Don’t Forget Zitana by Christian Bell

Zitana, my psychic advisor, was old school.  Crystal ball, gypsy clothing, stiff Tolkienesque speech.  She looked ancient but was mentally keen.  I wasn’t sold on psychics.  So, why see her? Well, because of Mom, of course.

Last week, Zitana gave me six losing numbers.  For the MegaMillions, she said, untold riches await you!  I followed her advice.  Not one number came up.

Occasionally, she was right.  She said once, you will soon meet someone special.  Four months later, I met Lara.  For five months, we were ferocious.  Then she ditched me for her financial advisor.

Dad disliked Zitana.  He said, you’re wasting money.  They would argue.  When a stroke killed Dad, Mom said, Zitana predicted this!  Mom, though, never relayed this dire forecast.

So I returned to Zitana, bogus numbers on newspaper, said, not even close.  She was at her desk, Maury on rabbit-eared television, half-eaten cheeseburger Happy Meal before her.  Her usual garb had been replaced by jeans and Disneyland sweatshirt.

Unconcerned about her character breach, she studied the paper.  Well, I didn’t mean this week.  Keep playing.

On Maury, a woman had nine children by eight fathers.  When will I win, I asked.  The crystal ball doesn’t reveal that, she laughed, biting her cheeseburger.  Otherwise, I’d be in Tahiti.

Mom died ten years ago.  Pharyngeal cancer.  I never knew if Zitana had predicted it.  Near the end, unable to speak, Mom handwrote on paper, don’t forget Zitana.  So, I haven’t.  Maybe one day, those numbers will hit.

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4 Comments

Filed under Christian Bell

4 responses to “Don’t Forget Zitana by Christian Bell

  1. this is terribly sweet. incredible piece – love it.

  2. I am cross – I read the opening line and it sounded like something I would write. And as the story progressed, it just seemed – in theme, in tone – like something I would write. An the ending – yes, something I would write too. So, no wonder I enjoyed it – sad and amusing and kind of pointless and fruitless, but so much of life is like that … a poignant, alive, frustrating slice of life. Ja, reading it, I liked it a lot.

  3. This made me think of how people who believe they know the future take their fate out of their own hands. Well done.

  4. Pingback: Week #18 – Lucky Number « 52|250 A Year of Flash

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