“I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” I laughed, as we pulled into a seemingly normal-looking home on a tree-lined residential road.

“You’re not backing out on me now!” Julie quipped excitedly.  We had made a promise, shortly before Micah had moved out, that we would visit a psychic together.  Neither of us had ever gone to one before, and though quite skeptical, couldn’t contain our curiosity.

A very pleasant woman in her mid-fifties greeted us at the door and led us to her living room, explaining what would be taking place.  One at a time, she would take us into another room and read our tarot cards.  Wanting to see how this would play out, I let Julie go in first while I waited patiently.

After about a half an hour, Julie came out of the small room off the living room with a puzzled look on her face.  I wanted to quiz her on her experience, but the psychic was standing in the doorway, beckoning me.  It was my turn.

I sat down on an old, comfortable easy chair as the woman took a seat across from me and produced a stack of tarot cards on the small table between us.

As we walked through the layout of the cards she had laid down, there weren’t too many surprises – mainly notions that pertained to personality aspects, which were too general to attach any truth to.  Suddenly, the woman let out a hearty laugh.

“Well, you certainly won’t be lacking for male attention anytime soon,” she laughed, with a sly smile on her face.  I stared at her, puzzled, wondering how that could be, considering that normally, I would be lucky to get out of the apartment without Micah trailing me, wanting to know my every move.

I laughed it off without saying a word, waiting to take the whole experience in before making any judgments.  I certainly didn’t want to inadvertently offer any small details for this woman to cling to, lest I be completely snowed.

After she was done taking me through my cards, she took my right hand in hers and examined my palm, citing various life lines and such.

“You have a classmate who died tragically,” the woman stated somberly.  “But not like your friend, not recently.”

I sat in shock, taking in her comment – it was completely true.  Julie and I had taken a weekend trip only a few weeks prior out to her hometown in Vermont, where we had spent some time with her friend Paul.  A week after we had been in town, Paul tragically committed suicide by throwing himself in front of a train.  Four years prior, I received a call at work from my father, who informed me that a high school classmate of mine, also named Paul, had been killed accidentally by a train.  Chills ran up my spine as I processed the information.

Moving on to more pleasant matters, the woman stared intently at my palm, tracing the various lines gently.

“I see two men,” she started to explain.  “There is a dark-haired male, as well as a light-haired male.  Both of these men feel the same towards you, but they may not know it yet.”

“Really?” I asked, intrigued.  “What else do you see? Are they men I know now?” She moved my hand closer to her face and concentrated for a moment.

“One of them you will marry within three years.”

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