Something To Believe In
Grasping at straws, unseen.
A few months back, I bought a Ouija board. I wanted to connect with our cats who have “crossed over.”
Does that sound crazy? If you’ve read me before, you know I’m not adverse to making myself appear a bit “off.”
Yes. Questions for our cats. I had so many:
“Are you here around us?”
“Are you happy?
“Are you all together?”
“Was I a good mommy?”
“Do you forgive for the times when I was impatient and pushed you off my lap, or shoved you away, because I was ‘doing something?’ I hope you know I would give anything to relive those moments. Anything.”
“Did I love you the way you deserved to be loved?”
In my heart, I know the answer to that last question. I’ve loved, and do love, all of our cats, beyond measure, as if I gave them life. As if they were my children, which they are.
I believe cats, and all animals, have souls. As I grasp at this particular straw, I hope they forgive me for those moments when I was less than my best.
But — I need proof. I need to feel, to believe. I need to hear from them. Somehow. Someway.
Unfortunately, I have yet to use the Ouija board as I read that one must be very careful or the user could unwittingly release a malevolent presence, and literally, all hell could break loose.
“Well, shit, I thought. That’s the last thing we need around here.”
So, for now, the board sits in its box on a book case. Maybe, I’ll have the nerve to use it, someday.
When I do, I’ll ask those questions of my cats and hopefully, they’ll respond. My fingers barely touching it, the planchette will fly over the board and the answer, “You were the best cat mom, ever,” will magically appear, and I’ll finally, feel some peace, at least where they’re concerned.
I wouldn’t be surprised if my parents jumped into the conversation to say, “Sherry. What the fuck?”
If, only.
My mother was Italian and gentile; my father, a Jew of Russian descent. Neither one was a believer. So, my siblings and I grew up celebrating every holiday, while believing in the sanctity of none.
Let’s talk angels. I’ve read so many first-person accounts of people who have been in tough, even life-threatening situations and were magically saved by their “guardian angels.” Mystical beings who can apparently, take on human form, or animal, or avian, even bugs…you name it. And, they glow. They always, glow.
(“Don’t pulverize that glowing ant, asshole. It could be your guardian angel!”)
I’ve tried to be open to meets and greets with my guardian angel, whoever, or whatever that is. Do I even have one, or is this all bullshit fabricated by people with an abundance of hope and too few brain cells?
Truly, I hope not. I need something to hold onto, to believe in, to trust, especially as I get older. Yep. I’m a cliché and I know it.
A few years back, I found myself in a couple of sticky situations that could have killed me. Both involved my car.
On a blistering hot summer day, on my way home from work, I was tired and depressed. I felt myself getting sleepy, so I cranked up the AC, along with the radio.
After what felt like seconds later, I found myself drifting into oncoming traffic. I had passed out behind the wheel and miraculously, came through without a scratch. I had to right the car and slam on the brakes to avoid hitting the vehicle in front of me, but, strangely, no one honked their horns, flipped me off…nothing. It was so quiet. Unsettlingly so.
I was shaking like a leaf and, later, when I’d calmed down and replayed the “event,” I remember feeling that there was a presence in the car with me. A long-gone family member. Or, maybe, I just wanted to believe that.
I do know that, if I hadn’t “come to,” when I did, I could have been seriously hurt, or worse. And, I could have hurt someone else.
The second incident occurred in the dead of winter. I was making a right turn into my employer’s parking lot, a building directly adjacent to a busy highway. I turned too soon and my car executed what I can only call a “vertical leap” onto an ice “stalagmite” in the right turning lane.
My car hovered at the top for a few breathless seconds and I frantically turned the steering wheel in every possible direction so I could go down the other side. Then, my car began listing to the left, directly into that busy highway, which was heavy with semis and other vehicles that would have crushed me like a Coors can after a chug.
I remember feeling weirdly calm, as if I knew this was the end, and I was okay with it. Just as I felt the inevitable was about to happen, my car righted itself and bounced down the other side of that pyramid of solid ice.
Like before, I was shaking. One of my co-workers saw what happened and was equally stunned. He made some comment about my “stunt driving,” but we were both seriously freaked out.
I don’t know how I made it through that. As I said: A busy highway. Rush hour traffic. There was no way I could have made it out of that completely unscathed.
Was it a miracle? I don’t know. My guardian angel? Who can say? All I know is, I was in two potentially disastrous situations and made it through, to the other side.
Oh — and I found (no, saw) a lump in my breast that, yes, was cancer, but caught early, so here I am.
Maybe there is something to believe in. Myself? No. Too pat. Something else. Something nameless, shapeless. Something that hovers above me, below me, around me and somehow, keeps me whole…keeps me here. For now.
Maybe that “something” is actually, “someone.” Someone who loves me. Hell, maybe it’s our cats, after all. But, I still want to hear from them. So, maybe that Ouija board will come in handy, sooner than later. And maybe…just maybe, they’ll talk to me. Tell me everything I want to know.
Again. If, only.
As always, thanks for reading. Here’s my latest curated piece. I hope you enjoy it.
Sherry McGuinn is a longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. Her work has appeared in The Chicago Tribune, Chicago Sun-Times and numerous other publications. Sherry’s manager is currently pitching her newest screenplay, a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story.
