Breaking the Curse of Phila.gov
an excerpt

Breaking the Curse of Phila.gov

By Polartwin

Cassandra ran all the way back to the car to get the map. The car was packed. The cats settled in the back. Orange Cat clawed and nestled into a pile of her clothes, smelling her smell. Cassandra called him her husband. He always slept with her. He was possessive and demanded her constant affection. Madly was more independent as female cats usually are. Her nickname was Box Cat as she always found a box to sit in , to sleep in and generally just be in. There were two boxes in the old Toyota for Madly. One in the back behind the driver’s seat and one in front at the foot of the passenger seat. She was usually behind the driver’s seat unless Orange Cat decided to romp her and steal her back seat box. Then she’d concede and climb to the front, give Cassandra that hateful look that all females give when males are being asses and settled into her box of second choice.
The cats were used to car traveling up and down the coast of California, but California to Philadelphia was a major crossing. Cassandra had been prepping them for days. Telling them about motels and deserts and mountains and that the vegetation and birds and air across the country would change and it would be different from the California climate they were used too. She would verbally explain the trip tot he cats plus she would send them pictures with her mind’s eye of all the new adventures and the final destination, her new row house at the end of Seller’s Street next to a R7 SEPTA stop. She had flown to Philadelphia on her own a few months earlier, found the house, put down her money and then want back to California and waited for the deal to go through. She had to wait longer than expected as the owner was said to be away in India with family. By the time the real estate agent said all was clear, Cassandra had whittled her wordily possessions down to a dozen boxes which she put on Amtrak at the Oakland, California train station. Destination: 30th Street Station Philadelphia PA.

The cats were already settled and snoozing when she returned with her handful of AAA maps. She wouldn’t really need then until Los Cruzes New Mexico. She knew most of the highways of the west by heart, but she had never driven into New Mexico or beyond for over thirty years. When she was twenty she had hitchhiked with a boyfriend from Los Angeles to New Orleans, but now she fifty, happily divorced, her own daughters away at college and she was free to roam.
Philadelphia was a choice that came in a dream. Her mother had died when she fourteen and occasionally her mother would appear in dreams. Her mother and her mother’s ancestor were all from Philadelphia, but Cassandra had never been East. Back East, her mother called it. Cassandra and her father were true blue native California. They rolled with the earthquakes, sandbagged during the floods, evacuated during fires and drove everywhere.
She had written her second grade report on a state on Pennsylvania because it was her mother’s state. For the oral report, her mother braided her hair and looped it across the back like the Amish and baked a shoofly pie for a exhibit piece. Cassandra didn't particularly like the pie and couldn't get over the idea that the pie was made of flies smashed by shoes, but she aced the report and people said her hair was cute.
Cassandra’s own daughter, Zoe, also did her second grade report on Pennsylvania, but she choose Pennsylvania because she thought it was Translyvania and was upset when she found out there were no Draculas in Pennsylvania. However, Zoe succeeded in turning William Penn into a bloodsucking vampire who victimized the Lanape and Delaware Tribes in order to make both a political statement and an imaginary statement. Zoe aced the report also, all though her teacher made her tone down a particularly vivid and bloody scene of Penn gnashing his teeth into the innocent neck of a Lanape maiden on the shores of the Skullkill. Too too graphic. The teacher explained that Quakers simply would not do such a hideous thing and called Cassandra and asked her if her daughter was in therapy.
Dreams and appearances from her mother and grandmothers were not uncommon for Cassandra and so when she started to have a series of dream where her mother showed her the tree lined and cobblestone streets of Philadelphia and then told her in a very loud heavenly voice “ Go to Philadelphia” Cassandra thought she just might do that. It was pretty clear that her two daughters were gone at college and nothing was happening for her in the Bay area where she had settled after the divorce. She made her living doing psychic readings and had developed a clientele from all over the country on the phone. Not those 999 late night TV kind of psychics. She was more of a therapist kind of intuitive psychic and she didn't do lottery numbers and stayed away from predictions though some would come to her. Mainly she helped her clients get clear on their life challenges, relationship issue and money issues . She could also get messages from the dead, those who had passed on. It was a hard job to explain to “normal” people , but she was pretty good at it and people kept coming back so she did it and she could do it on the phone and that gave her the option of moving anywhere she wanted.
When people asked her if her abilities helped her with her life she always hesitated. Yes, she followed her intuition a lot in her life and she acted on dreams and hunches but it didn't save her from the follies of being human and especially did not seem to help her in her choice of men, which she put on temporary hiatus until she learned better.
“Mom’s on Man Time Out.” June said one weekend when the girls were home getting ready for dates and Cassandra was sloppng around in her red flannel PJ’s and her dollar store reading glasses crooked on her nose. “I have appointments.” she replied.
She could tell when cars would break down and she often got dates for when specific events would happen. She knew her daughter June’s boyfriend would last only three months , which annoyed the hell out the June. Cassandra learned to hold back her “knowing” things about her girls. “Mom, you’re always right.” June complained. Cassandra thought , “Does she want a mother who is wrong?” Daughters and mothers could be a difficult combination.
Later, Cassandra would realize her stomach had been telling her something about the Seller Street House that she should have listened to, but didn’t. No, she was never spared the rough road of life just because she was little but psychic. In fact being a bit psychic had its own traps and smoky mirrors. The cards that are drawn are the cards that are drawn. Even the greatest gods had to settle accounts with Morira, fate.
The Toyota was stable and sturdy and had new tires, all engine functions checks, Cd’s lined up and ready to go. The cats settle in for a long snooze and Cassandra put in some Patsy Cline. The AAA roadtripper has said going south first was the best route but she wanted to say good bye to her brother who lived in Reno so she head north and east, through gold county and over Donor's pass where the pioneers ate each other during the freeze of a winter, the through Lake Tahoe and then dipping down into Reno.
The pass through the Sierras to Reno were winding and steep and Madly who was now in the front seat box would look up forlornly, telling Cassandra that she was both car sick and the altitude was twitching her ears. “ Go back to sleep , Cassandra said. Nobody threw up , but Madly did look peaked and if a black cat could look pale, she looked pale.

“CassiAndy!”
George, her brother trundled out of ht low roofed ranch house he had been living in for nearly thirty years on a rise just outside of reno. He’d been divorced when he was twenty three form his high school sweetheart and never snapped out of it. O else, maybe he just like living the lobe cowboy life up in h sticks. nobody could rally tell and nobody in Cassandra’s family really talk about anything much anyway .. they loved each other, but it was all mostly shown by light affectionate ouches in the sid the arms and a willingness to travels miles to gather fro Thanksgiving and Christmas every few years .
Cassandra, being the only female itn eh family, usually took the lead in making the visit or setting the holiday up. George was big. Taller than six foot and a grin just as big. He open the car door fro her an took her up in his big flannel shirt giving her a squeeze. “hey there Sis.”
Hey”
“you got the cats?”
“yeah.”
“well I got the dogs locked up in the barn. I knew you'd;’d be bringing those cat and I didn't want them eaten right away.”
Cassandra was definitely a cat person and George wa definitely a dog person. He had four hunting hound that loved to chase cats. Cassandra could tel they had already got the sniff of the cats and wa grateful fro George;s consideration.
“Well, I hope they don’t get eaten at any time.”
“Not even for breakfast.”
“Nope, not even breakfast.”
“God damn, Rusty’s gonna be disappointed about that I promised him a good cat breakfast.”
“You can’t eat relatives. That the rule.”
“Yeah, oh all right.” George looked the same. Big, jeans, flannel shirt, clean shaven hair in a long blonde and gray ponytail. His tattoo from Viet Nam , a trail of five violet Hoa Lan orchids from elbow to wrist was as gorgeous as ever. Once, he told Cassandra the orchids that grew in the high trees and sunlight were the only memory he wanted of Viet Nam. Maybe it was the young wife’s abandonment and maybe it was Viet Nam that made George isolate in his ranch outside of Reno, but he sure loved the dogs and he loved the trees and the rocks and the land.
That evening, Cassandra and George were sitting on his porch. It was warm and the end of August. They were drinking beer after having a generous meal of elk and potatoes and pie made from apricots he had picked down in the Valley around Modesto earlier that summer. As usual they were talking mostly about stuff they did as kids , but then George said, ” You ever hear of those Burning Man people?”
“No, what’s that.”
“Well maybe your too old, May be your kids have heard of it.”
“Too old for what!” Two beers made Cassandra more than tipsy.
“It’s the craziest things. I haven’t been but maybe since your going out that way and looking for adventure , you should check it out.”

“What's that? What’s it called? Burning what?”
“Burning Man. It’s some kind of theatrical art thing. I dunno. It sounds like Woodstock but today's kids, you know, they get out there. They build a giant man out of wood and burn it down. It supposed to be really be something.” George looked at the stars and squeezed his beer can in his hand until it bent in the middle. I’d go, I guess, except I don’t like people and I think they are a bunch of pyromaniacs, but maybe you should go.”
“I should go hang out with a bunch of pyromaniacs?” Cassandra had never hears George ever tell her to do anything . She was mainly was intrigued because he brought it up. “ I still don’t know what it is.”
“It out near Black Rock. Go east. Then north. Ask someone. Its going on now. It’s Labor Day isn’t it?”
“Yeah the traffic is terrible.”
“Yeah, it’s on now. “
“Okay. I’ll see what tomorrow looks like.”
“It’s tribal.” George opened another beer and kept his eyes on the stars. Cassandra followed her brother’s gaze to the Dog Star.