The Psychic

Yawning into my coffee, I sit outside La Petite Paris and people watch. Sitting, routinely, at the local coffee shop on the outskirts of Dunkirk, France, I pear into the simple part of people’s lives. Once an activity that bordered on responsibility is now a fun hobby to pass the time. On the other side of the street, I see a beautiful young woman walking out of a much to expensive shop, hanging on a much to older gentleman. Get it, girl.

To the otherside of the street, a young man being scolded for skateboarding by an older woman shaking her finger in his face. He looks like one of my students.

I finish up my americano, throw a twenty on the table and gather my things to greet the young boy and fuming madam. “You reckless runt, you could hurt any one of these innocent bystanders with that unseemly board.” the elderly woman scolded. “Relax, lady. Why are you so worried? The only thing that could hurt you is holy water.” My stubborn student smirks. Placing a hand on his shoulder, I gently press on, “Isn’t it nice to see the young generation out and about for a change!” I chime in with the practiced innocence painted on my face like each paint stroke spoke perfection.

“Well... Well, yes, but he could be less reckless.” the woman responds, adjusting the glasses that sat on her face. Nodding my head in agreement, I say, “So true! It’s such a remarkable thing he has such a caring community.” Clasping my hands over hers. “No wonder he feels so safe to be as free as he is.” Completely disarmed,the woman sheepishly smiles, “Someone has got to look out for these young ones.” Pushing my student in the opposite direction, I wave my hand goodbye to the previously stern woman. “You’re scary, Ms. Palmer” my student finally spoke up.

Finding parking is always difficult on campus, but at the end of the day, when night classes start, it’s not as bad. With the sun setting behind us, my student, Richie, and I head in for my evening class. “Thank you for helping me out at the coffee shop.” “I’d rather you not get into a screaming match with someone who has such high blood pressure.” I hear Richie giggle behind me. Smiling, I held the door to the classroom open for him and followed him. “I’ll be in my office until class.” I tell him as I close my office door.

I set my belongings down on my desk as my phone begins to ring. Veronica.

My beautiful son on the other line, voice filled with innocent happiness. “Mommy, Aunt V is taking me to daycare now. You’ll pick me up tonight, right?” “I promise, my little lemon. I’ll see you tonight, now can you please put Aunt V on the phone.” My son, Archie, just started daycare, he just turned four and no longer needs to come to class with me or go to work with V.

The light of my life, unfortunately, takes after his father and mine so much; it’s heartbreaking. By instinct, I look over at the picture frame I have sitting on my desk. My eyes fall to the people in it. My mom on the far left, the auburn curls that we share tied back with the ribbon she loved so much. My dad to the right of her a burly man with black short hair with a slight bit of gray coming in and tattoos up and down his arm. My sister, a younger version of me, her hair was straight but still shared that reddish brown hue. Just like my hair in the picture, hers swayed by her hips and her pale skin splashed with our family freckles. Stood crouched next to her, petting the family hound, was a younger me. My olive skin glowing in the sun; my boyish muscles peak through the dress's charms. The younger me in this picture looks like me but she doesn’t. My eyes were the same, my freckles sat in the same place, my skin is still olive, but my body isn’t the undeveloped young adult that sits in this picture anymore. The curly hair that ran to my hips now sits on my shoulder. Thankfully, the waist is still there, but the hips have widened and because of pregnancy the boobs have gone up a size or two. Staying in shape for emergency has kept my slight hourglass frame. I’ll have to thank myself for being paranoid sometimes, I smile at myself.

I can’t bring myself to look at the last person in the photo; I can’t look at that scrawny four eyed excuse for my son’s father. I turn my whole body to save myself from staring into those eyes and my face darkens. Let it go, I think.

I’ve grown up from the girl in this picture, and that thought alone runs a twinge of pain through me. I’m the only one who will ever age, ever see beyond the moment in this picture. The family business, the crime we all thought wouldn’tcatch up to us, the enemies, killed them all.

“Hello? Earth to mother hen.” Veronica’s voice rips me from my sorrowful memories. “Sorry, V. I zoned out. Listen, I just wanted to thank you for watching him during the times I couldn’t bring him with me. It’ll be different for him to beat daycare then with you or I.” I smile to myself and let out a chuckle, “Feels like the end of an era.” “I’d prefer to think of it as the end of a chapter, because the story is still going my solemn friend.” her cheerful voice rings through the other and into the brain of a damned woman. “I got to start class now but thank you again.” quickly saying our goodbyes, I hang up and open the door to my classroom, “Psychology 101”

“Good evening, I trust we’ve had time to look over the topics I’ve written on the board for you.” Most of the class murmurs a reply, while the others raise their hands. Theres always questions in my class, even before the lesson has started. I guess one could say it’s because the way I teach works, it connects with all my students, it’s easy to comprehend for people genuinely interested in psychology. More importantly, though, what I Teach... Isn’t in any textbook.

My real name? Dakota Duncan, I’m the eldest daughter of the Duncan crime family, and I have a very particular set of skills. I specialized in torture, physical and psychological, being able to mind fuck my enemies within five minutes was the chore of the day for me. To me, it was the same as washing the dishes or taking out the trash.I was incredibly good at what I did; I had a 99% success rate. There was only one man to ever withstand more than ten minutes of torture at my hands.

My family was the biggest crime syndicate in New York. Like I said... it was. Almost five years ago, there was a gathering at the Duncan family residence to celebrate my unborn child. I had planned to tell everyone there all at once, including Maleki’s father. However, a rival saw to it to take this opportunity to get rid of us once and for all. They- Stop. Don’t do this to yourself.

Stop.

Stop. Move on.

So, I changed my name, got rid of every picture that ever surfaced of me, paid for transportation without identification, and left the country. Got to France and started planning. I paid the university to show I had been working there for a couple of years but took a break due to field work. Just like that, I was Ms. Palmer. Jane Palmer. I never use my first name, because I never want any trail to form ever.

My son only calls me mommy and V only calls me P or some weird nickname. It’s going to stay like that until I am absolutely certainty at my son is safe.

Bringing myself back to reality, driving to daycare to pick up my son. ‘You need to let it go, Dakota.’ I tellmyself as I park my car. ‘Let it go’ I think as I show my ID and sign my sonout.

“Mommy!” My own personal ray of sunshineshouts as he beams at me with opened arms. His brown curly hair sits on his head,and his small four-year-old frame wrapped around me as I scoop him up in myarms. Let it go.

“Ready to go home, Little lemon?” My sweet baby boy nods his head, yawning into my shoulder.

Placing him in his car seat, I ring V. “What's up?” My cheerful friend answered. “Hey, just wanted to check and see if you were still picking him up tomorrow morning.” I say, getting my car back on the road. “Of course, any chance to help, I’m there. How was class?” I smile at my friend, trying to be there for me. To be honest, I hated my job, I missed my old one. I missed the family but being in that life put my son in danger, so I’ll do something I hate for the rest of my life. As long as it kept him safe.

“It was fine, nothing of importance.” A sigh comes from the other end of the phone. “I figured, no worries my shadowed diamond. I will be at yours in the morning with brekky and a coffee for the cute professor.” I gasp jokingly, “You flirt.” I say as I hear giggles from the other side. She tells me goodnight and I drive home, careful not to wake up the sleeping baby in the back.

Carrying him in, I wish to myself that he stays this small forever, leaning on his mom forever. I hope he looks up at me forever with those big brown eyes I wish he didn’tget.

I lay him down, and for a moment he slightly stirs. I thought I had woken him but then he grabs his favorite dinosaur stuffy and closed his eyes again. ‘Time for bed for both of us, Little lemon’ I think to myself. Showering away the day will help me a little, for sure. So, after a long steamy shower I put on my favorite old band tee and shorts, ready for bed.

Brushing out my wet curls, I catch a glimpse of my five-six self. A freckle faced mess. Short curls never tamed, green eyes lifeless for the most part. My body was the only thing I thought still looked like there was a life in this empty shell ofa person. Deep breaths, Dakota.

As I’m taming whatever fight was left in my hair, I hear a cry coming from my son's rooms. I ran through my house like the walls were an illusion and ripped my son's door open. The room is empty aside from my wailing son now sitting up in his bed. Jeez, Dakota, you need to seriously chill. “Little lemon.” I whisper gently, mainly to calm him, but mostly to calm myself. “Hic... Mommy. Mommy I thought I wasalone.” My heart can’t take this boy. He’ll give me a heart attack before thirty. “I’m so sorry sweety, Mommy was just in her room.” I say as I scoop him up in my arms. He wraps his arms around my neck and cries into my shoulder. “I don’t like being alone.” “Oh, my sweet boy, you don’t have to be. We’ll have sleepover in mommy's room, how about it?” I get a giggle as my answer and dragboth of us back to my room. We sleep peacefully in my bed with only me wakingup to the occasionally noise. Sighing of relief every time I find it's nothing.

The next morning, I woke my son with kisses and tickles. The giggling mess unfortunately has my genes when it comes to waking up. Both of our curls, messy and pointing in every direction, our faces are still a little pale from the rem sleep. He’s still a cutey, though. Just as he begs me to stop tickling him, I hear a knock at the door. “Do you want to golet aunt V in?” I don’t get an answer, all I receive is the blankets in my face as my son jumps from the bed and runs from one end of the house to the other.

Following my eager son, I see V’s blonde hair draped over her face as she bends down to pick up Maleki from my kitchen side door. “Good morning, you little brat” she joked with him. I was glad for the bond they shared, because if I wasn’t around, I knew V would be. “Ah, thecranky mommy is staring again.” V says making my child laugh. “Donuts for our cutey, and a coffee for my cutey.” V winks at me. I dramatically clutch myheart, “All we need now is a ring.” “Woah! Slow down there, doll. Ain’t a cowboy or girl in the world that could tame this stallion.” She tells me in a thick country accent and gestures to all of her. Theres a slight pause between everyone, letting her ego sit in the air. Then, without a hitch laughter floods my kitchen. The last laughing is my son, barely able to catch his breath. “Why don’t you show Aunt V that drawing of yours that you did with Ms. Derus, little lemon” My giggling mess of a child gets so excited and bolts down the hallway, rummaging around in his room. “She the one who mainly watches him. He’s liking daycare, but I think he misses you.”“What's there not to miss?” V says innocently, smiling at me.

Who would’ve thought that I would beliving a life like this. A life so calm. So civilian.