Rebecca Schwartz 05 - Other People's Skeletons

said: Chris wouldn’t lie to me. Therefore she was psychic.
    If a rational person couldn’t believe in psychics, then I no longer was one. But I was still about a million miles from having any idea what was going on. I proceeded with caution.
    “What, exactly, does being psychic mean? I mean, to you.”
    “Good God, Rebecca— if you can’t do any better in court, I’m going to the Big House.”
    “Wait a minute— this is just you and me. Can’t we…” I realized what I wanted and said it, “…be friends?”
    “What?”
    “You’re so defensive you’re putting miles between us. How about just pretending I’m not going to kill you if you tell me? I know it’s asking a lot, but we’ve known each other six or eight years now, and I haven’t killed you yet. Not even when you let my mom talk you into talking me into hiring Kruzick.”
    She almost laughed. I could see her face muscles hovering.
    “And that was a killing offense,” I said.
    “I don’t know how to talk about this stuff.”
    “How about if I ask questions?”
    “I don’t know how to answer them.”
    “Well, just say something, okay? Pretend your life isn’t hanging in the balance. We’re just two pals exchanging girlish confidences.”
    She stared at the battered table between us. “It started when I was a kid.”
    I felt hurt that this had been such a big part of her life and she’d kept it from me so thoroughly.
    “I saw things I wasn’t supposed to see— you know what I mean?”
    I shook my head.
    “Well, I started crying once and caused a big family stink because my Uncle Wade and Aunt Tootie were getting divorced. Only nobody knew it yet, including Aunt Tootie. Wade had a sweetie he finally married.
    “And one other thing— don’t lose your lunch, please— I saw auras.”
    “What!” It was a statement of outrage, not a question. Only screwballs saw auras; auras didn’t exist. I pulled it together enough to ask what they looked like.
    “Light around people,” she said. “Different-colored light. My mom would say, ‘Do you want to go play with Janet today?’ And I’d say, ‘I don’t like Janet. She’s green.’ Now tell me something. What do you think was the reaction of my family?”
    “They told you there was no such thing, it must be your imagination.”
    “At first, yes. After awhile I got punished for it. And of course I never knew what was going to get me in trouble because I didn’t know what I saw that nobody else saw. Sometimes I saw people— and sometimes they were in period costume, so I’d say, ‘Daddy, why is that man all dressed up like George Washington?’ And he’d say, ‘there’s no man over there, Chris. If you don’t stop telling these stories you’re going to bed without supper.’ So gradually, I can’t say how any more than I can say how a child learns to speak, I learned to tune it out. I got so I only saw the stuff everybody else did— when I was nine or ten, I guess.” She looked up at me, defeated. “And it didn’t come back until three or four years ago.”
    “What happened?”
    “I started seeing things. I started seeing colors where there weren’t any, and surrealistic visions that came out of nowhere. Remember that time I took a week off and didn’t say exactly why?”
    “Yes. I thought you were just stressed out.”
    “Well, believe me, I was. But it wasn’t the usual kind of stress. I thought I was going crazy. I really did. I was so depressed I felt like packing it in.”
    “Chris!”
    “Oh, I wasn’t suicidal. Just so scared and depressed and so miserable I was starting to wish I was. And I couldn’t bring myself to make an appointment with a shrink. I guess I was afraid of getting the bad news. I was basically just planning to lie around and try to figure out what to do.
    “But I got up and went to a coffeehouse one day, and while I was sitting there all forlorn with my cappuccino, I picked up one of those free magazines that list all the weird stuff you can do— you know those things? Seminars on how to meet your ideal mate and classes in prestidigitation? Well, there was a whole section on psychics, and there was this one who would do a phone reading and put it on your credit card. I’d never have done it if I actually had to get up the energy to make an appointment, but, you know, all you had to do was dial. I don’t know why, I just did it.”
    My head was reeling at the strangeness of it all, but this part sounded familiar. When I’m