“I knew you’d be back,” said Monique. She held open the flap to her tent. “Although I have to admit, I thought it would have been sooner.”
“Sorry, I was too caught up in my own affairs, or lack of them.”
“Come in.”
I walked in and made myself comfortable on a carved wooden chair. The slight murmur of the marketplace outside drifted in as she shuffled her tarot deck.
Only moments before, my love affair with the Carnival of Lost Souls made me wander rather than rush to visit Monique.
Outside the crowds were faint, as I focused on how much I loved this neighborhood of the hereafter. Several young girls in pink fairy costumes had twirled around me before finding another punter to have fun with. A debonair older man played the harp, which seemed to charm passersby while making all other melodies and sounds disappear into the ether. I couldn’t wait to move here and explore its magic.
“So what is it exactly that you’ve come to see me about?”
“To be honest, I’m not sure. I’ve been chasing love for so long, I guess I just want to know if I’m finally on the right track.”
“Why aren’t you sure?”
“I’ve meandered, then loved, and then lost love. When I lost all hope, he came back. I guess what I really want to know is if this will work out. Is our journey coming to a happy end?”
“You held back on love last time so are you set to know it all, next time?”
“Yes,” I replied. “Like on that crazy Monopoly board you showed me, the last time I was here.”
She gathered her cards from the table and put them to the side in a neat pile. She muttered something about the fact that I loved music before pulling out an exquisite wooden box from a shelf to her side. It was lacquered with a rose stain and wreaked of dust. As she wiped it with an old hankie, she instructed me to close my eyes.
“Oh, okay,” I replied.
I shut my eyes. I heard a latch open. I peeked. A figurine of a ballerina sprung up from inside, spinning slowly as the chimes of the same melody the harpist played filled the tent.
“Now, now, no peeping.” Monique cautioned me with her finger. “Otherwise, I’ll never get you into a trance. You’re about to witness your next life.”
The tune was simple and spun around in my head as much as that ballerina. She was intricate, but almost felt like another person in the room, not unlike the harlequin money box at home. I closed my eyes again.
As the song played in the background, I saw a vision of two middle-aged men making cups of ginger tea. Somehow I knew I was one of them.
As we let the fern-green teapot sit to infuse on the blood-red and black granite bench, I took in the scent of fresh basil and lavender from the windowsill.
“Why is there lavender growing?” I asked.
“To keep away the mosquitoes, Adam. Remember?” replied my bald but distinguished-looking partner.
What a strange place for lavender. Which one of us kept getting bitten while cooking? And how did I get a reincarnated name so close to my own?
As I poured the tea, he sauntered over to the balcony, gesturing for me to follow. It must have been the weekend. We were dressed in baggy old T-shirts and matching tracksuit pants. The sound of someone named Filippa Giordano was coming from the swanky stereo system. From the balcony, I noted the minimalist black modular lounge and glass-top coffee table. Large homoerotic prints of men’s torsos towered above the furniture, what little there was. Two of the prints had walls all to themselves. Personally, I would have shot the interior decorator.
“Adam, they’re at it again.”
“Who are?”
He pointed to the high-rise across the street where an attractive couple—one blond, one redhead—were going at it like rabbits. The bedspread had been thrown to the floor as they thrust a bit too energetically for this time of the morning. The blond reached out to something that was obscured from our vision. We shuffled over to the opposite side of our balcony to make out what he grabbed.
“It’s Clark from upstairs,” exclaimed my husband.
A bulky figure being pulled by his appendage came into view.
“Sex for breakfast. Maybe we should follow their lead.”
“Shall we invite one of the neighbors to join us as well? Jason is chomping at the bit to join us.”
“How do you know that?”
“Remember? He’s the one who brought over the lavender and popped it on each windowsill just so you wouldn’t get bitten.” Then my partner mimicked Jason by raising his shoulders and flapping his arms about in a tizz. “I can’t let my little Adam and Wade get bitten to death now, can I? You can’t get away with using makeup to hide the spots on your arms.”
“Is he cute?”
“Adam!”
Wade, who again strangely had a reincarnated name close to his own, grabbed my tatty T-shirt and pulled my mouth toward his. I lost myself in this romantic gesture. There was a spark of connection that was eerily familiar. His outpouring of love was just like Warwick’s, only on a deeper level. It was the same soul. His sweet body odor was stronger. My body ached and creaked in different ways, but I was me and he was he, older, wiser, and much more of a couple.
I was about to nestle my face into Wade’s neck, when I heard another gay cliché enter the room. It meowed.
“She wants to be fed,” my partner said.
“A cat?”
“Well, yes! She is why we’re here looking after Brent’s apartment. Remember?”
“Thank heaven!”
“Thank heaven what?” said Monique’s voice from the ether.
“White picket fences and Californian bungalows are my perfect fantasy. Not sterile furnishings and pets.”
I opened my eyes.
“Is it what you wanted to see?”
“Better than I expected.”
She closed the music box, brushing a little dust off the lid with her fingers.
“Remember, Allan, nothing is written in stone. Stay on this path and your journey will be completed.”