“He used his psychic ability in ways most people couldn’t or wouldn’t.”

Michael was a childhood friend.  We used to hang out together, and we remained the best of friends since the second grade.

As the years went by, my parents couldn’t understand why I insisted we were platonic since I refused to date anyone else.  But there was a reason.  Actually, there were several reasons.

Michael knew me.  I mean he really knew me.  I’m not going to reveal whether or not we had sex together, but he could read me better than anyone else on earth.  I admired his intellect, his humor, and perhaps most of all, his incredible perception.

Michael has this amazing ability to not only read my mind but others as well.  And he used his psychic ability in ways most people couldn’t or wouldn’t.

Let me give an example:  When we were in high school, he would give me clues what events were about to occur.  Not the mundane stuff, but important events in the news.  He would do this time after time.  And it was seemingly impossible for anyone to do so.  But not impossible for my good friend.

He once predicted a serious downturn in the stock market, and called it right on the exact day.  He predicted the death of several famous people.  He predicted worldwide catastrophes such as plane crashes, tornados in specific places, etc.

He also told me my aunt who was fifty-one and who had never married had finally found a good man and would soon marry him.  Michael had met her the year before and I could see they had an immediate connection; they were on the same wavelength.  Naturally, when I called her, she was shocked because she had told no one.  But when I explained Michael had clued me in, we both laughed because she and I knew what remarkable powers he had.

Well, Michael’s parents divorced the beginning of our senior year.  His mother took him out to California and although we stayed in touch by letter for a year or so, we kind of drifted apart.

The reason I’m writing this is that a few weeks ago, I heard through a mutual friend that Michael had died in an automobile accident while on vacation in Europe.  He was forty-three, single, had never married.  When I first met my husband and told him about Michael, he was a bit jealous so we never spoke much about him.  I suppose he knew I loved Michael – perhaps a bit more than just in a platonic way.  And I’ll miss him terribly.

Jan Sheridan
Boston, MA