My Guest Post: The Psychic Was In

Kristin is enjoying BlogHer right now.
As soon as I quit sulking and moping about the fact that I won't be HUGGING her this year
I'll get to the awesomeness that is Guest Posting here at her blog.

My name is Kir, I write at a blog called The Kir Corner
(it's ok if you haven't heard of it, but maybe you might want to visit after
today.I love making new friends )

I have a Facebook Page  and I have been known to hang around Twitter

I was so happy that Kristin asked me to guest post while she parties it up in San Diego
and because she likes my fiction/creative stuff a lot, I decided to go with something I wrote
a while ago and spruced up , just for you.

Kristin, Thank you for hosting me sweetie,
you know I adore you and being here today was just my happy place!


Miss Adelaide had a different name, one that escapes me  at the moment. 

I did go and see lots of pyschics when I was single and in need of some

"Spiritual guidance on my way to happy ever after"

and I will tell you that the end of this story did happen,

 in my 20's
(long before texting and FB so the reference to it is the "fiction part"  )  
in a place like this one.

*head hanging in shame*

BTW, I finally did "find him" . ;)
_____________________________________________________________________

I stood outside the two story house, white with black shutters. The paint was peeling and the screen in on the door was ripped, but otherwise it didn’t look any different from any other house on this street. The sidewalk wasn’t broken or uneven, the steps were perfect slabs of concrete, and there were no cracks that would trip me or catch my heel.

The only thing even remotely remarkable about this house is the large sign hanging next to the screen door, that reveals that “The Psychic Is In” in large swirly, almost hypnotizing, black letters on a white background. I can see from here that the “In” is actually a small piece of wood that hangs on a hook and without a doubt I conclude that the other side says, “Out”.

I am clutching an appointment card that was mailed to me last week. A late birthday gift from a girlfriend who I am sure is sick of me worrying about my relationship status on Facebook. She texted me and told me that if I was done with internet dating then she was taking matters into her own hands.

I am currently plotting the appropriate reciprocation gift for her birthday in October.

I walked up the steps, hand wrapped around the rail, wondering what I am doing here. At the door, I peek in behind the ripped screen, the blowing sheer curtain, to a living room that is covered in so many deep, opulent colors that I need to close my eyes for a moment to take it all in. I want to sink into those plush couches, wrap a blanket around me and sleep a long dreamless sleep in this space.

I am lost in this reverie, when an elegant and very tall black woman, comes into my line of vision and startles me.

I start, lost for words, babbling, holding the card high in the air.

The woman, smiles, her mouth so big and bright that I am instantly at ease, she pushed open  the screen , welcoming me. I slid past her. She smelled  of vanilla, lavender and something else I can’t quite place. I wanted to rest my head in her lap. She is beautiful, her high forehead and skull wrapped in a silk scarf; the colors matching the purple, orange, crimson, and mahogany of her home.

She took both my hands in her hers. Her skin is warm and smooth, the color of cream laced coffee.

“I am Miss Adelaide”, her voice fell over me like honey, no trace of the accent I expected, an octave above a whisper, so you would need to lean in to really hear her.

I did and lost my balance, fell into her arms, where her chuckle coincides with her catching me, righting me, leading me to a chair that swallows me up. I look up at the table aware of all the trappings, the ruins, the small smooth globes of her crystals, the various decks of her tarot.

She sits down opposite me, looking deep into my eyes, no doubt channeling my desperation.

I point to a pile of cards and her long, perfect fingers start to shuffle.

I watch her as a minute passes, two, three, her eyes never leaving me, her smile never fading, her hands never stopping.

I can’t wait another minute, patience leaving me with every rearrangement.

I feel the agony of first dates, the frustration of waiting for phone calls to take me on a second , bubble to the surface. I can taste all the kisses, good and bad, of the boys I had hoped would be ‘The one”.

I think about the bridesmaid dress that is currently sitting in the backseat of my car with the bouquet I caught on Saturday night and soon my calm is gone.

Miss Adelaide is still shuffling, her sweet voice inquiring, “Sooo this is about a man? “

Before I can stop myself, before I can quiet my voice to match the calm and serenity of this room, I shrieked; “WHERE. IS .HE. ALREADY??????”

...And Miss Adelaide dropped the cards.

Hope you enjoyed that , wishing you a fantasic Saturday.