind of man working in a small-town pharmacy when he got the call that would forever change his existence; Dex’s estranged mother, Vivian Clair, had finally lost her ten-year struggle with Leukemia. She and Dex quit speaking right before her diagnosis on November 5, 1999. They never could see things eye-to-eye, and an argument about Dex’s future career sent him over the edge. He walked out the door that day and never looked back. He never tried contacting his mother, and in return, she respected his decision by complying with the newfound vow of silence.
Dex had returned home from a long day at the pharmacy when he received the call from the coroner’s office. He hadn’t the slightest inclination that there was anything wrong with his mother. The last time he’d seen her she was ripe with age and very vivacious; one thing that never ceased to amaze Dex about his mother was her uncanny ability to read his mind. “Fifty-nine…” he said to himself, “She was only fifty-nine.”
After hanging up the phone, he traipsed out of the kitchen and into the hallway of his small, two-bedroom apartment; he stopped to take a look into the oval-shaped mirror. He took a deep glance at himself: staring back was a 6’3” man, with ashen brown hair and deep blue eyes. Aside from the five o’clock shadow and chiseled jawbone, this thirty-one-year-old man was a carbon copy of his mother. Even though he hadn’t seen her in a decade, he could feel her cold glare upon him.
***
Much to Dex’s surprise, his mother’s discretely written will bestowed all of her belongings upon him. With nothing much to lose, Dex agreed to the terms. He decided to put what little money he had acquired into a safe, government-backed bond, and he felt obligated to take up residence in his former childhood home. With little time to spare -- two weeks -- Dex began the daunting process of packing up his belongings.
As he turned off of Fifth Avenue and Wicker Street, he was reacquainted with the familiar oak trees and the uniform red-roofed villas. He pulled up to the cream-colored villa, number 1159, and noticed that his old basketball hoop had finally been disassembled. Before beginning the lengthy process of unloading, he decided to head inside the house and walk around for old time’s sake. Much to his dismay, it appeared that his mother had replaced most of the furniture and put the furnishings in storage. In fact, the house had pretty much been turned into a maze full of boxes. As he fumbled about to find his old bedroom, he was depressed by how bleak the place looked. Everything in his childhood bedroom seemed to have disappeared.
After that sad display, the only choice Dex had was to unload his car and unpack. After about six hours of the repetitious moving to and fro, he placed the final boxes into the attic and discovered that his mother had left some boxes up there as well. Curious, he crept forward through the crowded space. He slowly circled the premises and stumbled over a wooden box that had been conveniently placed in the corner. He crept down to get a better look at the mysterious container. It appeared to have been nailed shut at the top, with a foreign label on the bottom of the box. What in the world could this be? With a growing suspicion that something valuable might be hidden inside, Dex decided to bring the box down from the attic and examine it in better lighting.
As he trudged down the shallow steps of the attic and into the living room, he was struck with a slight feeling of unease. Upon closer inspection of the box, he noticed an inscription written on the bottom: “Property of Selma Clair circa….” The date appeared to be missing. Puzzled by the inscription, his curiosity was starting to get the best of him. He made a futile attempt to pry the box open with his hands, for which he was rewarded with only a couple of splinters. He then grabbed a screwdriver off of a nearby table and unscrewed the four screws off the top of the box.
Finally able to unlatch the top of the mysterious box, he peeked inside. He reached in and grasped on to a spherical object inside. Dex’s initial instinct had him believing that this was some sort of souvenir, perhaps a Disney World snow globe. Upon further inspection, though, he realized that this wasn’t an ordinary snow globe; it appeared to be empty. His logic told him that it was probably a damaged good, of no use to him. Perhaps his mother forgot to throw this random bit of rubbish in the trash. Whatever the case was, he couldn’t help but inspect it some more.
As he twirled the dainty little globe in the palm of his hand, he inspected every detail about it. It had a black frame, which appeared to be very misshapen, and unlike many snow globes it didn’t have a knob at the bottom to wind and produce sound. The globe itself appeared to be much shinier than the standard glass globes he was used to observing as a small child. Instinctively, Dex decided to shake the globe to see if it still worked. At first, there was nothing noticeably different about the globe. But after about a minute or so, the object began to feel a little dense. He shook it once more and felt a slight prick between the webbing of his thumb and index finger. Shocked, he dropped the globe onto the solid oak floor of his old living room.
No sound was made, not even a silent ping, as the globe collided with the hardwood floor. Dex looked at his hand and saw a drop of blood flow from the webbing between his thumb and index finger. The blood instinctively found its way down to the globe, which lay intact on the oak floor. Dumbfounded, Dex decided to pick up the globe and set it on a nearby table before he made his way into the kitchen to clean up the small cut on the fold of his hand. Much to his amazement, he suddenly felt as if he wasn’t alone in the room. He took a quick look around the kitchen to make sure he was alone and was slightly apprehensive about his return to the globe.
When he got back to the living room, Dex started to feel a cold chill tingle up his spine. He looked at the table and was shocked to see that the globe was glowing. Not only that, it also seemed as if an image had been painted or printed and carefully inserted inside the globe. As he inched near the object, he noticed a slight change inside the globe. The image vanished as if it were a mirage and a faint line started blinking inside the once-again empty snow globe. The closer he got, the more he could feel the chill, and the globe’s appearance changed.
He sat down beside the strange object and delicately placed his hands back on the base. As soon as his skin touched the globe, words began to appear as if they were being inscribed on a blank sheet of paper: Hello, Dexter Clair. Don’t be alarmed, I mean no harm really. We are connected, you and I…we are kin. I am not just any old “snow globe,” I’m a crystal ball.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Dex thought.
This is not a hoax. Now that I’ve got your attention, you must use it wisely, I am here to offer an opportunity for you.
“What the hell is this? What exactly do you want from me?”
You must decide which path you want to lead. You are in charge of your own fate.
“Okay? Go on,” he murmured to the mysterious object.
You have been sheltered most of your life, and you have been living on a day-to-day basis. Your mother knew from a young age what was destined for you; however, since she is no longer available to help guide you, the contract has been broken.
“Contract?”
Never mind that for now. In this one life we live in the mortal world, everything we do is based off of opportunity. Each step we take skillfully aligns to decide our fate. You have chosen the path of a pharmacist. Always determined to lead a prosperous life, you have left little room to actually live your life. I am willing to make an exception for you, my dear Dexter.
“What do you mean?”
You can follow the path you have chosen, never willing to take risks and presuming that life will be full of health, wealth, and natural fulfillment until the day you die. That is the fate you have carefully been molding; however, you could take a chance and lighten up your life a bit. You can look past the present and see into the vast future that lies beyond.
If you choose to view your future, you will be rewarded with a significant amount of evidence for the ultimate path of your future, or you can continue on the path of skillful planning and ultimate uncertainty.
“And if I do?”
You shall be rewarded…on one condition, of course. In choosing to view a significant part of your future, you must relinquish a significant part of your present life. In doing so, you may receive proper insight into your true fate. If, however, you decide to stick with the present, then you will not receive another chance at this opportunity.
“How long do I actually have to decide?”
You have twenty-four hours to deliberate this decision. The time is currently 11:59 p.m. Choose wisely, Dexter.
***
Unable to sleep, Dex decided to do some research. What else could he possibly do after this bizarre event? He couldn’t help but wonder if this was all a hoax, or a cruel reality. As he pondered this, he began to remember the many times when he and his mother argued about his inability to use his imagination. She would constantly berate him, because he refused to picture a world in which things such as medicine didn’t actually help people. She was adamant about him speaking to his inner voice. He had always just assumed that she wasn’t of sane mind and closed the topic by stating that he had plenty of other things he could be wasting his time on.
Thinking back to instances like this, he wondered what he would be able to conjure up in the next twenty-four hours to reassure him that he in fact was not crazy and that aberrations like this really did occur. He began his research online. Google led him to Ancestry.com, which provided him with some useful information about his heritage. He stumbled through members of his mother’s bloodline, since he didn’t know anything about his dad or that side of the family; his father had abandoned him around the time he was two years old. Dex was pleased to discover that Selma Clair was indeed a real person and that she was distantly related to him, possibly a great-great grandmother. With that bit of information, he decided to rummage through more boxes.
After a few hours, Dex put what few traces of evidence he could find on the table next to the crystal ball. The only promising things he scrounged up were various papers and what appeared to be an old journal. Battling fatigue, Dex decided to end his search for the night and pick it up the following day after he got off of work. He barely managed to notice his alarm go off the following morning in time to get ready for work. He dashed off and decided to put all of this mystery out of his mind until he got off work.
***
Upon his return from yet another tedious day at the pharmacy, Dex decided to thoroughly peruse what he had assumed to be his mother’s childhood journal. The first entry date appeared to be November 5, 1961. The writer, his mother, remarked about this being her first time writing in a journal and how fascinated she was to be able to share all of her secrets with it. She also remarked about her current age, 11, as well as a vision she briefly had. Curious about this vision he flipped to the next page and read her account on time travel. Baffled by this discovery, he continued reading on ten pages or so before skimming the rest of the journal. According to this journal of hers, his mother found out she was a clairvoyant at the age of eleven.
Dex never was the type of person who believed in things such as the paranormal. He found the topic of spirits to be very far-fetched; however, after the recent string of events, he was beginning to believe that anything could be possible. Maybe he was becoming slightly delusional after all or perhaps even delirious, or maybe his mother (while zany in her antics) had been right all along. One way or another, Dex was going to find some answers. He was hoping to put an end to all of this nonsense tonight.
An hour had passed, before Dex decided to go ahead and stir the apparition inside of the crystal ball. After his brief encounter the night before, Dex figured that by shaking the crystal ball that he may actually have a bit of “luck.” He shook it once and nothing seemed to be happening, so he shook it another time. With no response the first and second shake, he decided to rotate the crystal ball counter-clockwise before shaking it a third and final time; third time’s the charm.
Salutations Dexter. I find that you have done a bit of research, which flatters me so. No, your mother wasn’t crazy; she had reasons for her actions. As far as for your concern about me, I am indeed your great-great grandmother. Oh and for the record, you are not going crazy.
“Whatever you say, Grandma Selma,” Dex muttered.
Now that we’ve got that settled, my dear kin, is there anything else you’d like me to clarify before we begin?
“Maybe…I was wondering if you could enlighten me on this whole clairvoyant thing. I was also wondering what I’m supposed to do beyond making my decision about my fate. Will this be the only time we “speak” or am I to continue on doing this sort of thing?”
Oh sweet, child. As far as clairvoyance goes…only the women of the Clair family are blessed with this trait. You are a rarity in our family, not many of our women have bared sons. The only reason you’re able to speak to me is because your mother was unable to complete the task herself. You are truly blessed, and your mother only had the best intentions for you. Once your decision is made, I will respect your wishes, and you can do what you please with this crystal ball. If you would feel more at ease without this on your hands, then I suggest that you return this crystal ball back to its rightful home- the wooden box- and then seal it up in another box and donate it to a local thrift store. Oddly enough, our kind knows how to find each other in such a space, and we shall be reunited with another clairvoyant in no time.
“Whatever you say, I guess,” replied Dex.
Now that we have an understanding, there is one thing left for us to do: determine your fate. Have you decided what you would like to do? Remember, all decisions are final and once the decision has been made, you can’t turn back. You can either continue on the path you lead, cautious and lonely, or you can exchange something you cherish now in return for a more rewarding future.
“I guess I really don’t have much to lose, so why not help ease me into my future?”
Are you certain?
“Yes ma’am.”
All right. The time is currently 11:59 p.m. By 11:59 a.m. tomorrow, you will get a brief glimpse into your future (24 hours). All you have to do is relinquish your license as a pharmacist, and I’ll do the rest. Remember, all things you do have purpose. Don’t sweat the small stuff, and don’t take the things you actually have for granted. Good luck!
“Wait!”
What? No need to worry, you will some day find the true purpose and meaning of your life. Tomorrow, at 11:59 a.m., your forever begins.
***
When Dex awoke the next morning, he was surprised to find that he wasn’t alone. Lying next to him was a woman. He quietly observed her as she lay. Before he had the chance to fully view her face, he heard a noise coming from his right, outside his bedroom door. “Datty,” a small child exclaimed. Before he knew it, a three-year-old girl had run up to his side of the bed and started tugging on his paint leg. Staring up at him were deep blue eyes and ashen brown hair, a spitting image of his mother. Almost instinctively Dex picked up this small child and held her close to his heart. He smoothed her hair and kissed her little forehead as he quickly caught a glance at the woman lying next to him. He finally had a family.
Overtaken with emotion, Dex woke the woman next to him and met with the woman he had married. She had auburn hair and deep blue eyes; there was something in her smile that made him certain he belonged here. As he spent time in bed lying with his new family he got a feel for how they functioned.
As the morning went on, they ate breakfast together in the kitchen and talked about what needed to be done that day. Dex had learned that his wife, Melissa, was an oncologist, which meant that he stayed home in order to look after their house and their daughter, Molly. He was a stay-at-home dad, who is far from what he was expecting to become; however, maybe this is exactly the sort of change he needed in his life. That day ended up being one of the best he had had in a really long time. As time dwindled, he realized that when he awoke the next morning he’d have to choose if he really wanted this life.
The following day came a lot sooner than expected, and Dex was uncertain about what he wanted to do. Either way, he felt that his future would lead to success. In one essence, he was independent and financially secure, in another, he was a stay-at-home dad with a family that loved him and a successful life. Dex had only known a life full of sacrifice and responsibility; it is what he had come to expect out of life. He could be whoever he wanted to be: a successful pharmacist or have the one thing, Dex never had- a stable family.
Dex pondered this thought long and hard before consulting the crystal ball. Since he could no longer ‘speak’ to Selma, he communicated the only way he knew how; he picked up the crystal ball and, with his right hand extended over the top, he made a wish. The only thing he could do was wait.
“Is this what you wanted? I hope you’re satisfied! You never even warned me,” muttered Dex to the casket. Taking a deep, shaky breath he sighed, “You didn’t even have the decency to say goodbye.”
“Sorry sir, what was that you said?” asked the minister.
“Oh nothing, sir. I think I still need a minute to process my feelings. Please, proceed without me.”
The funeral procession continued on, Dex left the room, refraining from causing any more of a commotion. According to his watch it was 11:59 a.m., which, as of yesterday, had become a daunting time. To many, 11:59 a.m. reaffirms that it is a minute too soon for the afternoon to begin and that half of the daily struggles at work and in school are complete, but to Dex that recurring interval in time would forever tarnish his mundane afternoon ritual.
You see, a few days earlier, Dex was just a typical kind of man working in a small-town pharmacy when he got the call that would forever change his existence; Dex’s estranged mother, Vivian Clair, had finally lost her ten-year struggle with Leukemia. She and Dex quit speaking right before her diagnosis on November 5, 1999. They never could see things eye-to-eye, and an argument about Dex’s future career sent him over the edge. He walked out the door that day and never looked back. He never tried contacting his mother, and in return, she respected his decision by complying with the newfound vow of silence.
Dex had returned home from a long day at the pharmacy when he received the call from the coroner’s office. He hadn’t the slightest inclination that there was anything wrong with his mother. The last time he’d seen her she was ripe with age and very vivacious; one thing that never ceased to amaze Dex about his mother was her uncanny ability to read his mind. “Fifty-nine…” he said to himself, “She was only fifty-nine.”
After hanging up the phone, he traipsed out of the kitchen and into the hallway of his small, two-bedroom apartment; he stopped to take a look into the oval-shaped mirror. He took a deep glance at himself: staring back was a 6’3” man, with ashen brown hair and deep blue eyes. Aside from the five o’clock shadow and chiseled jawbone, this thirty-one-year-old man was a carbon copy of his mother. Even though he hadn’t seen her in a decade, he could feel her cold glare upon him.
***
Much to Dex’s surprise, his mother’s discretely written will bestowed all of her belongings upon him. With nothing much to lose, Dex agreed to the terms. He decided to put what little money he had acquired into a safe, government-backed bond, and he felt obligated to take up residence in his former childhood home. With little time to spare -- two weeks -- Dex began the daunting process of packing up his belongings.
As he turned off of Fifth Avenue and Wicker Street, he was reacquainted with the familiar oak trees and the uniform red-roofed villas. He pulled up to the cream-colored villa, number 1159, and noticed that his old basketball hoop had finally been disassembled. Before beginning the lengthy process of unloading, he decided to head inside the house and walk around for old time’s sake. Much to his dismay, it appeared that his mother had replaced most of the furniture and put the furnishings in storage. In fact, the house had pretty much been turned into a maze full of boxes. As he fumbled about to find his old bedroom, he was depressed by how bleak the place looked. Everything in his childhood bedroom seemed to have disappeared.
After that sad display, the only choice Dex had was to unload his car and unpack. After about six hours of the repetitious moving to and fro, he placed the final boxes into the attic and discovered that his mother had left some boxes up there as well. Curious, he crept forward through the crowded space. He slowly circled the premises and stumbled over a wooden box that had been conveniently placed in the corner. He crept down to get a better look at the mysterious container. It appeared to have been nailed shut at the top, with a foreign label on the bottom of the box. What in the world could this be? With a growing suspicion that something valuable might be hidden inside, Dex decided to bring the box down from the attic and examine it in better lighting.
As he trudged down the shallow steps of the attic and into the living room, he was struck with a slight feeling of unease. Upon closer inspection of the box, he noticed an inscription written on the bottom: “Property of Selma Clair circa….” The date appeared to be missing. Puzzled by the inscription, his curiosity was starting to get the best of him. He made a futile attempt to pry the box open with his hands, for which he was rewarded with only a couple of splinters. He then grabbed a screwdriver off of a nearby table and unscrewed the four screws off the top of the box.
Finally able to unlatch the top of the mysterious box, he peeked inside. He reached in and grasped on to a spherical object inside. Dex’s initial instinct had him believing that this was some sort of souvenir, perhaps a Disney World snow globe. Upon further inspection, though, he realized that this wasn’t an ordinary snow globe; it appeared to be empty. His logic told him that it was probably a damaged good, of no use to him. Perhaps his mother forgot to throw this random bit of rubbish in the trash. Whatever the case was, he couldn’t help but inspect it some more.
As he twirled the dainty little globe in the palm of his hand, he inspected every detail about it. It had a black frame, which appeared to be very misshapen, and unlike many snow globes it didn’t have a knob at the bottom to wind and produce sound. The globe itself appeared to be much shinier than the standard glass globes he was used to observing as a small child. Instinctively, Dex decided to shake the globe to see if it still worked. At first, there was nothing noticeably different about the globe. But after about a minute or so, the object began to feel a little dense. He shook it once more and felt a slight prick between the webbing of his thumb and index finger. Shocked, he dropped the globe onto the solid oak floor of his old living room.
No sound was made, not even a silent ping, as the globe collided with the hardwood floor. Dex looked at his hand and saw a drop of blood flow from the webbing between his thumb and index finger. The blood instinctively found its way down to the globe, which lay intact on the oak floor. Dumbfounded, Dex decided to pick up the globe and set it on a nearby table before he made his way into the kitchen to clean up the small cut on the fold of his hand. Much to his amazement, he suddenly felt as if he wasn’t alone in the room. He took a quick look around the kitchen to make sure he was alone and was slightly apprehensive about his return to the globe.
When he got back to the living room, Dex started to feel a cold chill tingle up his spine. He looked at the table and was shocked to see that the globe was glowing. Not only that, it also seemed as if an image had been painted or printed and carefully inserted inside the globe. As he inched near the object, he noticed a slight change inside the globe. The image vanished as if it were a mirage and a faint line started blinking inside the once-again empty snow globe. The closer he got, the more he could feel the chill, and the globe’s appearance changed.
He sat down beside the strange object and delicately placed his hands back on the base. As soon as his skin touched the globe, words began to appear as if they were being inscribed on a blank sheet of paper: Hello, Dexter Clair. Don’t be alarmed, I mean no harm really. We are connected, you and I…we are kin. I am not just any old “snow globe,” I’m a crystal ball.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Dex thought.
This is not a hoax. Now that I’ve got your attention, you must use it wisely, I am here to offer an opportunity for you.
“What the hell is this? What exactly do you want from me?”
You must decide which path you want to lead. You are in charge of your own fate.
“Okay? Go on,” he murmured to the mysterious object.
You have been sheltered most of your life, and you have been living on a day-to-day basis. Your mother knew from a young age what was destined for you; however, since she is no longer available to help guide you, the contract has been broken.
“Contract?”
Never mind that for now. In this one life we live in the mortal world, everything we do is based off of opportunity. Each step we take skillfully aligns to decide our fate. You have chosen the path of a pharmacist. Always determined to lead a prosperous life, you have left little room to actually live your life. I am willing to make an exception for you, my dear Dexter.
“What do you mean?”
You can follow the path you have chosen, never willing to take risks and presuming that life will be full of health, wealth, and natural fulfillment until the day you die. That is the fate you have carefully been molding; however, you could take a chance and lighten up your life a bit. You can look past the present and see into the vast future that lies beyond.
If you choose to view your future, you will be rewarded with a significant amount of evidence for the ultimate path of your future, or you can continue on the path of skillful planning and ultimate uncertainty.
“And if I do?”
You shall be rewarded…on one condition, of course. In choosing to view a significant part of your future, you must relinquish a significant part of your present life. In doing so, you may receive proper insight into your true fate. If, however, you decide to stick with the present, then you will not receive another chance at this opportunity.
“How long do I actually have to decide?”
You have twenty-four hours to deliberate this decision. The time is currently 11:59 p.m. Choose wisely, Dexter.
***
Unable to sleep, Dex decided to do some research. What else could he possibly do after this bizarre event? He couldn’t help but wonder if this was all a hoax, or a cruel reality. As he pondered this, he began to remember the many times when he and his mother argued about his inability to use his imagination. She would constantly berate him, because he refused to picture a world in which things such as medicine didn’t actually help people. She was adamant about him speaking to his inner voice. He had always just assumed that she wasn’t of sane mind and closed the topic by stating that he had plenty of other things he could be wasting his time on.
Thinking back to instances like this, he wondered what he would be able to conjure up in the next twenty-four hours to reassure him that he in fact was not crazy and that aberrations like this really did occur. He began his research online. Google led him to Ancestry.com, which provided him with some useful information about his heritage. He stumbled through members of his mother’s bloodline, since he didn’t know anything about his dad or that side of the family; his father had abandoned him around the time he was two years old. Dex was pleased to discover that Selma Clair was indeed a real person and that she was distantly related to him, possibly a great-great grandmother. With that bit of information, he decided to rummage through more boxes.
After a few hours, Dex put what few traces of evidence he could find on the table next to the crystal ball. The only promising things he scrounged up were various papers and what appeared to be an old journal. Battling fatigue, Dex decided to end his search for the night and pick it up the following day after he got off of work. He barely managed to notice his alarm go off the following morning in time to get ready for work. He dashed off and decided to put all of this mystery out of his mind until he got off work.
***
Upon his return from yet another tedious day at the pharmacy, Dex decided to thoroughly peruse what he had assumed to be his mother’s childhood journal. The first entry date appeared to be November 5, 1961. The writer, his mother, remarked about this being her first time writing in a journal and how fascinated she was to be able to share all of her secrets with it. She also remarked about her current age, 11, as well as a vision she briefly had. Curious about this vision he flipped to the next page and read her account on time travel. Baffled by this discovery, he continued reading on ten pages or so before skimming the rest of the journal. According to this journal of hers, his mother found out she was a clairvoyant at the age of eleven.
Dex never was the type of person who believed in things such as the paranormal. He found the topic of spirits to be very far-fetched; however, after the recent string of events, he was beginning to believe that anything could be possible. Maybe he was becoming slightly delusional after all or perhaps even delirious, or maybe his mother (while zany in her antics) had been right all along. One way or another, Dex was going to find some answers. He was hoping to put an end to all of this nonsense tonight.
An hour had passed, before Dex decided to go ahead and stir the apparition inside of the crystal ball. After his brief encounter the night before, Dex figured that by shaking the crystal ball that he may actually have a bit of “luck.” He shook it once and nothing seemed to be happening, so he shook it another time. With no response the first and second shake, he decided to rotate the crystal ball counter-clockwise before shaking it a third and final time; third time’s the charm.
Salutations Dexter. I find that you have done a bit of research, which flatters me so. No, your mother wasn’t crazy; she had reasons for her actions. As far as for your concern about me, I am indeed your great-great grandmother. Oh and for the record, you are not going crazy.
“Whatever you say, Grandma Selma,” Dex muttered.
Now that we’ve got that settled, my dear kin, is there anything else you’d like me to clarify before we begin?
“Maybe…I was wondering if you could enlighten me on this whole clairvoyant thing. I was also wondering what I’m supposed to do beyond making my decision about my fate. Will this be the only time we “speak” or am I to continue on doing this sort of thing?”
Oh sweet, child. As far as clairvoyance goes…only the women of the Clair family are blessed with this trait. You are a rarity in our family, not many of our women have bared sons. The only reason you’re able to speak to me is because your mother was unable to complete the task herself. You are truly blessed, and your mother only had the best intentions for you. Once your decision is made, I will respect your wishes, and you can do what you please with this crystal ball. If you would feel more at ease without this on your hands, then I suggest that you return this crystal ball back to its rightful home- the wooden box- and then seal it up in another box and donate it to a local thrift store. Oddly enough, our kind knows how to find each other in such a space, and we shall be reunited with another clairvoyant in no time.
“Whatever you say, I guess,” replied Dex.
Now that we have an understanding, there is one thing left for us to do: determine your fate. Have you decided what you would like to do? Remember, all decisions are final and once the decision has been made, you can’t turn back. You can either continue on the path you lead, cautious and lonely, or you can exchange something you cherish now in return for a more rewarding future.
“I guess I really don’t have much to lose, so why not help ease me into my future?”
Are you certain?
“Yes ma’am.”
All right. The time is currently 11:59 p.m. By 11:59 a.m. tomorrow, you will get a brief glimpse into your future (24 hours). All you have to do is relinquish your license as a pharmacist, and I’ll do the rest. Remember, all things you do have purpose. Don’t sweat the small stuff, and don’t take the things you actually have for granted. Good luck!
“Wait!”
What? No need to worry, you will some day find the true purpose and meaning of your life. Tomorrow, at 11:59 a.m., your forever begins.
***
When Dex awoke the next morning, he was surprised to find that he wasn’t alone. Lying next to him was a woman. He quietly observed her as she lay. Before he had the chance to fully view her face, he heard a noise coming from his right, outside his bedroom door. “Datty,” a small child exclaimed. Before he knew it, a three-year-old girl had run up to his side of the bed and started tugging on his paint leg. Staring up at him were deep blue eyes and ashen brown hair, a spitting image of his mother. Almost instinctively Dex picked up this small child and held her close to his heart. He smoothed her hair and kissed her little forehead as he quickly caught a glance at the woman lying next to him. He finally had a family.
Overtaken with emotion, Dex woke the woman next to him and met with the woman he had married. She had auburn hair and deep blue eyes; there was something in her smile that made him certain he belonged here. As he spent time in bed lying with his new family he got a feel for how they functioned.
As the morning went on, they ate breakfast together in the kitchen and talked about what needed to be done that day. Dex had learned that his wife, Melissa, was an oncologist, which meant that he stayed home in order to look after their house and their daughter, Molly. He was a stay-at-home dad, who is far from what he was expecting to become; however, maybe this is exactly the sort of change he needed in his life. That day ended up being one of the best he had had in a really long time. As time dwindled, he realized that when he awoke the next morning he’d have to choose if he really wanted this life.
The following day came a lot sooner than expected, and Dex was uncertain about what he wanted to do. Either way, he felt that his future would lead to success. In one essence, he was independent and financially secure, in another, he was a stay-at-home dad with a family that loved him and a successful life. Dex had only known a life full of sacrifice and responsibility; it is what he had come to expect out of life. He could be whoever he wanted to be: a successful pharmacist or have the one thing, Dex never had- a stable family.
Dex pondered this thought long and hard before consulting the crystal ball. Since he could no longer ‘speak’ to Selma, he communicated the only way he knew how; he picked up the crystal ball and, with his right hand extended over the top, he made a wish. The only thing he could do was wait.
By: Erin Lichtenfeld