The fear of the unknown
"Would you be interested in glimpsing your future?
I must caution you, it rarely unfolds as one anticipates!" The sideshow attractions at the county fair never held much sway over me. This was an entirely new experience. In our small, unremarkable town, we would never have permitted a fortune teller to have any influence over us good, devout individuals. Never. It amused me.
I never truly believed that any of this could live up to the hype. Yet here I am, receiving the most solemn of warnings. Is she genuine? Part of me found it amusing, while another part was gripped by fear. In a tent reminiscent of every movie that relied on clichés of gypsies and their crystal balls, adorned with scarves and dim lighting, it was all playing out before my eyes. There was no way this could be anything like the tales depicted in movies. No way. This was a staged production, complete with props. It was a caricature of a fortune teller from the movies. It was laughable! My skepticism prevailed. I chuckled and replied, "I'll go along with it"
I expected a crystal ball, perched dramatically on a table, unveiled with a swift flourish of fabric. Instead, she peered deeply into my eyes and asked, "Are you certain?" Her hand extended, palm open, as she posed the question. She managed to pierce through my newfound bravado, causing me to waver. I was no longer so certain. Pride is the illegitimate child of Satan. I would never admit to being afraid of anything, yet I was.
The battle now lay between admitting my fear and changing course, or standing tall in my pride and inviting whatever dreadful thing my fear could conjure. Naturally, I chose pride, bolstered by false confidence. "I sought my future, and my future I shall receive!" I hoped to exude courage and nonchalance, adding a hint of boastful British flair to my words. However, it was all betrayed by the trembling of my knees beneath the table and a slight quaver in my voice. Ever so slight. I suppressed it quickly, believing it impossible for anyone to notice. But her gaze told me otherwise.
"You shall witness as I paint," she declared, her tone menacing and matter-of-fact. It shook me to my core. What? No crystal balls? No séance? No orchestrated shaking of tables and chairs? Just a painting? My confidence surged at this revelation. How could I be afraid of someone simply painting? Images of the afro-haired guy, happy trees, and birds filled my mind, clouding the rightful sense of unease. "So, to clarify, you will paint, and I will observe, and through this, my future will be revealed?" I asked.
"Not at all," she replied. "I will paint, and fate will reveal your future. I am merely a vessel." In hindsight, I often wish I had mustered the courage to stand up and leave. My instincts were on high alert, my intuition screaming at me. Leave! Didn't I mention that pride is the offspring of Satan? "Come with me!" she beckoned, rising from the table. Skillfully, she drew back a curtain, revealing another room.
"Take a seat here," she directed, gesturing toward a weathered wooden chair that seemed ancient, with its knotty wood and rough appearance, straight out of a Hansel and Gretel tale or the album cover for 'Tea for the Tillerman'. I complied and looked up, finding a canvas stretched before me, ready to be painted. A stool and an artist's palette sat between me and the canvas. The fortune teller took a brush in hand and scrutinized me from her perch on the stool. "This is your last chance," she said. Unable to speak, I nodded, mustering as much pride and defiance as I could.