as if attempting to strangle her. After a brief struggle she fell to the floor, the hands remaining tightly wrapped around her neck.
As my imagined mental picture expanded, I became aware of another individual, a very large and clearly overweight person dressed in what I assumed was a white mechanic's uniform with a bright green belt at the waist. This third person seemed to be sitting on the woman, punching her repeatedly in the chest and upper body.
Then it was over! Only, unlike the children's game, I had not saved her from the hands of the villains!
I opened my eyes and, after some coaxing, related the story to Susan as I had experienced it. She listened quietly as I unraveled the wildly imaginative yarn. I felt completely drained, as if I had physically taken part in the struggle I had just created in my imaginative mind to amuse my unusual dinner companion.
After a pause that seemed hours long, I asked her what was next. A logical query, I thought, after following her strange instructions and rules.
"I guess you'll just have to wait and see," she responded.
I glanced over to the dinner table where my target was peacefully enjoying her meal. Everything seemed very much in order, nothing the least bit threatening in the offing.
As I was kicking around the odds of this elaborate fight scene actually taking place in this quiet and peaceful restaurant, I heard my name called from the other end of the table. In an attempt to dismiss what I had just envisioned, I shifted my attention to the conversation I was invited to enter.
About 15 minutes later, as we were engrossed in the laboriously detailed process of dividing the dinner check to second decimal accuracy, we were suddenly startled by a loud shout emanating from a nearby table.
My lady in the red dress had suddenly bolted to her feet and appeared to be choking, unable to breathe!
Her male companion, responding to her desperate situation, reached over and placed his hands around her neck in what was most likely an instinctive reaction to her inability to breathe. Struggling, she dropped to the floor, his hands still clutched tightly around her throat. Just then, a patron from a distant table rushed over, loudly declaring that she had training in CPR. This third person immediately straddled the struggling body on the floor and began pounding on her chest to dislodge whatever was stuck in her windpipe!
It was just as I had foreseen, except instead of being choked, she was choking on some food!
The difference between what I had visualized and what actually took place was due to misinterpretation. The "fight" I'd seen was in reality an offer of assistance. Instead of my pretty lady being strangled, the hands at her throat were trying to help. Rather than someone pounding her chest in a fight, someone was actually attempting to save her life!
As I replayed what I had recently seen in my mind, I realized that the rescuer was just as I had described her. What I assumed to be a mechanic's uniform was, however, a white pantsuit.
I know the first words out of my mouth were similar to the censored expletives that football coaches often shout just before the TV cameras cut away from the close-up shots on Monday Night Football. I don't know if I was more concerned about the spilt coffee stains on my shirt or the soiled underwear I was certain I now wore.
By now, the choking lady had begun to recover, and it appeared she would be O.K.... but my own future wasn't so certain!
Did what I just saw really happen?
... And if it did, was I the cause of it?
... And if so, was I in league with the devil?
Needless to say, I was in for a long, sleepless night!
CHAPTER 6
All Alone
I returned home that evening after having experienced more than a lifetime of events in just three short days. To say that I was on an emotional high would be the understatement of the year! I reviewed all that had happened over and over in my mind, not really believing what I knew had occurred.
I wandered aimlessly around the house. Eventually I found myself in the back yard reflecting on the entire weekend, seated in one of those old, uncomfortable, metal patio chairs that always find their way into back yards. I felt wonderfully alive, having rediscovered the use of my seldom-expressed emotions. Like a kid with a new toy I felt excited, but fearful of testing its limits and determining just what it could do.
My mind repeatedly returned to the episode at dinner where I had accurately predetermined an event, and a dramatic event at that, several minutes before it occurred. What had happened must have been a fantasy, I thought; it couldn't actually have taken place. It was not unlike the entertaining tales that appeared in science fiction comic books I'd read as a child. But I knew those stories never really happened, not really. Decades ago I had reluctantly accepted the fact that I did not have supernatural powers. I learned, for example, l could never be like Superman, in spite of many childhood, body-bruising attempts to learn how to fly. (That X-ray vision thing, though , might have offered some good insights.)
Life had taught me that reality was what you could see or feel and that anything else was fantasy or wishful thinking. Real was real, and that was that! This notion had been reinforced repeatedly, such as when my boyhood friend Harry and I sent away for one of those throw-your-voice devices advertised for $19.95 in the back of Boy's Life. As we grew up, we discovered those things never actually worked.
There was the time Harry and I bought a book on mental telepathy. We had been told by Harry's older brother that by staring at the back of someone's neck while thinking the phrase "turn around," you could easily maneuver and control others. Although Harry seemed to have some success, I concluded that it was because he would "break wind" while standing fairly close to his target, unfairly skewing his claimed metaphysical results.
So here I was, sitting in the back yard, freezing my assorted appendages at 10:00 P.M. on an October Sunday night while attempting to redefine reality from my new perspective. I had clearly experienced one of those life-altering events reported in books on famous people. But, hey, I was no one special, just an ordinary guy who thought he had a fair understanding of life even though he had never been issued an operating manual.
I began to speculate that if this paranormal experience could occur within the controlled environment of the workshop, and again when guided by Susan at dinner, then maybe I could switch it on by myself.
On the other hand, what if it began to happen spontaneously and I couldn't control it? I began to consider whether I really wanted the responsibility of knowing what was going to happen before it occurred. What if I knew someone was going to die or something? The thought could be downright scary.
What I had recently experienced was definitely unusual or abnormal by almost anyone's measurement, and I wasn't sure I wanted to be different. After all, how many years did it take to get things the way I thought I wanted them? I fit into my circle of friends just fine, thank you, and I was not convinced that I wanted my life to change. Furthermore, TV's Mr. Rogers had repeatedly told me that he liked me just the way I was!
At the same time, whatever was happening to me was intriguing... no, it was fascinating, and I knew there was no way I was going to be able to leave this thing alone!
As I looked out on the late night darkness, I began to contemplate how I might induce another psychic experience. Again concern arose: what if I did and it turned out to be another negative
