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“Well, you got me—I’m not atruepsychic.”
“I knew it.” He laughs.
“Well, I mean, not like that. I can’t tell you your fortune, if that’s what you mean. The word psychic is an umbrella term for a lot of things. I, personally, see people’s auras. I read auras for a living.”
“Auras, like, you see people’s energy fields?”
“Exactly. Everything on earth radiates energy. I see it in color.”
“What does my aura say about me? Right now?”
“I can’t see it.”
“Oh no.” He feigns horror. “I have no soul. I knew it.”
I laugh. “No, it comes to me at random times ... I know it sounds wonky.”
“No, it doesn’t. I think it’s fantastic. When did you learn you could do this?”
“Second grade.”
I remember the exact day, time, place, and what I was wearing. I remember the smells, the lights, the sounds, every minute detail of that moment.
My teacher walked into the classroom and was glowing, literally encased in an orb of light. To say it unnerved me is an understatement. I was terrified. I kept looking around at the other kids, but they didn’t appear to notice.
Then it started happening regularly, at random times with random people—friends, my parents, the bus driver, the grocery store clerk. I couldn’t control it. I thought I was sick, or worse, going crazy. This is a lot for an eight-year-old to process. It was an odd time—the beginning of, well, a very odd and unconventional life.
Eventually, I learned that this phenomenon is called synesthesia. Yes, it’s an actual medical diagnosis. In a nutshell, it’s a very rare error in perception of senses. People with synesthesia experience one sense (touch, hearing, sight, smell, taste) through another. They often see letters, numbers, or sounds as colors. (Which leads to a slew of academic challenges, as you can imagine. I had terrible grades in school.)
Continuing, I say, “I didn’t tell anyone for years.”
“You had this incredible gift and didn’t tell anyone?”
I cock my head. “You’ve been to junior high school, right?”
Tristan laughs. “I see. You would have been picked on, labeled an outcast.”
“Exactly. I didn’t understand it, so how could I expect anyone else to?”
“So, how did you turn it into a business?”
I shrug, turning my coffee cup around in my hands. “As I got older—matured, you could say—I began to embrace it. I did a ridiculous amount of research on the subject and eventually decided to try to monetize it. I visited dozens of psychics to get a feel for how they worked. Next thing I know, I’m standing on Hollywood Boulevard, asking five dollars in exchange for an aura read.”
He’s smiling from ear to ear. “Unbelievable.”
I smile, delighted that he is pleased with me. “Then, one thing led to another, and I ended up starting my own business. You’d be surprised how many people in Los Angeles are into this kind of stuff.”
“I’m sorry, but no, I would not be surprised.”
I snort. “LA is like its own little world, isn’t it?” I sip. “Did you know seventy percent of Americans believe in luck?Seventypercent of people believe that they are at the mercy of luck, that they can’t control their path.”
“Idiots.”
“Right? These are the people who want to know their auras so they can clean them—to attract good luck.”
He grins. “And those are the people that kept your business going.”
“Exactly.” I sip again. The coffee is outstanding. “The thing about auras is they change all the time. So, I would get a lot of repeat customers. They might be going through something in life, or they might be sick, whatever, and they would come and see me to basically verify: ‘Yep, your aura is dirty. You’ve got a lot going on, and you need to change stuff.’”
