LJ Idol Week 14: Precognition (Home Game)
I don't know what's in my blood.
I know my blood type (B+). I know that when I neglect to eat iron-rich leafy greens I have a tendency to be borderline anemic. I know that I have blood.
But I don't know what's in it.
See, my mother is a mutt - she calls herself Heinz 57. There's no one ethnicity or nationality that stands out beyond the rest. When she lists off the countries who've contributed to her genes it's like naming off the nations that make up eastern Europe.
I don't know my father's blood at all but that's a different subject for a different week.
One thing that I do know - and my mother confirms this - is that there's gypsy in there somewhere.
It shows in my fair skin that will never tan, in the wild waves of dark hair that no amount of mousse will tame, in the pretty heart-shaped face and dark eyes. But most of all it shows in precognition.
My mother's precognition is astounding. She knows before I even get in trouble what I'm going to do, and as a teenager she (rightly) preemptively grounded me more than once. She knew when I was pregnant and what I was having, and she knew within two days when the baby would be born.
She's been visited in her dreams by family dead and gone and those about to leave us. She was warned posthumously by her brother-in-law that her sister was dating a married man - and it turned out that she was.
She is that crazy, dark-haired woman in bangles and rags who stands on street corners and yells at passersby.
Well, okay. Not yet. But she probably will be.
Me? I'm different. I don't have the same knack for intuition that she does, and I know it disappoints her a little bit. Of all her children I'm the one who showed the most gypsy promise. My moments of premonition are few and far between, though, and they're never as startlingly specific as hers are.
She asks me what I dream and is disappointed that I'm not catching on. She wonders when it'll hit me - because she's sure that it will one day or another.
And to that end, I guess I have to trust her. After all, she'd know!
But until it does I guess I'll have to be like the rest of us.
I know my blood type (B+). I know that when I neglect to eat iron-rich leafy greens I have a tendency to be borderline anemic. I know that I have blood.
But I don't know what's in it.
See, my mother is a mutt - she calls herself Heinz 57. There's no one ethnicity or nationality that stands out beyond the rest. When she lists off the countries who've contributed to her genes it's like naming off the nations that make up eastern Europe.
I don't know my father's blood at all but that's a different subject for a different week.
One thing that I do know - and my mother confirms this - is that there's gypsy in there somewhere.
It shows in my fair skin that will never tan, in the wild waves of dark hair that no amount of mousse will tame, in the pretty heart-shaped face and dark eyes. But most of all it shows in precognition.
My mother's precognition is astounding. She knows before I even get in trouble what I'm going to do, and as a teenager she (rightly) preemptively grounded me more than once. She knew when I was pregnant and what I was having, and she knew within two days when the baby would be born.
She's been visited in her dreams by family dead and gone and those about to leave us. She was warned posthumously by her brother-in-law that her sister was dating a married man - and it turned out that she was.
She is that crazy, dark-haired woman in bangles and rags who stands on street corners and yells at passersby.
Well, okay. Not yet. But she probably will be.
Me? I'm different. I don't have the same knack for intuition that she does, and I know it disappoints her a little bit. Of all her children I'm the one who showed the most gypsy promise. My moments of premonition are few and far between, though, and they're never as startlingly specific as hers are.
She asks me what I dream and is disappointed that I'm not catching on. She wonders when it'll hit me - because she's sure that it will one day or another.
And to that end, I guess I have to trust her. After all, she'd know!
But until it does I guess I'll have to be like the rest of us.