A Prince, A Fortune Teller

Ah, yes

I am a romantic

My flights of fancy are legend, all adding to an accurate description of me as. “Odd.”

I celebrated my sixteenth birthday while still waiting for the arrival of a Prince (named Charming) to knock on our tenement door, I dyed my hair ink black and wore scarlet lipstick so he would recognize me as his Princess and perhaps call me Snow White.

Perhaps there was too much traffic heading east on 58th Street that Halloween night and frightened his horse away, but the Prince never arrived.

At least that night.

Instead my three friends (Elinor, Jeanne and Marie) knocked unannounced on our 4th floor door and escorted me to a fortune teller in Times Square.

Her words of “wisdom???” reinforced my belief that the Prince was en route possibly delayed by traffic. I did momentarily wonder how the exotic and mysterious oracle had guessed my dream. However, she seemed so positive I slept well that October night as I waited for midnight and turning 17.

It was exactly two years later, I was wiser (just a bit) and too busy to dream quite as much when the Prince finally did arrive. Despite my hair being lighter and my lips not quite as scarlet, he seemed to recognize me.

Although he never did call me Snow White.

I didn’t question where his faithful steed was when we met on a dark subway platform, but it was fine since three is always a crowd.

I also realized the Fortune Teller was a wise woman.

Hidden beneath her exotic turban, there was a wealth of knowledge and recognition of the importance and value of dreams.

Als0, perhaps a memory of once being 16.