I wrote about my experience visiting with a psychic back in 2015, but never published the story. Below is my experience having my cards read by Madame Carmen, September 2015.
I slept in quite late this morning, tossing and turning with vivid dreams all night. Those weird dreams where you are floating through your regular day-to-day, nothing really too weird, but everything and everyone are kind of different and twisted. My friend is 50 lbs heavier than she is when I’m awake, my house is twice as big and old as it truly is, I’m loosing my teeth and lost all of the beer I bought for my house party with none of my close friends.
Last night I went to the fair at the PNE. I walked around, ate junk food and went on some rides. I went to a psychic who had a booth between a slushy drink stall and frozen dipped desserts on a stick.
A man with shoulder length, black, wavy hair, wearing a jean jacket and baseball cap pulled down over his eyes, leaned against the entrance. He was swaying slightly. I stood outside the stall wavering about going inside or not. My friend walked up to the front table and asked a woman with large, thick-rimmed red glasses “she wants to get her palm read, who do we talk to?” Madame Dolores was with another client, so I got the next psychic in line. She stood up and said, “I’ll read her,” as she led me into a small semi-private stall with blue draped satin curtains. There were two folding chairs and a table, cards and pamphlets scattered across the table, a crystal ball and a clear plastic tablecloth stretched across a blue trivet shaped like a flower. My friend wasn’t allowed to come inside.
The psychic didn’t smile and was chewing gum to one side on her jaw. She introduced herself as Carmen and asked if I had ever had a reading before. “You want a palm reading or your cards?” “Huh? Palm reading I guess”. “You guess? Do you want to know more about yourself honey, or do you want to know your future?” She had round features and inexpressive eyes. Her hair was tall and neatly pulled back with a little swoosh of bangs across her forehead. “Ok, cards please”. She picked up the pile of tarot cards with her stubby gold ring clad fingers. She asked me to shuffle the cards. I started shuffling the cards, wondering when do I stop? Will it make a difference if I shuffle the cards once, or if I shuffle for five minutes? Is the way I shuffle the cards telling her something about my future? I stopped when my OCD let me and put the cards in a pile on the little table. She asked me to put my left hand on top of the cards, take my time and make some wishes. “Do not tell anyone what you wished for or the wishes won’t come true.” I stared blankly at the stack of cards and made some wishes, trying to concentrate on wishing and not let my mind wander. “Okay I’m done,” I said and she picked up the pile of cards. She laid out eight cards in two rows. She warned me that I was not to tell anyone of what we spoke of in the stall. As she flipped over the last card in the second row she asked me, “do you believe in magic?”
We flipped through the cards and finished off the deck. I reached down to make sure my purse was still sitting beside my chair. “God bless you, and do not tell anyone your wishes or what we spoke of or it will not come true. God bless you. That will be $25”
There were some predictions and advice given to me that was accurate and encouraging (and no, I will tell you what exactly). I am not a firm non believer or believer in psychic ability, magic or faith, that this booth was not a scam, but I tend to always look for signs in my life. My mom always told me that if it is meant to happen, things would fall into place. I have been looking for direction in my life, choose a direction but self-doubting each of my possible decisions. I think I know my next step now. It’s silly how my loved ones, friends and coworkers can all give me good advice but the advice I’m following cost $25 in a 4x4’ room at the PNE from Madame Carmen.