GrowingOlderHopeWiser

Her eyes adjusted to the brightness of her new world. She stood in a field of sunflowers taller than she was, arranged in neat rows like sentinels. A narrow dirt path ran between them. Her feet were bare, and the dirt between her toes felt warm and soft. The subtle, earthy scent of the sunflowers reminded her of summer. A pleasant breeze caressed her face and arms. She wore a billowy dress the color of the azure sky, her hair tied back in a ponytail. As she walked along the path, she heard the soft rustling of someone or something moving a couple of rows away. When she stopped, it stopped too. The sunflower field came to an end, and Isabel stepped onto an asphalt road wide enough for two cars. The asphalt was hot beneath her bare feet. She walked along the edge of the road. Was she going somewhere, or coming back? It did not seem to matter. Surely she would be able to see whoever or whatever was following her. She looked up and down the road, but there was no one there. Soon she came to an open field filled with abandoned cars rusting in the hot sun.

Glints of sunlight bounced off the chrome. Patches of tall weeds and wildflowers poked up among the flat tires and abandoned metal rims. 

Isabel could taste iron dust in the air. She stepped carefully, avoiding sharp edges and rusty screws, and made her way toward a wooden shack. Its sign had fallen and hung by a single screw, swinging in the breeze: The All-Seeing Eye. From behind the shack, a low growl grew louder and closer. Isabel stopped dead in her tracks. The hackles on the dog’s neck stood up. A huge Rottweiler blocked her path, its eyes glassy and red, saliva dripping from its mouth, its teeth bared. 

“What do you want?” the voice said, holding the Rottweiler on a leash.

To Isabel’s surprise, the voice belonged to a handsome older woman, weathered by time, with skinny arms like roadmaps of veins. Her hair was long, gray, and disheveled. She wore skinny hippie jeans and a white sleeveless T-shirt. Her tanned arms were warm brown and leathered, with silver bracelets stacked halfway to her elbows. Around her neck hung a necklace of bones and colorful feathers.

“I was just walking, looking…” Isabel said. She couldn’t remember why she was there.

“Well, you’re far from home, it seems; no one has come this far in a very long time.”

Isabel looked around, surveying the landscape. 

“Well, come on, don’t just stand there.” The older woman pointed Isabel toward the shack, her arm indicating she should go inside. Stepping onto the wooden boards of the porch, Isabel got a splinter in her foot.

“You will need some shoes if you’re going to walk around here,” said the lady. 

The lady tossed her a pair of old brown boots. Isabel sat on the porch chair and put them on. They were slightly too big for her feet, but they would do. 

Plastic baby doll parts hung by the door like a decorative wind chime: bits and pieces, a head or two, some arms and legs. Isabel had always been creeped out by dolls, and the sight took her aback.

“Come on in,” called the old lady from the darkness of the shack’s doorway. Isabel stepped inside, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. The windows were covered with yellowed newspapers and tape. Stacks of magazines, books, and dusty rags filled the room, and boxes held who knew what. In the corner, an old Victrola played The Zombies’ “Time of the Season,” a strange, haunting song from the late sixties.

The old lady stepped behind a folded accordion screen and said, “Give me a minute. By the way, my name is Beth.”

“I’m Isabel.”

Isabel took in more of the room. Old paintings of forest animals and flowers lined the walls. Herbs hung to dry over the kitchen counter, and above it, the only window admitted a thin stream of light. Glass bottles in cobalt blue, red, and verdant green lined the open shelves. Beth stepped out from behind the accordion screen, no longer old or gray but a beautiful woman with amber-flame hair falling to her waist. Her skin seemed to glow with its own luster. 

“Come sit by the table, and I’ll tell you where you’re going and where you’ve been.” 

Isabel’s feet felt clumsy, the oversized boots moving awkwardly beneath her in the presence of this beautiful woman. Something mystical and surreal about Beth: the table was set with a large, thick, half-melted candle and a stack of playing cards. A cigar rested in an amber glass ashtray beside them, a billowy stream of blue smoke curling from its lit tip. The scent of burning tobacco, cinnamon, and citrus mingled in the room. In the background, the song continued: “Has he taken any time to show you what you need to live?”

“Are we going to play cards?” Isabel asked timidly.

“This is not a game. It is your life. You are at the crossroads,” Beth said.

“Where are you going, and where have you been?”

“What if I’d rather not know?” Isabel said, uncomfortable and unsure.

“Everyone wants to know,” Beth said. “You are here, aren’t you?”

Beth took a puff of the lit cigar, sending white smoke into Isabel’s face. Isabel suppressed a cough. 

“I am not sure why I am here, and I am not sure I want to know all of this,” Isabel said.

Beth’s eyes flashed with impatience. She lit the candle and grabbed the pile of large cards, shuffling them in her hands. 

With slow, measured mystery, she began. “This is you here and now.” She placed the first card face up in the middle. “This is you in the past.” The next card went to the left. “And this is you in the future.” She placed the final card carefully to the right, forming a row. On the left, the card depicted a knight lying in bed in a dark, moody room with four swords. In the middle was the Empress, seated on a throne surrounded by sunlight and sunflowers. To the right was the Sun, with two figures holding hands, labeled “The Lovers.” Isabel looked at the cards. They were beautiful. She had never seen anything like them.

“The Knight represents recovery and rest, your immediate past. The Empress represents nurturing, creativity, and abundance, a time of change. And your future is the Lovers, symbolizing choices and new partnerships that align with your values.” 

“These are all very positive cards, my dear,” said the beautiful Beth. Her amber hair glowed in the candlelight. “You’re going to be all right. You’re on the right path.”

“I must let you go on your way now. I cannot hold you here; I can only show you the way out.”

“Remember, Isabel, everything is empty; only you can create your world and your experience of it.” 

Isabel felt dizzy again, slipping back into blurry nothingness. It was cold. Beeping filled the air. Shadows moved around her, indistinct and quick. She smelled sterile alcohol and Betadine, heard instruments clanging against metal, and felt tugging here and there. And then, nothing. 

The room was silent and cold, and a nurse entered, opening the curtains to let in sunlight and good cheer. 

“Welcome back, young lady,” the nurse said. “You had us worried for a while.” 

Isabel managed a smile.  “Back from where?” she said weakly. 

“You were very sick with sepsis from your appendix bursting and had a very high fever; you kept slipping in and out of consciousness,” the nurse said. 

Isabel remembered her dreams and felt she had been given a second chance to trust her gut, her intuition, and her common sense, the instincts that had steered her away from danger. She began to harness her spiritual energy, empathy, and creativity, relying on universal compassion and love as her inner strength and shield. In time, she began to write down her stories and share them with others. 

Her family and friends began to pile into the room. Isabel smiled.