The Equestrian

"Yes."

"So why read a book if you already know the ending?"

"Because having already read the book once, you can then begin to see the subtexts and hidden threads present in its pages."

I thought about that for several moments, attempting to wrap my head around the idea of life as a book and, subsequently, who the author might be. Finally I made my decision: "Alright. Tell me about tomorrow. Will I win?" Here I thought myself clever, for I had not mentioned the details of what was taking place the following day, and had avoided dropping any hints that it might have anything to do with horses.

"No you will not," she said quickly. "And now that you know you will not win, you won’t even bother to go to the race. You won’t even leave the house. You will lay in your bed until noon, at which point you will be paid a visit by an acquaintance who has for some time gone unseen."

A chill ran up my spine. Could this be true? You who have known my family for so long should know it is not like me to be so lazy as to lie in bed all day. And who was this acquaintance of whom she spoke? I assumed she meant you, still I opened my mouth and let the question roll out, "Who will visit me?"

"Lucky you," she replied. Confused, I was again about to question her when she spoke, "I could sure use that muffin right about now."

I bought her the muffin, and as I handed it to her she stood and thanked me.

"Is that it?" I asked, disappointed at the brevity of the psychic reading.

She answered, "As a catalyst for action, that was pretty significant."

"What does that mean?"

"It’s time for me to go." And she started for the exit.

It wasn’t until she was nearly out the door that it occurred to me, "If you’re such a good psychic, shouldn’t you have known that guy wouldn’t give you a free muffin?"

She stopped in her tracks and faced me, "I did know. But I also knew I would meet you here, and that I would have to speak to him before you would speak to me. Knowing the future doesn’t mean you can skip ahead."

I was silent.

"See you later," she said, walking out the door. But I never did see her again.

The Atlantic wind whipped my hair into a ballet of sunlit flames as I made my way back home. And once there I found myself inexplicably drawn to a small drawer in the east end of the estate, wherein I laid my eyes, for the first time in many years, upon the heavy rusted horseshoes that had once been his. One day, I knew, he would come back for them, and on that day chances were I would die.

The lights went out that night at an unreasonably early hour, and so I made my way by candlelight to your- my bedroom. Drawing near midnight, still I tossed beneath the sheets, unable to clear my head of the psychic’s prediction. I wondered how she had developed her powers, whether you and she had ever met. For a moment I thought I heard a grunt from the darkness, and I bolted upright in bed, straining my eyes to gaze into the shadow. Nothing emerged, and no more sounds were heard, so gradually I let my head sink back to the pillow, at which point I was filled with a sense of extreme sleepiness, and my eyelids fell shut. I didn’t know it at the time, but, staring into the blackness, I had been looking directly at him.