Susan
Susan didn’t dare, after all that time, to go up to him and simply introduce herself and ask his name. No, she could have done all that after maybe the fifth or sixth time she encountered him. But by then it was too late. She might have sounded accusatory, aggressive. Or did she like the mystery and wanted to keep it that way?
She thought about other mysteries in her life. Like when her dear grandmother, whom she hadn’t seen in years and lived so far away, came to her in a vision. “Susan,” she heard a familiar voice call to her as she sat at her home desk reading one early Saturday morning. Looking up, she saw her beloved grandmother’s face, those characteristic sad eyes, her light talcum powder smell. “Susan… the truth is…” and she was gone. Days later she received a call from her father, “Your grandmother passed away this Saturday.”
Susan’s friends used to tell her she had two high IQs, one for intelligence, the other for intuition. She could divine when a boy had a crush on one of her friends, and so too when that boy had lost interest. She knew when to leave a party before things got out of control and knew too when to go to a party that promised a good outcome. All that was long ago; she no longer thought about premonitions or intuitive feelings. Her practical sense buried any mystical sensitivities. And yet, dark mysteries still disturbed her sleep.
