Angel
A friend of mine made reservations for two at one of my favorite restaurants, a restaurant that’s rather difficult to get into unless you plan ahead. She made the reservations weeks ago, but only told me about them 24 hours in advance—a tactic my friends have learned to use if they want me in attendance at a social event. Not too much time to think about backing out, and just enough time to ready myself. 90% of the time, it works.
I can’t remember the last time I got dolled up for overpriced food and drinks on the oceanfront. And though anxiety-ridden the entire time I was getting ready, I persisted.
She picked me up. She opened my doors. She complimented me from head to toe, chauffeured me around, and in so many ways, reminded me that I am exactly who I know myself to be—regardless of my current circumstances. Women, I tell ya.
Lunch was cute. For the first time in a long time, I felt human. I felt part of the portion of humanity who are living, no longer among the walking dead—even if just for those few hours.
Following lunch, we went to a mystic shop, the first and oldest in Virginia. My friend, a mystic herself, made sure to give me all of the history on the ride in.
Now, I’m into all the -ologies, spiritualism, ancestral memory, and all that jazz. After all, I’m born from it. I even practice bits and pieces of it. But before this moment, I had never had my palms or cards read. We were there for incense and other trinkets she needed for her altar, but I left with something more.
We waltzed into the shop tipsy from lunch and riding a sugar rush from dessert. My friend sped off in the direction of the items she needed, and I wandered around, seeing all I could see. I found myself over by the candles and crystals, thinking about the ones I own—how they needed to be cleansed and charged and actually put to use. But before I could fully finish the thought, the tarot lady ran up to me.
“The energy in the shop shifted the moment you walked in. Can I see your birth chart?”
“Uh… sure.”
I pulled up my birth chart and handed her my phone. She scrolled through it for a minute and then looked up at me like she had seen a ghost.
“…Are you human?”
I laughed. She stared blankly, and I realized she was serious.
“Oh… I think so?”
“No. I think you’re an angel.”
At this point, I’m thinking “bitch, please.” Unhand my cellular device so I can find my friend and carry on with my day. And I guess my face had those thoughts written all over it because she said,
“No, no. Really. Your birth chart is very breezy. Do you feel like you’re floating from here to there, in and out of time and space, never really grounded in any one place?”
And before I could answer, my friend screamed from across the shop, “Yup! That’s her!”
I turned back to the tarot lady.
“Do you feel like there’s an aura around you that invites all sorts of things into your life? Not just good things, but very bad ones as well?”
“Yes, I do.”
Then she asked me if she could hold my hand. I nodded my head yes. She took my hand and jumped back like she had been shocked or burned.
“How long have you been transitioning?”
“Transitioning?”
“Your birth chart indicates a lot of karmic movement on one side only, suggesting that you’re going to experience a lot of trauma in either the front or back half of your life. Is it happening now?”
“Yes, it is.”
“I don’t know how long it will last, but when it finally does subside, the floating you do will feel a lot different—easier, weightless. Come back any time. Your readings are on me.”
None of this made sense to me, then and still, and I wasn’t sure if I should feel like a test subject in that moment. I don’t know if I would consider myself angel or human, but a secret third thing.
For now, though, let’s go with angel.
Talk to me nice.
In lieu of paid subscriptions:
For now, my work is not paywalled. I’m leaning fully into storytelling and less into growth and metrics. However, if you feel so led, you can fuel my already hyperactive episodes with caffeine.