We don't talk about it much. Our entire family is made up of intuitives. I'm the most intuitive. The rest have glimpses here and there. I've woken from a dream of a recently deceased older relative who died just about a week before from a sudden heart attack while in her sleep. I've only seen her a couple of times. I don't remember her name but she was very kind. There was an event happening that looked like a wedding. There were white chairs of expensive handy work; sturdy, smooth, and topped with blue cushions. White and pink roses decorated the stage with matching decor of white ribbons and streamers gathered in the middle, including a gap on the ground for a blue runway, then another set of white chairs for the groom's family. I sat behind the woman with a row in between on the left side for the bride's family wearing black as if she were attending a funeral even with a black veil tucked into the top of her fancy hat. I was going to ask her, seeing that the stage seemed to be set up for a wedding, why she was there. Slowly she turned to me in her seat to wink and face the stage again. What did it mean? I then felt a longing tugging in my heart remembering him. The man who was showing up in the dreams leading up to my breakdown the year before and the dream about being with a council. It was then that I made the conscious decision to embark on my so-called, re-awakening laying in bed feeling like I was so sick, I was surely dying.

Before I could think about it anymore, the fever has struck! My TV had shut off automatically, and my bed, covered in sweat. Having not taken my antibiotic or Tylenol, this was bound to happen. Forgotten, I blame it on the distraction between the work call and the riveting videos about life after death, death, and the act of dying. My body aches something awful like I'd done a full-body workout in one day; legs, arms, torso, chest, and back teaming against me in my watery sweat of doom. Where did I put the medications we grabbed this morning? The Tylenol was in the bathroom cubby on the wall to the right in front of the mirror. Great, just great. My purse was sitting next to the bed. That's good and holy hell thank God there is a smidgen of water left in the Nestle bottle on Victor's bedside table! I felt like some cartoonish old person walking with noodly legs speaking in a raspy shrill about how "the world is nigh". I hobble to the cabinet in the bathroom just five million feet away feeling a chill. This is what I get thinking I could just take this shit on by myself. I manage to grab a store-brand Tylenol bottle. Fuck it! I'll bring the whole goddamn thing with me. The hobble back was focused on the purse next to the bed. I can see the white Walgreens paper. To my delight, I whisk it out of my bag hearing the shuffling of pills accosting me for not having taken them right away. Shakingly, I was able to fish out a pill to be consumed three times a day for two weeks. I shove the Tylenol and antibiotic down my throat and chase with water. Sweating, throat sore, I cough, sniffle and groan laying in damp sheets and blanket. The a\c is on at seventy degrees, the wetness of the bed, and cool air coming from the vent high in the wall facing me is a mixed bag of heaven and hell. I sigh contemplating the idea of falling back to sleep with the soothing voice of a man giving a lecture about ancient aliens.

I was hot and cold and hot and thinking more about the man who kept appearing in my dreams. I felt he was a spirit guide since in all of my dream adventures, he would tell me that I needed to become spiritual again. His look of concern I felt was genuine. I knew even as he would at times look different, it was always him who had this air about him. Staring at the ceiling I quietly mumble, "God, if you are real and I am intuitive, then please give me my abilities back and in return, I will use them for good."

For much of my childhood, I grew up seeing spirits, talking to them, seeing glimpses of the future, and just knowing information that would turn out to be true. I stood at the schools' nurse office allowing her to give me an eye exam. I noticed a pill cabinet on a wall with a glass door. Those were medications for the kids in school. I looked at them and thought to myself I will need them one day and despite having perfect vision, I told myself that I better get used to it because in a few years I will need glasses. Of course, it came to pass. My eyesight is a -4 on both eyes. The lenses would be thicker if not for the special kind of lens that doesn't make it obvious you have the eyesight of a geriatric. Complaining about how they made me look and the fear of breaking expensive frames, I convinced my mom to surprise me with contacts. Poking my eye felt weird and gross. Thinking how much better I'd look, forced me to suck it up and just do it. After a few times, I thought it cool to be able to squish my eyeballs.

One day while still in Connecticut and attending the only elementary school for so many miles, I was racing home with Dominic, who was taller and faster than me. Naturally, I was last to get close. I walked up the steps tired with my backpack having banged books and papers inside against my back. Out of breath, I climbed up the stairs. It was fall. Leaves covered most of the yard on both sides of the steps. I looked down making sure no leaves were on my tennis shoes. Moving my head back up to reach the cold, brassy round knob, in the corner of my left eye, I had seen a fluffy and rather large husky! Brown and white with grey eyes, panting happily like it wanted to play but sat still on top of the leaves that didn't crinkle underneath this happy, obedient, and huge as fuck dog. My mother said that I shouldn't look dogs in the eye or smile at them. Scared, about to soil my pants, I continued to reach slowly and turn the knob equally painfully slow. The warmness of the inside was comforting. Then I slowly walked in, slowly closed the door, and then bolted. I ran crying bloody fucking murder straight to my mom's room. After I told her what I had seen in a stutter and in between sniffles, she took out a picture of her dog she called Sugarbear. I've never seen a dog like that before. Until I was eight, we lived in a rural town in New London, Connecticut. Everyone knew everyone, I knew all the dogs because I was afraid of them. Those were spots I'd never go. Dominic and I knew all the kids, parents, cat ladies and the forests we'd play in. I've never seen a husky before so my mom patiently explained that what I saw was harmless. She pointed to the collar Sugarbear was wearing with a metal piece on it in the shape of a bone. I shouted in excitement, that's what I saw too. My mother sat me on her lap saying how proud of me she was for following her directions when I see an unfamiliar dog. She knew one day the spirit of her beloved pet would show up, just didn't know when. I was told she was a good dog so I didn't need to be afraid.

For what seemed like hours, my mother told Dominic and me about spirits and how we need to behave. Of course, she used the threat that spirits see everything we do, good or bad and if we were bad, we would be punished. I never believed in Santa Clause or the Easter Bunny or faries but I believed in spirits because I saw them and for a long time I believed everyone did too. One of my and Dominic's favorite friends was called Wasi. He was an alien acting as an imaginary friend. I don't remember this, but my mom says she would catch us speaking an unknown language to someone she couldn't see. We'd laugh a whole lot and it appeared there wasn't a threat. It would be when I was nine in 1996 after having moved into the freshly growing suburb of Sunrise, Florida that would be the first and last time I saw Wasi. He stood at my bedroom door with my bed directly facing it. Bighead, little body but it was too dark to make note of the color. I was too scared to psst Dominic awake on the other side of the room. At first, I thought that maybe Renier might have been awake. Maybe he had a bad dream and wanted to come to us. The alien appeared as fast as I had seen it. I contemplated making the walkway across the upstairs to see if he was awake. To this day I'm confident the alien was Wasi checking in on us as we have just moved to a larger house in the middle of construction going on in a very new part of Ft. Lauderdale. I hated the move and was constantly crying for my friends and what I was used to. When it came to it, I took it the hardest. I couldn't handle change and a change that big freaked me out. There were no seasons, no forests, no friends.

There were a handful of things I've witnessed while in Connecticut and they were pretty much the same; a friendly spirit saying hello, wanting to play, or... looking for my mother. The last one Dominic and I saw was calling out for our mom in the snow of 1995. Dominic answered back and I questioned who they were. Assumed maybe she was lost but noted she wasn't wearing anything suitable for the weather. Lucia isn't a common name in the small town. She looked unfamiliar walking with a cane across the street from us not listening to a word we said. She just kept calling out for mother. I ran inside to drag her out. She didn't want to bother. Instead, she told us to come back inside. Dominic obediently followed orders. I lingered wondering if I should cross the street. Then, she was gone! She faded away! I watched her slowly fade into the air!

"Come inside...NOW!" Mother yelled from the steps not prepared for the crisp snowy weather. So as not to get yelled at any further, I ran back inside and asked who that woman was and why she was asking for her. Dominic was stripped of his outerwear so he helped me with mine. I always had trouble putting things on and taking them off. Don't get me started on laces. What a nightmare to learn that was not just for me but everyone. I would inevitably end up crying, frustrated and confused. While Dominic helped me unfasten the bucked and ties, I told our mother what I knew, knowing she had already been told by Dominic. As she placed our things on a rack next to the door, she recounted a time when she was little. There was an old lady who lived in the neighborhood named, Mrs. Williams who would babysit her as a child. Mrs. Williams walked with a cane because she had a stroke. Months later, her husband died from cancer. The very next day, she had a stroke that killed her.

Yes, my mother spoke as if we were adults. She never sugar coated or spoke down to us like we were babies because she felt it was unnecessary. She explained to us what strokes are the best she could. Of course, asked if I could have a stroke. She said that I'd have to be old and I didn't have to worry because she and grandpa were healthy. Mother used that canon to preach about the importance of eating vegetables and all of my food so that I don't get a stroke. Out of us twins, I was the worst offender, stuffing veggies in my mouth to excuse myself for the bathroom and spit it in the toilet, only to be welcomed with a stern look and another helping of vegetables. I was grounded for a couple of days. I've tried everything from spitting it up in a napkin, mixing it with the rest of the food, -- which was always a horrible idea, I've tried bribing, I've tried to say that I'm allergic to veggies because the school nurse said so and eventually my mother and grandfather got so fed up, they would take away my dolls until I finished eating my food. I'd get so defiant, I'd say that I don't want my toys or care if I get no tv. It was resolved with dessert. We didn't allow cakes or junk food in the house but they would start to use them as currency. I always loved cake and ice cream but I couldn't have any for a week if I didn't eat all of my food. A week without that would kill me. I'd finish my plate in two or three hours playing with my carrots, broccoli, corn and oh God...beans. Beans were the WORST! It was a bad day for everyone when there was split pea soup. Dominic never had a problem. He presented himself as the dutiful older twin with a halo over his head while I fought with everything to the death. Kicking, screaming, crying until I foamed in the mouth and when my grandpa had enough, all he had to do was shout,"CUT. IT. OUT!", immediately my face dried up, I went limp and was reduced to a pout defeated and slowly eating with a tear or two in between. I actually love vegetables now. No, I'm not a vegan but lately my diet has included mostly veggies. In leftovers from the night before, I have a roast chicken seasoned with rosemary, garlic and chilli powder on a bed of cucumber, carrots, broccoli tops, onions, and garlic cloves with mashed potatoes on the side. My mother always said, "Starve a fever, feed a cold". There is no way I could eat that now. What I need most is water and Gatorade.

Here we go again. I hobble my miserable body now wrapped in a king size white comforter. Vince calls me a bean burrito. Heh, racist. It's too hot yet way too cold and this blanket feels like a wearable cloud so what doesn't make it around my battle-worn bean sack, drags on the cold wooden floor slabs as I make my way back to the kitchen to fish out a cold red Gatorade and an icy bottle of water. I place the Gatorade on the flat stovetop. It's one of those fancy electric ones. The water gets gulped in one go, an ice cold feeling every part of my insides all the way down. It felt so fucking good. I crush the bottle and threw it into the garbage bin. Should I do the same thing with this Gatorade? No, that's just dumb. It's clutched in my hands with the white comfy cloud gliding on the shiny floor back to bed. Odin is cat-loafed on the couch judgingly watching onward. Entering the master bedroom, the TV sits on the black dresser directly to the right which also is a home to a handful of Tarot and Oracle decks nealy placed within an alter I've created for the aesthetic. I've not used my decks, crystals, candles, or sage smudge in over three years. While climbing into bed sipping on the red drink, I think back to a time when I was nine years old playing solitaire in the downstairs bathroom of our new house. We didn't have a Gameboy or anything until years later. Card games kept us occupied. My favorite was solitaire. One day, while taking a shit, I would crouch down to play the cards. It was very hard to do but it was at that moment that I felt cards were going to be part of my life. Every time I flipped a card, the feeling was strong. I shrugged it off as useless information. Another premonition I had was in the bedroom. There was a pendulum swinging from the ceiling fan. I remember unclasping it off from the smaller chain. Just playing around I held it up to my mom joking saying I would hypnotize her and tell her the future. Didn't mean anything by it, it was just a silly joke. However, my mother didn't like it at all so she snapped it out of my hands and told me to never do that again. She usually was good at explaining why not to do things but this time she didn't.

I curled up in bed exhausted reaching for the TV remote. I wanted to die. My life had no purpose. For a while I thought helping people with their finances was doing just that but I don't get much joy out of hearing the sad stories people have about their financial pitfalls. People were angry, frustrated and broke all while I was making at least two grand every two weeks in a shitty office environment. A week off from dealing with all that with this agonizing flu has given me an opportunity to rethink my spiritual path. The man from my dreams had kissed me once. I woke up feeling it still on my lips. Victor never did that and he was fast asleep like a Snorlax. My face got hotter just thinking about it. I scrolled through YouTube videos about life after death. There was a middle aged woman who looked to have been older than she really was, talking about her book about the afterlife. The poor southern women from Alabama lost her son to suicide. Ugh that's depressing. I turned back to the lecture on ancient aliens. Georgio Tsukulos was speaking in depth about aliens being seen and worshiped as Gods. He spoke of a sky council who assisted with the growth of this planet. I drifted back to sleep with fragments of the dream that's haunted me for years now.