An Experiment In The Death of The Soul

The psychic stared at the Interviewer, waiting patiently and second guessing her impulsive decision. She hadn't really signed up for this, nor was she invited, she had just kind of wandered in.

She remembered a story Burt had once told her. He had made the decision to quit drinking, an admirable one for him since it was life or death with the ticker he had, but he was young. Enthusiastic still for anything and with youthful vigor, excited about being successful at reaching his goal after three long months he was on top of the world now. He could handle anything. Strolling the downtown street, casually enjoying the afternoon after going out to buy a handkerchief as a memento. He window gazed as he walked along and there was his passion calling out to him from his own reflection. The sign said, “Open Auditions.” Well, well, this was his call. Burt excelled at this, he was a natural. In school, everyone had said he would one day be a star, he was so good. Charismatic, there wasn't a crowd he couldn't capture. Without a second thought, he pulled the theatre door open and walked in. With awesome good looks he inquired and a shy smile met his gleaming one and the young lady handed him a part of a script. He breezed through it once, thought about it for maybe a brief second, walked up on stage and with perfect timing got the part, just like that. So excited, as he walked out of the theatre he called Lisa and told her. As always she was as enthusiastic as he was and just as excited. Young Burt so enthused thought he would celebrate by going into the pub and sharing his good news. Before long, the 'ol “I'll just have one,” crept up on him and there began a weekend bender and he missed the practice the next day.

The psychic stared at the Interviewer a little impatiently wondering if she should have walked past the sign on the door that day. Also, wondered if there was a beer in her future too. The sign had said “Paid Interviews,” so she walked in. That the Interview was about psychic ability seemed a double call. “This ought to be good,” she thought once she knew what the interview was about, and smiled meekly as she handed the clip board to the receptionist.

A bespectacled man with a no-nonsense stature offered a welcoming smile that looked much like a grimace, like he didn't really want to be there but graduate studies demanded it. “We'll just go through the questions, it should take an hour, then go back to the receptionist, sign the form and get your money.” He had no idea that the person being interviewed was psychic.

“So, what do you do, about five of these a day?” She asked politely

“As a matter of fact, yes. Exactly that, five a day, for the month.” looking up from his clipboard, he peered at her over his glasses, a moment longer than usual.

“Let's start with, do you believe in psychic ability?” Interviewer asked.

“Sure, why not?”

“It's a yes or no. That's a yes then.”

“Gotcha, no open ended questions.”

“Not the point, some might be.”

“About five, I've been to about five in the future...I mean, in the past.”

The interviewer stared back at a gleaming smile...“have you ever gone to a psychic before for a read...ing?” clearing his throat, he straightened his suit jacket, his question trailing off to nowhere.

“Five,” she repeated.

Ahem.

“In what manner did he or she conduct their reading?”

“Same as you, sans the clipboard.”

“By questions then,” the Interviewer stated.

“No, by answers.”

“Ok,” blushing now, the Interviewer stared at his board and pretended to be making notes but drew a smiley face instead. “I'll skip the next question then.”

“Were they accurate?” He continued.

“I don't remember.”

Long drawn out pause.

“Do you believe in the soul?” He asked steadily.

“Without a soul, how do we know things? How do we find out purpose here without some kind of connection to the omnipotence to life. How do we connect dots without knowing they're there.”

“By thinking, that's how. With our mind,” he replied

“That's the brain we think with, the physical part. The brain dies, the soul doesn't, the soul is connected to mind,” she said, seriously now.

“How do you know?”

“The soul told me.”

“How?”

“The one standing right behind you,” and she winked for a moment at the apparition of Burt.

“Changing the questions now,” the Interviewer responded.

“Okey dokey.”

“I am going to draw an image on my page and you guess, or use psychic intelligence to tell me what...”

“A smiley face.”

The interviewer set the clipboard on the desk and without looking at her walked out of the room.

The young psychic woman sat for a moment staring at the back of the door waiting for the grad student interviewer to return. He never did. She stepped outside the office door and went back to the receptionist's desk and asked for her payment. “No, you don't get any. The Interview is a full hour and you were only 12 minutes so the doctor left for an early lunch.” She walked out imagining she felt much like Burt did that next day, years ago. Like she had maybe missed out on some kind of opportunity. She headed for the food bank instead.

One might think that Burt had lost his chance, that in 24 hours he had changed his path, missed an opportunity. But did he? What had really changed? Nothing had. He was the same as he was the day before and no role would really change anything. If that was a new career path for the young man, would not have more careful steps had brought him there? Would a meeting by chance or appointment really change the world. Careful steps or a casual glide, life might just be that, an experiment in the death of a soul. Who is to say that after a feat of accomplishment and added bonus of even a few minutes of happiness, that wasn't the whole meaning of the day and nothing else mattered.

Lisa Lachapelle's Books