My Late Night Visit with a Fortune Teller

Exactly two years ago, my friends and I went to the fair. It wasn’t something any of us would’ve necessarily done on our own, but we decided it’d be a fun thing for us to do as a group. We were right. It was a blast.

After hours of walking around playing carnival games, riding amusement rides, and drinking more beer than we probably should have, we ended up in front of a fortune teller’s shack. The four of us stared at the entrance.

I don’t know if it was luck (bad, good, or both) or fate, but we all decided to go in and have our fortunes told.

Our self-appointed fearless leader, Jonny peeked through the doorway and boldly walked in. I couldn’t tell you if he was being brave or dumb, he’d just always been the first one through the door — any door. The rest of us followed closely behind.

Inside, sitting on a small chair behind a table, was Madam Kurlinkcha. After she saw us, she turned to the left to take one last drag from her cigarette before tossing it to the ground. Having done that, she turned her body toward us, composed herself, and smiled.

In a voice that had to have been crafted by many years of heavy smoking, she said, “Welcome to Madam Kurlinkcha’s. Would you like to speak to the recently departed or learn about your respective futures?

I looked at her and started to talk, but was interrupted by the fortune teller pointing at a sign on the table in front of her.

It read,

$20 per person to get your fortunes told. No refunds, so don’t ask

I grinned and nodded. Then I turned toward my friends and collected their money. I handed four crisp bills to the fortune teller and waited for what was to come.

“Welcome all. What would you like to know?”

Well — we looked at each other and laughed. Just laughter, though — no words. Nobody wanted to say anything.

Finally, I stopped the silliness. “Come on! We paid for this. Somebody come up with something.”

Jonny smiled, put his hands in front of him on the table, and looked at the fortune teller. “Tell us all when we are going to die.”

The four of us looked at each other and grinned like it was the most incredible idea we’d ever heard. Who knows, considering what has happened since maybe it was.

Madame Kurlinkcha pointed a long, crooked finger at Diane. “Young Lady, You will live a long, happy life. Death will come to you while you sleep more than sixty years in the future. Generations of family members will surround you.”

She then looked to Paul, sitting to the left of Diane, and smiled. “Young man, you also will grow old after living a full life.”

Jonny was next. The fortune teller’s entire face changed. Her smile was gone. Her eyes had darkened.

“Your friends will bury you within the next six months.”

Jonny’s face turned ghostly white. His mouth dropped open. The rest of us stared at him, not knowing what to say to make him feel better.

We probably were silent for way longer than we should have and followed that uncomfortable moment with poorly timed, unfunny jokes.

I looked over at my friend, “Well, Jonny, we will miss you.”

He punched me in the shoulder, and we all laughed.

Madame Kurlinkcha wasn’t in a laughing mood, though. She sat stoically in her chair until we settled down. Finally, she looked at me with a blank stare and said, “You will die two years from today.” No ceremony, no build-up, nothing — just frank and to the point.

The group laughed again. I laughed with them, but it wasn’t as funny this time.

Shortly after having each of our futures told, we all went home. We continued to get together often (that’s what best friends do) but didn’t talk much about the fortune-teller — or the things that she said.

It is now exactly two years from that fateful night.

I know what you’re thinking. The fortune teller was just some grifter at the state fair. She was a fake, a charlatan taking advantage of weak-minded people, nothing to get too worked up about.

I used to agree…until Johnny died. To be fair though, it didn’t happen six months after the fair. It was three. But, things got very serious for me after his passing. It suddenly felt too real to be a coincidence.

The others thought I was overreacting. I felt like I was being as calm as I had ever been.

There were two paths I could take. Go into hiding and hope the grim reaper forgot about me, or go out with a bang.

I chose the latter.

From that moment on I lived every moment like it was my last day on earth.

I sang and danced in public.

I jumped out of planes.

I ate exotic foods

I did the things I wanted to do — every single one of them. I lived life to the fullest.

Even more importantly, each of my friends knew that I loved them. I made sure to tell them every chance I could. They probably got sick of hearing it, but frankly, I didn’t care.

I made sure that nothing would be left on the table when my time came.

No regrets. Not a single one.

Ironically, none of those things would’ve happened if I hadn’t been in that room that night. My death day would’ve been an unknown, and I would’ve continued to walk through life with my eyes closed — missing life taking place right in front of me.

It wouldn’t have been the same.

Am I sad? No. Has it always been that way? Also no. It took me a little time to come to terms with what would happen to me. The truth is that nothing in life — well, except death — is guaranteed. Tomorrow isn’t promised to any of us.

I had two years to live life to the fullest. That isn’t something that everybody can say when their time is up. In fact, few can.

Soon, I’m going to put my head on a pillow for the last time — at least I think it will be for the last time. If it is my time to go, then it is my time to go. There is nothing I can do about it.

I came into the world crying (probably, mom never said), but I will leave it with a smile on my face.

I suggest you do the same.

Goodnight.

Maybe I’ll see you in the morning.