I had no worry of my future; it was my past of which I was uncertain. It returned from time to time, in bits, in chunks, in storms roaring from a babys cooing and following the path of mid-morning sun across a whitewashed wall. I did remember some things, both happy and sad: sweet cookies straight from the oven, the death of a childhood pet. I also remembered other things that made me fearful: grey skin jammed beneath fingernails, barred windows, and ratted hair.

The gypsy girl shook a cup, dumped some items on the cloth-covered tabletop between us and bade me select three. I had the choice of: a back stone shaped like a raven, a metal nail, a tiny cup-shaped button, a small wedge of dried root (hemlock), a painted coin worn smooth, a tooth, and a claw. The table spun and I couldnt decide. I tried, and tried and I looked and looked as the gypsy waited and the room seemed to be a bit too close. Her eyes were perfectly almond-shaped, large and beautiful. I could feel the curtained walls closing in and felt her watching me as if in a fishbowl and I grew uncomfortable because the items were all so similar and yet all so different. Why are you rushing? she asked without emotion. There were too many choices yet only seven but that was six too many; I had to choose three and eliminate four. Do not be overwhelmed, she crooned. As I poked at the items with my smallest fingers, aligning them and never once touching them with my thumbs; I thought of my sisters, my sorrowful sisters and I knew that each of my choices represented each of them and which, I wondered, which item represented me? This set me to tapping my forehead with my fingers.

But, the gypsy reminded me as if she could read my thoughts, You are not here to find yourself. You come seeking information on another, unless that someone is really you. How should I know? I came seeking answers, not riddles, I snapped. She smiled at me. Often the riddles are the answers. The answers can be new ideas. Instantly I became mad, wanting to scream at her, but all I heard were my own screams bouncing off the walls of my soul. She remained motionless, still as a statue.

I tossed the raven-shaped stone, the tooth and the metal nail back into the cup.

She nodded and turned over the next card.

Jealousy. Uncertainty. Confusion. The gypsy glanced at me and then not-so-subtly, inched her seat in the other direction. Is a problem of extremes. Is a situation with a rope, you see. You are the rope drawn tighter and tighter as the lead end moves on. Finally, the tail end must be loosened and whips forward in one great motion. This can hurt.

Or kill, I replied.

She narrowed her eyes appraisingly and said nothing, ready to turn the next card.