Another soul in the universe

We have a friend who is a seer.  She is Jan’s friend; I’m the sister on the periphery. She is homeless more often than not. She has lived with her many brothers and sisters on and off, until they part ways.  She lived with us almost an entire year before the girls came.  She couldn’t come to terms with her several employment opportunities. Cousin Camp came around, we had no more beds, she left in the middle of the night.  I think of her more often than not, and mention to the universe I wish we would hear from Dee.  She chooses not, yet.

Dee came into our lives twenty five years ago; we hired her as a weaver.  She could not weave.  We made her a sewer.  She could not concentrate on sewing.  She could concentrate on very little; but talked constantly.  When I understood more about Dee I decided she talked all the time to drown the voices in her head.  All these years Jan has been steadfast in listening to Dee.

A seer’s burden is tremendous.  I doubt they can stop the chaos that comes into their lives.  Dee could not stop strangers and tell them to go to the doctor, marry their sweetheart, take the trip, get in touch with family.  But the scenarios flooded her head as she passed people on the street.

I never discussed a seer’s lot with Dee; she knew I didn’t want to know.  One time I decided to ask her a question about a friend, and went into the room for that purpose.  But, I couldn’t bring myself to approach her, and set about another task.  Dee looked at me and said “What do you want to ask me.”  We both laughed.

Several years ago I was in the midst of a tough audit at work, an audit of work previous to me.  Sometimes I just wanted to smack sense into those young whippersnapper auditors; I could not answer for the past; only show them it was being done properly in the present.

Dee was visiting during that time.  As I passed her she said “Your guardian angel says tell those auditors to lighten up or you will throw all the papers in the air and let them pick them up.”

“Who?  What?”

“Your guardian angel.  June Bug.  Don’t you know”

My very first job. 1964. The woman at the desk in front of me.  Older than my mother.  Her name was June, but I called her June Bug.  A light hearted little lady I had not thought of in more than forty years.

It’s nice to have a guardian angel, but June Bug? She talked all the time, too.  Perhaps that’s why she told Dee about the auditors.