Gypsy/mum story

So I'll share something now I've never shared with anyone: a story going way back to when I was 7 and growing up in the strange South Yorkshire sheep mining village of Grimsby. My mom was a sort of witch and she was always going on about these mystical experiences she was having. Closing her eyes and leaving her body to journey down a tunnel of light. Seeing the future, that sort of thing. She used to take us to spiritualist churches and use her mind powers to get the mediums to say completely mental stuff. But best of all was when we had no money for playing the arcade machines and she could rack up free credits just by lookin' at 'em.

You think I'm making this up: but apart from a whimsical change of location and industry, it's all completely true.

Anyway, one day this gypsy comes to the door selling pegs and, since we'd already got a load of pegs (and couldn't afford any in any case), mum tried to send the gypsy on her way. But gypsy wasn't having it and got into threatening curses and chanting what sounded like weird spells that were, quite frankly, more than a little unsettling. I was hiding behind the lintel simultaneously spellbound and terrified. But mum just rolled up her sleeves and, with a little smile on her face, zapped her with her mind rays and, next thing you know, that poor old gypsy woman's rolling around in the fuschia with blood running fairly profusely from her ears, eyes, nostrils, mouth, and, dare I say it, the other more private orifices too.

It should have been a moment of triumph - but, being a sensitive boy, gnarled and vicious though the old hag was, I hated seeing her suffering so and begged mama to stop. I tugged energetically on her sleeve and she shook herself, as though emerging from a trance. She looked down at me, and then pityingly at the whimpering old lady. And, with a click of her fingers, the bleeding immediately stopped.

She bent down to help the old gypsy to her feet. Led her into the kitchen and put the kettle on. Ran a Royal Wedding tea towel under the tap with which to wipe away the blood.

The old gypsy sat in stunned silence. Received the mug of tea and stared into it thoughtfully. Began to say something.

"I know what you're going to say," said my mum, "and I know it's right. But I don't like it."

She frowned. Looked at me. And then walked promptly out of the room.

The old gypsy beckoned me to come closer. She seemed softer now. Something had changed.

I sat with her in front of the fire.

"Your mother has done something wonderful for me," she said, smiling gently. "I have carried a spirit within me since before I was born, the result of many lifetimes of wrongdoing. He was created as a means of protection, but he had grown so strong and powerful that I had become a slave to his whims. But, thanks to your mother, I am a slave no more."

She smiled again. She reached out her hand.

"Here," she said, "put your hand in mine, and I will tell you your future."

I did as she asked. Everything about it seemed fine.

"Some things are meant to be," she said. "It was no coincidence that I came to your door today."

And then she took a deep breath in. Coughed. Twisted her body spasmodically in the chair, and began to speak.

"You will write," she said, "you will type the first thing that comes into your head, without regard for the sentences that follow, and let it lead you where it will. That, too, is how you will live your life, and you will feel alone and strange because of it.

"You will travel. You will explore the world and learn from others. It will be your greatest joy, and your downfall also.

"When you are 24 you will meet a woman who will break your heart, and you will never trust anyone again.

"When you are 25 you will meet your soulmate, but you will be unable to commit to her. In another three lifetimes, yes.

"So many times you will feel on the verge of something, a breakthrough, and yet it will never quite happen for you. In short, yours is to be a life of unfulfilled potential. Two steps forward and three steps back. Frustration and sadness, but only if you let it - for, knowing this, you now have the key to your liberation. To be able to laugh again and again in the face of disappointment. To know there is nothing you can do about it, other than to choose your acceptance and happiness. This is the gift I came to give you today.

"And when you are 39," she said, "your life will end. It will be time to move on. The work, which you will never truly understand anyway, will be done."

She turned then to the fire that burned steadily behind her. She thrust her hand into the glowing red coals. She should have recoiled, shouted out in pain, but nothing but a calm smile and two twinkling eyes showed in her face.

She held up a small gold coin between her thumb and forefinger. Blew on it. And pressed it into my palm.

"Keep this with you always," she said, "and you will never want for money, nor have any material need. Even when you feel you have nothing, don't give in to the temptation to cash it in. All your Earthly requirements are taken care of. All you have to do is trust."

I held the coin tight. Nothing she said made sense, and yet I knew in my bones it was true.

I still have that coin today. And, just as she told me, I've never truly wanted for anything.

There were many other things that old gypsy woman said that day, and it's all come true. People and places. Times and dates. Strange whims I've followed that led me to the randomest of circumstances - and, always, waiting for me there, exactly what she predicted.

Everything except one thing: the prediction of death at the age of 39. And that's the whole point of this story.

I'm 40 now, and it was something I never expected to say (not, at least, for about the last 15 years, when the number of fulfilled prophecies had become so perfectly ridiculous as to lead me to believe that every single one of them would).

It's something that's coloured and shaped my life. The reason I've done so much of what I have. Why I haven't, for example, ever wanted to do the family thing, buy a house, invest in a pension. There was just no need.

You might think what a terrible thing to burden a little boy with - but, truly, it's been freeing in the extreme. No worries about preparing for some distant old age. No stresses fearing the disintegration of the body. None of the financial torments so many of us suffer from.

Plus, it lent a great urgency to time: knowing my tomorrows were limited, I made the most of them. I did everything I ever wanted to do. I didn't let fears or monetary constraints or the belief I had to knuckle down and ensure my twilight years were comfortable stop me. I travelled the world. I upped sticks whenever I felt ready for something new. I refused to settle for the humdrum.

A little over a year ago, I hit 39 satisfied I'd left no stone unturned. There was nothing left to achieve. My 'bucket list' was complete.

It was the weirdest feeling. I had not one single idea of what to do next.

That was a year ago. Every day I wondered if it were my last. Tidied up loose ends. Muddled on. I've done stuff, gone places, acted on whims or ideas - but it's not the same. In truth, that feeling hasn't left me. It really seems there's nothing left to do; everything else is just killing time.

And, after all these years of thinking I knew something - thinking that old woman's predictions were infallible - I see, given that I'm still here, they weren't, and that I'm in uncharted territory, the complete unknown.

How much longer have I left on this planet? What am I supposed to do with the time? What else is there left to do?

I tell this story because I hoped it would make me feel better, or perhaps provide some direction and answers. It hasn't. It's just made me feel weird.

I dunno: maybe I'm not the only one who had something like this happen to them and someone else can relate. She wasn't the only gypsy woman in the world. I'm not the only kid who grew up with a mystical mum where things like this were happening.

But it's a funny one, ain't it? ;-)