Page 25 of Sort of Seeing Someone

The bus zooms off, leaving a trail of exhaust. I keep my eye on it as it approaches the next stop. A plume of even thicker black smoke puffs out of the bus as I see the emergency flashers come on.

I saw that coming.Is this the gift Esther Higgins said I had? I can see the future?

At that exact moment, I decide I need to be tracking this.

I open the Notes app on my phone. The cursor blinks, inviting me to title the entry. I type: “FIELD NOTES” and start to bullet out what I seem to know for sure.

Touch someone’s palm = can see the future!?!

Started the day I turned 26.

Accompanied by bad, sharp headache at first…has since gone away.

Itchy, burning palms at first…now morphed into more of a “tingle”.

Esther Higgins (weird psychic lady) seems to think it’s “a gift”.

Visions are hit or miss. Can’t see myself, couldn’t seeGerda or Nora. Saw Yas and the bus driver so far.

Glimpses are of the not-so-distant future.

Beware of: handshakes, high-fives, manicures, handholding, getting change back from cashiers, arm-wrestling, etc. etc. etc.

Then, I bullet out my burning questions:

Who can I see? Who can’t I see? Why?

Will it happen if I touch fingers only?

Just how far into the future can I see?

Are visions more intense on a full moon?

What else am I capable of doing?

Whose palm is next?

I stop myself there even though I could come up with at least ten more questions about what’s seemingly come over me since turning twenty-six. But right now, the biggest mystery of all seems to be this: if I can see the future with the simple brush of a hand, will it end up being the coolest, best thing to ever happen to me? Or will it be nothing more than a distracting burden that renders me unemployable (handshakes are off the table),unfriendable (and so are high-fives), and most of all…undateable (how will I ever hold hands without seeing the spoiler alerts)?

I bring up google on my phone and punch in “chicago metaphysical store.” A few search results come back, but the one I’m most interested in is for a place called The Energy Shoppe. Mostly because I like how they spell shop with two Ps and an E—it makes it sound like they also sell hot fudge sundaes and waffle cones. Besides that, The Energy Shoppe is located in Lincoln Park, exactly where I’m headed anyway.

The Energy Shoppe is the garden unit tenant of an old brownstone building. The first floor, which is street level, is occupied by an Insta-famous stationery store called Smitten. Their pink neon sign written in barely-legible cursive sends brides-to-be flocking to them to take a selfie while picking out thousands of dollars’ worth of invitations that will inevitably wind up in the trash. You’d think that all the traffic in Smitten would send residual customers to The Energy Shoppe, but with no neon signs in sight and an entrance that’s hidden down a dark gangway that needs to be swept and power washed, the allure is absent. Still though, despite my Gen-Z tendencies to gravitate toward all-things pretty and shiny, I remain focused on my journey as I shoo a few pigeons out of my path and march purposefully through the scary side alley door.

“Good afternoon, welcome in. Are you looking for anything specific?”

The immediate smell of patchouli circulates through my nostrils and I can taste it on my tongue.

“I’m not really sure yet,” I say back to the lady, who is about my mom’s age, with a smoker’s voice and frizzy pink dyed hair with protruding dark brown roots that she seems completely unbothered by.

“Well, I’m Madame Angeline. You can just call me Angeline, though. I own the place. Tap me if you need help. I’m just going to be restocking these candle kits. Boy, did our customers wipe us out this last cycle.” Madame Angeline makes a motion like she’s dabbing sweat from her brow.

“Haven’t I seen those at Anthro before? They’re so cute,” I say to the shop owner, who looks like she could be an extra on the set ofMoulin Rouge.

Angeline appears to be borderline offended.

“I mean, sure they’recute. But, no. I can assure you this is an Energy Shoppe exclusive.”

“What are they for?” I ask.

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