The Gift of Sight.
an excerpt

We don’t control our existence. We only control how we choose to experience it. She counseled her clients on this all the time. Sometimes they listened, most times they did not. Some grew angry and blamed her for not protecting them from the tragedies in their lives. Others got the logic but still let their emotions run unrestrained over every element of their days. She was no therapist. Most of what she advised could not be proven. But it was all she had to offer them, and most paid a pretty penny for the gift.

Vivian hated being the live entertainment at any party. By nature of her profession, it always seemed inevitable. Her eyes scanned the room full of well fashioned men and women deeply passionate about their professional and personal lives. She didn’t listen to their words. It was her habit to listen to their thoughts, because that’s where all the truly interesting things were happening. She would always find truth there, even it was so unsightly she gasped aloud. If she could manage to keep it discreet, going unnoticed would be entirely feasible.

She was accustomed to making up a profession for these social gatherings. That was unless she had a client in the room. There were no familiar faces here, only a sea of well mannered adults contributing to a thriving children’s charity by way of drink and raffle. Tonight, she would be a child psychologist. It didn’t seem too far from the truth.

“You have a private practice?”

Vivian nodded confidently as she took the final swallow on a weak martini.

“Private and very small. It’s been a labor of love.” She spoke the words as silken and functional as fact.

Vivian studied the gentleman who introduced himself by a false name. She mused telling him his actual name to watch his startled reaction, but it was too early in the evening to draw any unwanted attention. He wasn’t honest about his profession. Now all he needed to do was tell her he was single for the trifecta. She rooted through his impulses and most recent memories to develop her own assessment. She was both flattered and repulsed by his ravenous appreciation of her breasts, especially as he spoke so tenderly of the children they gathered to support in the name of charity.

That was the problem with her profession. She couldn’t turn it off. Even when it threatened to drive her mad with wild emotions that were not her own; even when she desperately wanted to enjoy the pleasures of blind detachment. Her profession required that she eternally be vigilant.

“Your name isn’t really Michael.” She blurted with growing annoyance.

He froze, drink in mid air, his bottom lip curled to meet the glass. They exchanged wry smiles in silence. Silently she implored him not to waste another moment of their time with duplicity.

He held her gently by the elbow.

“Tell me what you really do and I’ll tell you my name.”

“I already know your name,” A flurry of colors exploded behind her eyes. “And you wouldn’t take me seriously if I told you. Enjoy your evening, Jimmy.”

She walked away, knowing he would follow. Broken souls always did. They were drawn to each other as butterflies to a child’s laughter.

“Are you going to tell me how you know my name?”

“If you can promise not to tell me another lie before dawn, I will tell you how I know your name, but you won’t believe me. Which doesn’t mean you aren’t still required to promise.”

Jimmys wide innocent appearing eyes twinkled with curiosity. “You gonna tell me you’re a spy or something?”

Vivian caught a glimpse of the person she was looking for from the corner of her eye. She smiled briefly at Jimmy. “Nope. Spies cheat. I earn my information honestly. I’m a psychic. A seer. A fortune teller. Whatever they’ve been called where you’re from.” She wondered if telling him she was a Cancer would have been more palpable. She could have also told him she was ambidextrous and allergic to sea turtles and waited for his reaction, but she didn’t have time to drag this on any further.

“You should have told me you were a spy.” Jimmy’s voice trailed behind her as she moved unexpectedly toward the back, away from the bar, the stage and towards the restrooms.

Jimmy would find a way to talk to her again and continue his pursuit before she left. She followed the a sickly pea green trail of light leading into the men’s room. A curl of it teased her through the partially cracked door. It hadn’t closed correctly since a father unfortunate fight a few months ago. Vivian felt Jimmy’s following her as she slipped through the crowd to that rest area. He was cute enough.

Such a shame the good fucks were always married. How ironic that they rarely wanted to love the ones they were with.