Friends, fireworks, and talking to the dead.

I'm someone who believes in things I can't always see or explain.  For me it's not a question of whether or not there are ghosts or spirits, say; I just know there are.  I shrug my shoulders when people roll their eyes at my extensive knowledge of Astrology.  It's not my place to convince others why I feel it's valid, I just happen to believe it is.  I don't go around advertising it, but if you give me long enough, I will probably guess which month you were born.  (But I'll only tell you if I'm drunk.)  If I wasn't scared of my own shadow I'd probably make a damn good medium. 

Speaking of mediums, did I ever tell you about the Fourth of July weekend in the Marriott Copley?  Picture it: July, 1997.  I was eighteen and had just completed my first year at the Boston Conservatory.  My closest friends were Amy, Jeff and Jamie.  Jamie's mom Beverly and her friend were in town for the holiday weekend and we all walked over for a visit.

Beverly's friend was a respected medium who sometimes worked with the police and had read for famous types, including Bill Clinton.  Jamie called him Auntie Mel. 

Like most remarkable occurrences, it all happened very suddenly.  The lights were low and there were candles burning.  Bev was practicing Reiki on Jeff, whose long dancer limbs were bothering him.  And then, Auntie Mel started to go into a sort of...trance-like state?

I hesitate to write any of this because it's a difficult thing to convey unless you were actually there.  (But you already know I'm a crackpot, don't you, Dear Reader?)  That night Mel channeled a woman.  His voice became soft and he began to rock slowly back and forth.  He curled up into himself and was whimpering.  We could barely make out the word he kept repeating: "Sterno.  The sterno.  He used sterno..."

Sterno?  I didn't recolonize it by name at the time, but after my years in catering I'm very familiar with the stuff.  Sterno are the small metal cans you place under a chafing dish when serving food buffet style.  It's a sort of gel-like material that you set fire to and it keeps the food warm. 

So, from what we gathered, apparently this woman's son in law had murdered her and used...you guessed it, sterno. 

It was all becoming beyond intense.  The four of us, Amy, Jamie, Jeff and I, sat there dumbfounded and silent, clinging to one another in the dark.  We were terrified.  As for me, I was pretty much ready to shit myself.  Chills ran up and down my spine and my eyes were watering.  I looked up at Jeff; for a gay ballerina he was actually a pretty macho guy, but even he looked frightened.  When I glanced over at Jamie he raised his eyebrows and gave me half a smile, but I noticed he had a single tear sliding down his cheek. 

I would never look at sterno the same way again.  Beverly seemed a little concerned that things had gone this far in front of us newbies.  This was a case Mel had been working on and this sterno information was something new and valuable.  

Auntie Mel grew quiet.  Someone else was coming through.  His voice was barely a whisper as he chanted, "I am...that I am...I am...Nicodemus."

Oh shit.  I wanted my mommy.  Reader, I can still hear him say it: Nicodemus.  I will never forget it for as long as I live. 

Up until this point, my brushes with the supernatural included 99 cent horoscope scrolls from CVS and seedy Tarot card readings at Hampton Beach.  This was something else entirely.  "Don't be afraid," Bev told us, "Nicodemus was with Jesus."

I made a mental note to check the bible sometime.  I didn't know anything about a Nicodemus, unless you counted The Secret of NIMH.  Auntie Mel's voice became nasal and high pitched.  Everything about him, his voice, his physicality, had changed completely.  He was Nicodemus, whoever the hell that was.

Beverly asked us if there was anything we'd like to ask, though she suggested we go through her rather than speak to him directly.  Jamie wanted to know about his tooth, and I got the feeling he'd already asked this same question before, because Nicodemus kind of seemed pissed at him.  Apparently he felt Jamie had sloppy oral hygiene or something.  I distinctly remember he referred to him as "James" as he chastised him. 

"Does anyone else have any questions?"  Beverly asked. 

I did.  My grandfather had died when I was six and I sometimes had dreams about him.  I'd wake up filled with this amazing energy; I always felt like we'd had a visit.  Was he really coming to visit me?  I asked.

"Do you believe in your heart that your grandfather is there?" 

I nodded.

"Then he is.  And don't be afraid," Nicodemus continued, "of cancer."

What the?  When it was all over, Beverly remarked on how gentle Nicodemus had been with me, as opposed to the stern tone he'd taken with Jamie.  "Has anyone in your family had cancer?" Bev asked.  Nobody had; up until that point, at least.  I barely gave it a second thought.

When Amy and I stepped outside we felt...odd.  I wasn't quite sure what had happened, but after an experience like that I simply wasn't the same.  We left the Prudential Center feeling different, changed. 

"Maybe I died of cancer in a past life," I wondered to Amy. 

"Maybe," my friend mused, "or it could be you'll die of cancer in this life."  Oy.  I hadn't thought of that.

Amy was dating a Fiji from MIT at the time, and when we returned to the frat house to meet up with our friends, we weren't really sure if we should tell them.  These were math guys, after all; they were never going to believe us!  Also, to tell them felt like it would only cheapen it, so I don't think we went into too much detail.

On lunch break that Monday, I relayed the story to my work friends in great detail.  They sat there in silence, listening raptly, all but one who spent the rest of the summer saying "Nicodemus" to me in a spooky voice.  Oh well.  It isn't a story for everyone.

I did look up Nicodemus in the bible.  And more recently, I did some research (aka: Wikipedia) and learned that he was actually with Jesus, as Beverly had told us.  I still get the chills whenever I think of him.

During my ride home that Sunday on the commuter rail, I frantically documented my account of the evening's events on the fronts and backs of two envelopes.  (All the paper I had with me at the time.)  I knew this was a story I would want to remember.  I have searched all day, in vain, for at least one of those envelopes; but all to no avail.  I never throw anything away!  But keeping things organized is another story.  And so I am forced to write this post entirely from memory.  It was exactly twelve years ago, but that's how it happened.

The other day someone asked me if I "believed" in psychics.  "Uh-huh," I answered, and turned and went about my business.  But in my mind I was thinking, honey, you don't even know the half of it.  xoxo

Comments

[Amy]

If I remember correctly when we got to the hotel room there was quite a nice spread. I never tell anyone about that night, because it sounds nuts. You definitely had to be there. John Edwards can't hold a candle to Auntie Mel!

[the odd broad]

I had trouble falling asleep last night because I freaked myself out just remembering it! Sternooooo....

[Sissy]

I was scared just listening to the story again yesterday!

[Weinerdog]

I always wished I could have been there for that!

Auntie Joan used to shut the lights off on me when I was little and would tell me that Nicodemus was coming for me.........so if I was there I probably would've crapped my pants!

[tami]

i thought this was going to be a great cancer survivor story. didnt quite end how i thought it would. but still spooky...can you ask auntie mel if the friggin rain will ever stop?

[the odd broad]

I'd like this rain to stop, too...perhaps I can contact some spirit guides...

[Keely]

The Odd Broad is on a roll with extra super-fantastic and hilarious blogs!!! They're always good, but these last few have had me in tears.

[the odd broad]

Thanks Bubs! xoxo