An Ability, A Gift

©Bailey Thompson

“You’re psychic.” The doctor’s voice was low as he said it, as if he were trying to protect a precious secret. It was a secret then, but it’s not a secret anymore. He knew, Mom knew now. I looked at him in disbelief at my diagnoses. It wasn’t because I didn’t believe him, it was because I was finally having it told to me – it was real now.

            When I was little, I never really thought about it. It just seemed natural that I knew what was going to be in the future. I thought it was something everyone had. But I hated it. I didn’t like knowing what was going to happen, I wanted some kind of surprise. I’d go to sleep wishing for it and imagining what it would be like not knowing. My wish never came true, and the visions never stopped. I never really told anyone about it, for some reason, I thought it needed to be kept secret. Maybe it was because no one else ever talked about it. I’ve always been good at keeping secrets and no one found out, for the longest time. Until now …until last week.

            I was sitting in math class when it came, the vision. I could see it so clearly, it was just like every other one I’d had. I was standing there, I could see it all happening, but I couldn’t do anything, only watch. I could see someone lying in a hospital bed. From my distance, I could see tubes coming out of his chest and face. There was a large bloody cut across his face that made me want to look away, but I couldn’t. I could tell by just looking at him that he’d been in an accident. A doctor walked into the room and was joined by a nurse in light purple.

            “He’s dying” the doctor said to the nurse.

            “I know,” the nurse looked sad, “if only he knew, if only he could have caught it.” Her voice drifted off as she walked out of the room.

            The heart machine rang loudly and the doctor yelled for help. There was a quiet sobbing in the back round as the doctors tried to save him, but they couldn’t. That was when I recognized the man. It was my Dad.

            I raced home that night and sat on my bed for hours debating what do to. Of all the visions I’d had, they’d all come true. But if I worked hard enough, maybe I could make this one not come true. I knew I was Dad’s only chance for a life tomorrow. Even if I had to tell someone my secret – it was worth it.

            Telling my mom was the hardest thing I’d ever done. At first she didn’t believe me. Then when she did, she didn’t know what to do about it. She cried if it had actually happened. Then she snapped out of it and yelled, “how would you know?!”

            She didn’t believe me when I told her I’d always known. She told me it was just my imagination and that I couldn’t know what was going to happen in the future. There was no such thing as “psychic”. I begged her and begged her to do something. At first she refused. Then, maybe she saw how desperate I was. So she told Dad they had a “check-up” to go to.

            I sat in silence in my lonely room until they got home. When they finally did, my mother stomped into my bedroom and slammed the door behind her. I stood staring at her angry face, fighting back tears.

            “You made me go all that way… Your Dad is fine! There is nothing wrong with him! What do you think you are? Psychic?” She yelled at me.

            I sat in silence. She opened the door and stomped out, slamming it behind her.

            I went to bed that night and cried myself to sleep. There was nothing left to do now. Maybe she was right… for the first time, maybe I was wrong?

            I was in math class the next day I got the call. I was told to go to the office immediately, my Mom would be waiting. When I got there, she had tears pouring down her cheeks. I already knew what had happened. I’d been right.

            But I asked her what happened anyway. I needed to know and I needed to break the unbearable silence in our stuffy car. 

            “Dad got into a car accident. He had a heart attack while he was driving. He’s in the hospital right now. They don’t know if he’s going to make it.” She said very quietly

            “I told you!” I wanted to scream. But I didn’t, I could see the pain in my mother’s eyes.

            When we got to the hospital, my mother brought me to my Dad’s room. I walked over to his bed and said the last three words I’d ever say to him, “I love you”

            He tried to say something back, but he couldn’t. He was too weak and it was too painful. Instead he gave me thumbs up. I knew what he meant.

            My mother cried at his bedside, holding his other hand. But she didn’t say anything.

            Then came the scene I’d been waiting for. I saw everything I’d seen in my vision yesterday. My mother quietly sobbed in the corner, she’d let go of his hand and moved back when the doctor walked in. I watched the doctors and nurses desperately try to save my father. They couldn’t, he died at 2:43 that afternoon.

 

            “I’m sorry for not believing you” My mother told me two days later when she finally stopped crying. This was the first thing she’d said to me since my father’s death. But I knew she meant it. I knew how much regret she had for not making the doctors run more tests.

            She told me to follow her to the car, she was taking me on a drive. I obeyed, but worried about where she was taking me. We arrived at our small doctor’s office. After less than 2 minutes of waiting, the doctor called me into his office. He ran a few tests that I’d never seen done before. He went out to check the results. When he came back in, he said the words I didn’t want to hear from him, “You’re psychic”.

            That was just the beginning. With my Mom’s knowledge of my ability, she was always turning to me to find out what would happen next.

            “Are we going to be okay in the next 24-hours?” My mom would ask each night at dinner.

            I didn’t want to tell her, but each time I did, I knew how much pain she was going through after losing my Dad and just knowing we’d be okay was comforting. That was all we said to each other for an entire year after Dad’s death. Maybe it was better that way though, we didn’t get into uncomfortable conversations about our past.

            Home was too painful, but school seemed like a break. There, no one knew my secret. I could be who I always had been – normal. I had a lot of friends there and the last thing I ever wanted was for them to know my secret. They never suspected anything and I was always free of worry with them.

            Then it came, another desperate vision. I could see her so clearly; she was lying on the bathroom floor, leaned up against the bathtub. There was red blood pouring out of her slit wrists, creating a puddle on the white tile floor. She had a large sleeping pill bottle in her other hand. I recognized it as the pills her father took for his condition. She was crying quietly, but you wouldn’t know unless you saw the tears falling from her pained eyes.

Through her tears, she whispered the words, “help me” and “God, I want to die”

I knew who she was, too well. She was my best friend. She’d been my friend since grade 3!

I was sitting on my bed in my quiet bedroom when that vision came. My Mom was out doing some Christmas shopping. I knew I had to do something, but what? Never before had my visions not come true. Was it even possible to make it not come true? Even after Dad’s vision, I’d had so many. I’d even tried to make them not happen, but I couldn’t, no matter what I did, they always happened. And could I do it without telling my friend I was psychic?

I’d never dealt with someone that needed help before. But I knew what she meant when she’d said the words, “help me”. Somehow I just knew she needed someone to talk to. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard people say how good it feels to talk to someone, but I knew it was true.

I left a note on the table, so that my mother knew where I was when she got home. I locked the front door and bounded down the front steps. It was snowing lightly and there was already a blanket of new snow on the ground. It looked beautiful. I wrapped my scarf more tightly around my neck as I started down the street. Her house was less than 10 minutes away. I hoped she would be at home. She didn’t mention she had any plans this weekend. As I approached her house, the snow started falling heavier. I walked up the long driveway towards the door. I made use of the heavy silver knocker attached to the black door. Her mother answered the door and greeted me happily.

“Is Sandra home?” I asked hesitantly.

Her mother smiled at me, “yes, I think she’s just upstairs, you can go up and find her if you’d like?” She said as she ran for the phone.

I walked up the stairs and knocked on Sandra’s bedroom door. There was no answer, so I opened it. There was no one in there, I closed the door softly again and looked at the bathroom door. It was closed and the light inside looked like it was on. I knocked softly. Just like me, she was an only child, so I knew she was the only one that could be in there. I knocked again when there was no answer.

I heard her voice, in what sounded like a whisper, she said “yes?”

“Sandra, it’s me, Tiffany” I said through the closed door.

“Don’t come in” she said sternly then,

“Are you okay?” I said, worried, maybe I’d come too late

“No” she said, talking louder than she could.

“Why?” I said hoping she wasn’t doing anything.

She opened the door then, there were tears falling down her cheeks. I’d never seen her cry before and it hurt to see her cry now. I looked behind her; I could see a pill bottle laying on the counter and a bloody blade lying beside it. I hugged her harder than I had ever before.

“Sandra, please, talk to me… please”

She took me to her bedroom. I glanced at her wrist; it only had a small cut in it. Much smaller than the one I’d seen in my vision.  I sat down on her bed and she sat beside me. We were silent for a while. I didn’t know what to say, and I’m sure she didn’t either. “Do you want to talk?” I finally asked her, breaking the silence.

She looked at me with glossy eyes and nodded. I listened to her pour out all her sadness, all her pain, everything. I cried with her, I cried for her. She cried and told me she’d never told any one this before. I understood. When she’d said enough, she thanked me, hugging me again. I knew she meant it.

She motioned for me to follow her to the bathroom. She flushed the pills down the toilet and threw the blade out. I smiled at her, proud. Although I knew it wasn’t over, she’d have a long healing process. Only now, she knew she had someone to talk to. Someone who she could come to when she thought she couldn’t go on any longer.

I was proud of myself too. Not only had I possibly saved her life and helped her, but I also stopped the vision from coming true. Something I only wish I could have done for my Dad.

“How did you know?” She asked curiously.

“What?” I said, she’d caught me daydreaming and I wasn’t really paying attention.

“How did you know?” she repeated, staring directly into my eyes.

I didn’t want her to know, but at the same time I did. Her secret was mine, my secret was hers, “I’m psychic”

By Bailey Thompson

Author's Note: This is another of the stories I'd had in my head for a long time before writing it. It was probably a year that I'd thought of it, but I had no idea where I wanted it to go, so I left off writing it. I still hadn't decided where I wanted it to go and wrote 3 versions. The first version only had a third of the story and I stopped. The second had a rewrite of the first version and more added. The third version had a rewrite of the second version and the ending. I've never taken so long to write a short story, but this one took about 3 days. And at least 3 hours each day! Let's just say, I put my heart into this one. This is not a true story, completely made up!