Songbird

‘Martha now?’ I mumbled.

Joan looked at me, tried to clear her throat, and gasped, ‘Martha, it’s for you,’ as if she had merely answered someone’s telephone call.

I didn’t move. She got up and took my hand and gently pulled me closer to the table. I was hesitant but also fascinated by the strange movement of the little wooden triangle that seemed to have come alive without any visible guidance from anyone...and it had spelled my name.

Joan again handed me the pad and pencil and said, ‘Write.’ She had a surprised expression on her face. We all did. Incredulous, I looked at Susie. She shook her head and whispered, ‘It’s not me.’ Her fingers remained on the pointer. By now I was very nervous and would not touch the board. Then Susie calmly asked a question to...whatever it was.

Susie: ‘Who are you?’

The pointer started moving rapidly across the board and Susie again announced the letters in sequence as they were pointed to by the planchette.

‘R – I – C’--. Three words began to take form and became a name we did not recognize, ---RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN---.

Dan looked at me, perplexed. We later decided that both of us had immediately assumed that the "spirit" (if indeed that is what was moving the pointer) might be the General Sheridan of Civil War fame. But I recalled from a past history course that General Sheridan’s first name was not Richard, it was Phillip.

Susie kept her cool. ‘Are you a good spirit?’ ---GOOD, YES---.

By now Joan and Dan were caught up in the excitement and were urging me to ask the spirit some questions. I was scared and could only think of Mother. Staring at the pointer, I said, ‘If I could just know something about my mother who is done now, uh...Velma...if she is happy.’ A string of words sprang quickly from the board.

---LOOK MY DEAR ONE---SHE IS BEYOND HAPPY---SHE IS HOME---.

When ‘it’ said that, my heart leaped for joy because I remembered Mother saying several times over, when she was terribly sick, that she would just like to ‘go home’, and I knew that by home she meant the home of her memory, the earlier happier days when her parents were still living. All of us had wonderful times in my grandparents’ home, only two houses down the street from us.

I was thrilled by what this unknown spirit was saying and I now believed what he said was true, no matter what kind of medium was delivering the message. At least I wasn’t afraid anymore. Instead I was eager to hear much more from this talkative apparition who called me, as I duly noted, ‘Dear One’. Hmmm.

Best of all was the reassurance I needed that Mother was home and I was so happy to hear this. After all, hadn’t ‘Richard’ just confirmed what I desperately wanted to believe? Besides, being straight from the spirit world, wouldn’t be know? Well, this just lifted my spirits, no pun intended, really high.

Dan was unusually quiet. He seemed quite intrigued by this invisible entity’s communication with us through words spelled out on a little wooden board which only a day earlier had been unwanted and forgotten in an obscure little store in Oklahoma City.

Fascinated, he blurted, ‘Please tell us something about yourself. Are you from America?’

---NO---NOT ROM AMERICA---LONDON---1751-1816---I AM PLAYWRIGHT---SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL---.

I looked at Dan and whispered, ‘I remember a play by that name. Didn’t we read it, like in High School maybe?’ Dan shrugged and replied, ‘I don’t remember any of that stuff.’

Susie asked, ‘If you really are a playwright, what are you known for?’

---SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL---AND OPERA---.

Dan piped up with, ‘How do we find our more about you?"

---DAN---I AM IN THE BOOKS---.

‘Well, okay, then tell us uh, Richard, how did you die?’ ---IN POVERTY---PRINCE REGENT---A FRIEND---MAD GEORGE’S SON---.

He was referring, as we found out later in the books,’ to his death in debtors prison during the reign of King George III of England, ‘Mad George’, who was believed to be insane, and the Prince Regent, Duke of Wales, heir apparent to the throne of England and for awhile a close friend of Richard Sheridan. I got chill bumps when I read that.

Martha: ‘Is my mother all right?’ ---SHE IS SO AT HOME---SHE IS ONLY WORRIED ABOUT YOU---DON’T MAKE HER NEW LIFE YOUR DEATH---.

That struck me right on target because it is exactly what I was doing, grieving about her so much. I was obsessed and literally committing suicide by degrees. Also I knew she would worry about me...even now. Again, I knew in my heart that Richard was telling the truth. By now I had suspended disbelief, as one does at a movie with some outrageous plot because I wanted so much to believe what he was telling me through that outrageous, remarkable, loquacious, piece of wood.