Mind Game

While I discovered my psychic intuitive abilities nearly seven years ago, I can look back on my life and recall situations where they were always present, such as when pre-teen me and my mother experienced what was known as telepathy. Back then, I just didn’t know that’s what it was called.

During one Alabama summer of ’74 night, Laura from next door came over to eat hamburgers and play Monopoly with my mother, my sister, Tracy, and me. Once all of the board game’s real estate was bought up, all, except Tracy, became disinterested.

“I’ve got Park Place and Boardwalk and y’all want to stop,” my sister complained as she tossed her property deeds onto the table. “I never get them. I always end up with Baltic Place or something like that,” further venting that she wasn’t going to get to charge rent when we landed on her high-end locales.

“We all agree, you win Tracy,” my mother said. “Is that better?”

My younger sister grinned; she could live with the unanimous decision.

As Tracy and I put away the pieces of the game, my mother suggested, “I know something we can do. I read about this in a magazine the other day. I can’t remember exactly what it’s called, but it’s when two people, without saying a word to each other, try and think of the same thing.” My mother looked at me as if she knew that I’d be game, “Wanna try it, Tony?”

“Sure. It sounds like fun,” I replied.

“Okay, what I’m going to do is write down the name of a Southern city. I’ll then fold the paper several times, so no one can see what I‘ve written.” She proceeded to do as she said. “Tony, now, I want you to look directly into my eyes and just concentrate on the message that I’m mentally trying to send to you right now.”

“Right now?”

“Shhhh, yes, right now. Concentrate. Focus only on me and what I’m thinking.” The only sound in the room was the humming of the battered, old window unit air conditioner.

We looked intently at each other for 15 seconds, about the time limit before a game show host asked a contestant for an answer. “New Orleans,” my mouth announced.

My mother gulped and slowly unfolded the piece of paper to reveal, “New Orleans” in her perfect handwriting.

“We did it! We did it!” I yelled.

“I don’t believe it! Wow, that was really neat,” Laura said while she clapped her hands in approval. “I would’ve said Birmingham or Atlanta.”

“How did y’all do that?” Tracy asked in astonishment.

“I don’t know; I was trying to listen to what I thought she was saying,” I answered. “I kept hearing in my head, ‘New Orleans, New Orleans, New Orleans,’ in her voice.”

“But, you’ve never even been to New Orleans, Tony,” my sister continued, as she playfully hit me on the head with the Monopoly box.

Love and Light,

Tony