Forever 21

9 | Lessons Learned

"Some lessons can't be taught. They simply have to be learned." - Jodi Picoult

Approaching the twin doors, I stopped before the one on the right. The Oracle was waiting for me. I knew it, but knowing it didn't help any. "The Oracle". It was a prestigious sounding title and more than a little intimidating. There had to be some rule written somewhere that stated only powerful people didn't go by their names. America had Barrack and Michelle Obama for instance, but no one called them that anymore. They were "Mister and Madam President." And Great Britain's Queen Elizabeth II was "her royal highness."

I was stalling; I knew it, but couldn't seem to stop myself. There was just this inexplicable feeling of unease in my gut. With a hand still poised over the doorknob, I took a very human deep breath to calm myself and paused. The air smelled weird, not bad per se, just... stale. A quick sniff in the other direction solidified my unease. The door opposite of the one I faced smelled better. The ball of anxiety that had settled itself in my stomach loosened.

Aidaen had said it was the door on the right, I was sure of it. Aidaen had also said to use my nose and not to listen to everything people told me. Was this a test? God, I hoped so, because I was about to do something I hardly ever did.

I turned around and took a risk. Opening a door that could be hiding any number of possibilities, I steeled myself for the worst. What was actually awaited me was both anticlimactic and perplexing.

A bell jingled as I stepped through the door. My eyes wandered the small store, taking in the small shelves filled to the brim with random odds and ends, a magazine rack and a postcard turntable. Stopping to read the small plaque on the wall behind the register, answered at least one my questions. "The Oracle: Voted New Orleans' best voodoo and divination shop five years in a row."

"I don't bite, you know."

I had known I wasn't alone, because every shop has a cashier, but I hadn't even seen her there. It was like she had been invisible until she spoke to me.

A swarthy skinned beauty with eyes almond in both shape and color sat on a stool behind the counter, her hair a bulge beneath a small billed red beanie. She looked to be about my age, give or take a few years. Warmed up to the olfactory department,  I tried to identify her by her scent. It didn't resolve a darn thing. The air of the small shop had the dingy smell of old books mixed with at least a hundred other aromas, all of them unfamiliar. Combined,  it was one giant by mystery. A book sat opened, face down on her knee. I strained to see the small print. "Forever and Always".

An avid book reader myself, I briefly wondered what it was about only to realize that I had yet to respond. She probably thought I was rude.

"H-hi," I stuttered out.

It frustrated me how easily flustered I was. Clenching and unclenching my hands, I forced what I hoped was a friendly smile onto my face. Just because I wasn't the greatest around people before, didn't mean that I couldn't be better now. I walked closer to the counter where she had situated herself, the door finally closing behind me.

The moment it did, it was as if a switch had been flipped. Natural light flooded the store and I could feel the warmth of the sun on my back. When I didn't burst into flames, I risked a peek over my shoulder.

Life outside the picture frame windows of The Oracle seemed as enchanting as one of the postcards she was selling. "Rue Bourbon" was printed neatly on a light post sign across the street. Her feet hitting the ground as she hopped off of her stool distracted me from suspicions that we might actually be in New Orleans. Turning back around to face her, I watched her set the book where she had been sitting only moments before.