The Plane is Falling! The Plane is Falling!

by Patti

When S was nearly 2, we were told she was psychic.

There we were, enjoying our little family vacation by the ocean, eating at an outdoor café in South Beach. S was babbling on about, oh, EVERYTHING, and in an attempt to prevent my eyes from glazing over, I subtly glanced around to see what else was going on.

That’s when I noticed an older man staring directly at S. Normally, when you see an older man – or ANY man, really, that you don’t know – staring at your kid, you get all creeped out and immediately rush in to move your kid into hiding. But this man didn’t give me any kind of creepy vibe; his stare was non-threatening. It was kind of, I don’t know, knowing.

I turned my eyes back to the babbling-a-thousand-miles-per-minute S, and tried to see what he saw. Suddenly, the man got up and started walking toward our table. Alarmed, I immediately scooted in closer to S and kind of nudged M, and then the man was there.

“Excuse me,” he said in Spanish, leaning into our table. He must’ve seen our bodies tense up, because he immediately reassured us, “It’s nothing bad; don’t be scared…” which of course is what a murderer tells you right before he buries you alive in a 9 ft hole. “I just wanted to tell you that your daughter is very special.” I was torn between parental pride and molester freak-out. He continued, “She’s psychic.” He said it just like that. Very plainly and simply. Very “that’s just the way it is”-ish.

And then he patted M on the back, as if to congratulate him, and walked away. M and I looked at each other, and at a totally oblivious S, and we started cracking up. We joked about how much money we were going to make with our Psychic! Kid! Oh, the places we’d go!

A few months later, we were in Argentina visiting family. It was the night before S and I were going to fly to Chile to visit my mom’s family, and I was chatting with M while packing a bag. S was snoozing away, when suddenly our conversation was interrupted by her calling something out in Spanish in her sleep. “Se cae! Se cae!” I looked at M, and his head was cocked in curiosity. She called out again, “Se cae! El avion se cae! It falls! It falls! The plane falls!” THE. PLANE. FALLS.

Who was going to get on a plane the next day? ME! With S! WHO WAS PSYCHIC? S!

I WAS FREAKING OUT. Even M, who so totally doesn’t believe in any of that ‘shit’, was freaked out.

Despite our total freaked-outedness, we got on the plane the next day. Our goodbye with M was especially poignant because, you know, we were going to die and all. It was to be a 2-hour flight, and after the first hour with no death, I finally started to relax. I laughed to myself: Psychic! I leaned back happily into my chair, relieved I wasn’t going to die after all. Oh! What a feeling! To know you are going to live! I glanced over at S; her face was pressed into the little circular window. I leaned over to give her a squeeze, and looked out to see that we were flying over the Andes Mountains. “Se cae! Se cae!” I froze mid-squeeze. S started frantically tapping her pudgy little hands against the window. “Se cae! Se cae! El avion se cae!”

The time had apparently come. And we would crash into the Andes. Such a movie-like death. “Se cae! Se cae!” She WOULDN’T. STOP. SAYING IT.

The sun coming through the little window lit up her curls, and she turned to me, gesturing to the mountains below. “Se cae!” I pulled her to me, silently said goodbye to M in my head, and waited.

And then we landed.

I am happy to be alive, but we don’t let S pick the lottery numbers, because her psychic skills? SUCK.