The Trip

Psychic Sandy they call me, not that having the ‘power’ helped in my pursuit for undying love! 

I wouldn’t listen to friends’ trepidation about Mike; my sixth sense had obviously deserted me.  I mistook his sarcasm for intelligence, dominance for caring.  It was only after a couple of months of marriage that I realised he was the obnoxious ignoramus they said he was.   

Then Mike insisted we take the boat out, even though I told him I’d foreseen death on the water.  He laughed, derided me in front of my friends, so we went sailing.  At first the weather was perfect, but without warning it turned.  Torrential rain battered down, the boat jerked around like a rag doll in a dog’s mouth, then, just as quick, it turned back.  The freak weather gave me an idea.  Mike wasn’t expecting the push and caught off guard he flew over the side. Frantically he scrambled to get back onto the boat.  A look of resignation spread across his face as he realised he wasn’t going to make it.

Friends were very sympathetic at the funeral but all were in agreement, he should have listened to me, after all I am Psychic Sandy!

 Cheryll Taylor Rawling