Wouldn’t it be fabulous if you could rewrite a heartbreaking event in your life so it would turn out the way you wanted?
I compressed a segment of my memoir into a short story. What follows is a shameless attempt to whet your appetite, dear reader, in hopes you’ll want to devour Angel Hero, Murder in Hawai’i, A True Story, in its entirety.
For a tantalizing taste of the book, go to https://authorlizbethhartz/chapter1 and download the first chapter for free.
I titled this short story “The Fire of Love.” It’s too long for one blog post, so I’ll share it in seven consecutive posts.
Only Love, Part 1
Brisk trade winds blew soggy flakes of red-paper firecrackers, residues of Chinese New Year the day before, into my teary eyes on a rainy February morning. I’d woken up lonely, the pit of my stomach flipping like an egg in a skillet. Here I was, a quarter of a century old today, and the Prince Charming of my fantasies was nowhere in sight. My teary eyes rolled up to look at the dusty ceiling, and I whispered, “Please help me find my soul mate, Lord.” Wanting to escape my too-quiet Honolulu apartment, I grabbed my purse and headed out the door. Soon I was traipsing along littered Chinatown streets, on the lookout for something that signaled hope, when a purple-lettered sign, “Aurora, Clairvoyant Palmist, $20,” tacked to a worn wooden door caught my eye.
A green-eyed, smiling woman answered my knock, flinging the door open and saying, “I’ve been expecting you, dear.”
Really? Was this her standard rap, or the answer to my prayer? I smiled back.
Motioning me to follow her, Aurora floated across the room, her tent-like purple muumuu billowing around her. Sandalwood-scented incense wafted over us as we perched on torn upholstered chairs at a round wooden table.
The instant Aurora touched my palm with the tip of one of her purple fingernails, she ripped the veil blanketing my heart, exposing a place deep inside where a heavy block of heartache lay. A place I’d kept hidden until her touch dug it up. Sorrow rose up like a towering wave and crashed through me, my heart pounding. I sobbed convulsively. Oh god. Am I having a nervous breakdown?
“It’s just past life sorrow,” Aurora clucked. “Don’t worry, Goldilocks.” She offered me a tissue and studied my right palm, which she called my experience hand. “See the psychic cross connecting your lifeline and heart line, dear? You cry because you’re sensitive.”
Nodding, I blew my nose. “My mother called me her little witch Lizzy.”
She studied my right hand. “Was your father present when you were growing up, Liz?”
“When he wasn’t flying B-52s for the Air Force.”
Aurora pointed to a depression where my second finger met my palm. “See this? The lack of a mound tells me you lacked a male role model growing up.”
Tears flooded my eyes again, and my stomach did another flip. “I never knew when Dad would explode in anger. As a kid, I’d wake up sweating, running from men chasing me with a hairbrush in my dreams. As a teenager, I escaped into fantasies, my favorite one marrying a kind, faithful man totally different from Dad.”
The woman said softly, “You still carry heartbreak in your aura from longing for, but lacking, a man’s love.” She told me I’d carried the pain into this life from a prior lifetime. “You loved a married man. He asked you to become his mistress, as was the custom of the times.”
The palmist went on about how the prospect of unsanctified sex had scared me so badly I withdrew to the church and became a nun, where I made spiritual gains through prayer and meditation. “Hence your psychic ability now,” she added. “But you pined for that man until you died. You hurt yourself retreating from your heart’s desire like that. Such withdrawal is a kind of suicide.”
Aurora told me, if I could break out of my shell and learn how to speak up for myself, I could experience an exalted spiritual relationship with a man in this lifetime and beyond. The kind of love you long for, that will last forever. “But be careful not to fall for explosive, angry men like your dad,” she cautioned, “lest you perpetuate the heartache that has plagued you so long.” Her emerald eyes reflected the flickering candlelight. “Do not forget.”
Did I spark your interest? Please send me a comment.