“For everything that has been taken away,
something with greater value has been given -
sometimes just a marker that points me in a new direction
that I might not have otherwise travelled.” – Michael J. Fox

There is a story floating around in the recesses of my mind, and I am quite sure that it has been there for quite some time … long before I even became aware of what the story may have been about, or what the story could possibly mean. Much like other stories in my head, it has arrived at a point where I cannot ascertain if the story is true, fictional, or a muddled combination of both – the result of efficient honing that we often times go through as we spin the same yarn over and over again.

I remember an elder woman motioning me to come to her with palm pointed upwards and index finger swaying effortlessly; the wrinkled skin coupled with the sheen of many years worn on her long and slender fingers. Come to me, she motioned. As if dumbfounded and hypnotized, I walked toward her slowly … looking behind me to ensure that it was indeed me that she wanted to approach. Yes, it was only I standing in that courtyard. She held out both of her arms to me, partially hidden by a wonderfully colorful shawl … a remnant from the days when her Menominee tribe flourished in what is now known as Sault St. Marie, I have come to find out. Her fingers sought out my right hand, and grasped it with a strength one would not have expected from her fragile appearance.

Come, sit down. she motioned to me with her head. I, without words, rhyme, or reason, sat down. There was a long silence as she stared at my face; a silence that made the young boy that I was, all of eighteen, very uncomfortable. Yet I endured her gaze. All the while, almost without my knowledge until she paused, the index finger of her right hand tracing the lines on the palm of my right hand. I had expected her to have a raspy, and cackly voice when I had first seen her … much of my preconceived notions quickly flying out into the open air. However, when she spoke, the silky voice and the lilting tone took me by surprise. “There is a lot for you to accomplish yet.” her eyes now fixed onto the lines of my hand. Great. I am getting my fortune told. How big of a sucker was I to have fallen for this oldest of old cons? I was very irritated at myself, wondering how much I would have to pay her once the sham was over. Of course I have a lot to accomplish, I thought to myself trying not to roll my eyes, I was only eighteen years old. “You have had much taken from you already, at such a young age.” she said clearly, grabbing my attention fairly easily. Lucky guess, I thought. “And in your years to come, you will amass much, and lose the same amount repeatedly.” NOW she really had my skin crawling with a creepy feeling.

I was a bit uncomfortable AND a whole lot unnerved. At that young age, one does not like to hear that what you work so hard to accomplish or gain can just as easily be taken. And besides, what did SHE know about me anyhow, right? “Learn to let go of everything, and learn to clean yourself.” She let my hand fall down as she pulled her hands back towards her, disappearing under the colors of the shawl. And in one swift motion, she stood, turned quickly, and very slowly walked away from me … sitting there in the dirt, with a feeling that can only described as one of those “what the heck???” moments. She did not ask for money, did not ask for compensation in any form … and she told me that I was dirty and needed to let go of everything.

WHAT the heck was I supposed to do with that information? I had always thought of cryptic fortune telling about as effective and ambiguous as those generalized horoscopes published in some unsold corner of a newspaper, that no advertiser wanted to buy. And this somewhat hokey incident certainly did NOT make me think any better. But it did feel a bit strange to have someone openly state one’s inner fears and turmoil … I did indeeed have a lot of things to let go of at age eighteen.

Dusting myself off, I recall mumbling to myself how I knew I WAS clean, and that I DID know how to let things go. But I never could let go of that moment, and of what the lady had said. I have told this story countless times, and each time asking my captive (perhaps captured) audience what they thought it could have possibly meant … all without an answer I could make sense of. That is, until twenty one years later.

… [more to come]

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