My sister, Sue, and I are sitting in Jackson Square on a bright sunny day with a palm reader. My brother-in-law, Steve, is nearby listening closely to every word uttered by the palm reader. Pacing in the background is Coach Jeff, my husband. Our son has his very first football game, and we chose to be on an *adults only* weekend sojourn instead of enjoying this with him. I'm personally glad we're not there, as Jeff is annoying enough 837 miles away shouting offensive plays into my cell phone. He hangs up occasionally, only to call either his parents who are sideline today, or one of the other coaches on the team minutes later.

"Belly-thirty-six-RIGHT!!!!"

Oh, please. I'd rather be sitting here next to Sue, my only sister, enjoying the palm reader's thoughts on what our future holds. We fought hard to get here again, and are all finding it hard to believe we made it %u2026 finally. This is our third trip to the Big Easy, and easy it was not. Our third trip was to have been taken Sept. 14, 2001. But 3 days prior, some terrorists decided to destroy the lives of thousands of Americans. Right up until the evening before our scheduled flight we were assured we were still on schedule, despite airplanes just beginning to take to the air again after the horrors of the week. Then just before midnight American Airlines dropped their own bomb and said our flight was cancelled afterall. Not that we didn't feel for the thousands of lives altered that week and have fears of our own safety, but we'd been through so much that year already. We needed that getaway.

To find ourselves back here again after everything that has transpired, we feel quite lucky. We have all decided this is our best trip here out of the three times we've been here, yet we can't quite put our finger on why that is. Underneath it all, we know the reason. It's been a long, hard journey. We deserve this after the sadness we've all experienced.

I look around while I sit here and just try to take it all in. The breathtaking St. Louis Cathedral is to our backs. The Gulf of Mexico is to our front. It was supposed to rain all weekend, yet here we find barely a cloud in the sky. It's as if someone up there is smiling down on us, telling us we deserve this, our Utopia. I have yet another banana daquiri in my hand; my belly is quite full. Steve and Jeff have just finished a huge Cajun lunch. Sue and I, still trying to digest our breakfast, opted for some simple garlic mashed potatoes. It was there at lunch that Sue and I had conjured up the plan to visit the palm reader. Sue has a friend that had been raped, and was astonished that a palm reader was able to detect this by "reading" her. Sue wants to know if a palm reader can detect the crime committed against her.

Sitting amongst us are other palm readers and subjects. Curious passersby, necks laced with colorful beads, wandering about, either with their own daquiri or "Huge Ass Beer" in their hand. Perhaps this is the only neighborhood where you can be allowed to walk around with a large plastic cup bearing the words, "Huge Ass Beer." Some of the tourists also have assorted shopping purchases with them, mostly being souvenirs such as ceramic masks or hot sauce.

As special as this city is to us, we wonder if everyone feels that same way. When you talk to others that have visited the Big Bayou everyone seems to have different experiences. We aren't ones for the big expensive Bourbon Street meals. We find the best meals in what we affectionately refer to as "dives." We know we don't want to wander into their kitchen and see what could very possibly be back there, but when the food is that good, you just can't think about it. And who can resist the lure of music and drinks on Bourbon Street late at night? This is the place we come to forget all our troubles back home.

Steve asks the palm reader how much it will be for his services.

"Sir, I wish I could quote y'all a price. But the laws of this here state won't allow it. All I can do is say the other readers in the storefronts here will charge you a minimum of forty dollars to walk in their door. That's all I can say. Y'all can pay me whatever you feel it's worth."

The palm reader is a heavyset, slightly unkempt man. In another place, at another time, I wouldn't have even given this man a second glance. We had been on our way to another palm reader in the Square that Sue had seen the day before. She had felt she connected with her, and wanted to know her thoughts. On our way to find her, however, this man had called us over and made us curious.

Sue fumbles through her purse and pulls out a twenty. "This is for both of us," she says, pointing over at me. I fall into the pattern of letting her be the outspoken leader. Being four years older than me this is how it always is. Unless we are at a bar and drinking. For some reason I become her caretaker at that point, making sure she doesn't enter into bad decision-making. These things usually come up after she shows the whole bar how she can fit her whole fist in her mouth. Truly a great bar trick.
He motions us to sit in the two chairs in front of him.

"Now, first off, I'm going to need a personal item of yours, like a cigarette or something %u2026"

"Here ya go," Steve hands the palm reader a cigarette he's fished out of the pack in his pocket, then lights it for him as well.
Sue and I are staring breathlessly at the reader now, waiting for what comes next. Will he read her future through the cigarette? Will some dear departed relative speak to us through the smoke? Can he feel some sort of unseen vibe through the cigarette? Our hopes are dashed as he picks up Sue's hand and begins to "read" the lines, while puffing away on the cigarette. Apparently this is just a cheap way to maintain his habit.

The reader tells Sue she will fall in love two times in her life, and the second time will be in about 5 years or so. Steve is listening completely still. I know he'll be fixated on this for awhile to come. Being high school sweethearts, they are first loves to each other. They began dating when they were in ninth grade and I was in fifth. Having him be in our lives since I was quite young, he is the closest thing to a brother that I have. I sit here knowing Steve will worry about this for the rest of the day.

"So, what brings you here today?" Still puffing on the cigarette, the reader is looking for clues to help him read Sue. She wants to be as vague as possible so as to not give away anything to him. She's testing him and wants to know how good he truly is, if he's worth her twenty.

"Ummm, safety." Her legs and arms are crossed in obvious defiance as if to say, "I dare ya."

"Safety, huh?" A few shots in the dark are fired off by the reader that are way off the mark. Finally, he hits it.

"I bet you have to testify against some guy in court or something."

I audibly gasp. Oh my God, he is so close. Is this luck or can he really read something on us? He glances over at me, knowing he'd hit something. As up until this point, I'd remained mute.

"I'm right?"

"Well, actually, I already did testify against him."

"Was this guy after you for awhile?"

"No. It was a random shooting in a bar, and I was one of the ones shot."

"Is he in jail?"

"Uh, yes. With the death penalty."

"Then why y'all still worried about it?" Sue thinks it's funny that every man in Louisiana sounds like James Carvelle. "I bet he has a son or brother after you now or something. Is that it?"

"Oh my God! Yeah, you're right." Sue adds, "The night he was sentenced to death, his twin brother and another brother called the bar with death threats. They went to jail and everything, but ..." The night of the sentencing was a strange night for their brotherly love to surface. No one from the shooter's family was ever seen at the trial. And at the sentencing hearing he was asked how many siblings he had, and he wasn't even sure. He thought maybe 12.

"But they're all in jail now. Why y'all still worried about safety?"

Sue folds herself back up again and tells him she doesn't know.

The palm reader asks Sue to shuffle some tarot cards and he lays them out on his dirty, cluttered card table. There's empty cups, a filled ashtray. and a sweat-soaked towel among the cards. He doesn't really come up with anything here that satisfies him for what he needs to tell her.

"Now, I'm gonna tell y'all what you need to do. See that beautiful cathedral over there? You walk in that door and you pray. You put your faith in God. And trust me, when you come out, you'll feel better. There's no need to worry anymore. I feel you'll be safe and that this man or his family won't ever be a threat to you again." He switches gears quickly and asks, "Is the FBI after this guy or something?"

We are all shocked at this odd suggestion and say no.

He goes on to tell us the reason he thinks this is because he knows we are being followed.

"Huh?" Sue and I utter this in unison.

"There's a big guy out there, who's been standing behind us, watching you, and he's on a cell phone.

Sue and I are now cracking up in unison. Not only is Jeff still on the cell phone, pacing, and screaming offensive plays, he is also a big man. He is 6'5" and 265 pounds on a good day.

Through my laughter I tell the palm reader, "That isn't someone from the F.B.I. That's my husband!"

"Does he work for the F.B.I. or some other investigative company?"

"No!" I'm still laughing, knowing this will be a great story to take back to our home in South Elgin.

"Are ya sure?"

"Yes I'm sure! He works for our local phone company!"

"Well, ma'am, I gotta tell ya, I think he does have some connections somewhere to something like that, and you just aren't aware of it."

True, Jeff does have two uncles that are retired Chicago policemen, but this is just too funny. Of course, one of those uncles is in New Orleans this same weekend we are to attend an Irish Policemen's Convention. Maybe it is this that he is reading.

The palm reader glances at me, back to Sue, and finally fixes his gaze back on me.

"I'm not sure what the connection is to y'all sitting here, but I'm feeling something. I feel an undeniable connection. I feel that you," he says still fixing on me, "have the strength to make all her pain go away. You are an incredibly strong person. I want you two to face each other, stare each other in the eyes ..."

Sue and I turn to face each other and are suppressing our giggles. I am especially giggly at being considered a strong person. I consider myself anything but. Despite being a green belt in Tae Kwon Do on this day, I don't feel strong. I feel I have spent my whole life as everyone else's patsy. How can I be strong enough to make Sue's tremendous emotional pain go away?

"%u2026Now you have to look at her and tell her everything will be ok."

Feeling quite silly, I do as told. Inside I was wishing that as intuitive as he appeared to be, he would've picked up on the fact that we were sisters. Despite the fact that we look nothing alike, we are connected, we're sisters.

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