She grabbed my hand with both of hers and she closed her eyes, and wrapped my knuckles like a prayer in her palms. I know that normally I would have pulled away or have felt embarrassed out of pure ego, but for some reason I enjoyed this strange, awkwardly nurturing situation.
- Dead? Yes, I had never realized that before.
- You are dead, but you shall learn to dance back to the living.
I could not help but to laugh a little, though nervously,
-Dance !? I am going to be a writer, not a dancer.
-It does not matter, a writer must learn to dance as well.
-So after I learn to dance, then what?
- You must dance before you can fly.
- Now I’m going to fly? Why should I?
She gripped my hand tighter as my voice began to distrust her words. There was no humor in her eyes, but there was light, clarity.
- Sometimes the young, foolish rams have more trouble learning to dance than others. The rams are the creators. You must create the music, but first you must listen to those who have composed before you and who have made others dance. Beware that you don’t stop listening to the music, because the music provokes the soul to dance, and when your soul dances, you shall be able to dance alone. If you truly wish to be a writer, you must learn to dance alone. Alone.
Being born under the sign Aries, her mention of the ram struck a curious nerve. I was enthralled, yet simultaneously reluctant with her portents. I wanted more, I think, but unfortunately during her divination, the final person in the laundry room had ambled over to our section of the laundromat. He had the submissive, yet naive look of a puppy who had finally learned that due to greater forces at work in the world, he would never be able to jump on the couch. His presence obviously was not part of the oracular ceremony, thus cutting my prophecy short when my enthused friend left as she saw an obvious obstacle in our midst.
She whispered in my ear as she left,
- You must seek life, not death.
