Authors: M.A. KROPF
I showed up at the cafe. Right away I saw his red aura all the way across the cafe and shook my head. He smiled and stood to greet me. He motioned for me to sit. I had barely sat down when he asked, “What’s wrong?”
Still not very trusting, I said, “What makes you think something is wrong?”
He furrowed his brow, looked at me for a moment, and said, “You look different… .” He trailed off and then, as if he were going to ask something else but changed his mind, he continued, “So, what can I do for you?”
“What do you mean I look different?” I know that this was not the reason for calling him originally but, well, I couldn’t see me the way he could. My curiosity was piqued.
He took an exasperated breath, probably wishing he hadn’t said anything in the first place. “Is that why you called me?”
I shook my head annoyed, “Look, I called about something else but I want to know what you see.”
He sighed, “Your aura, well, it’s more red than before.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“Usually the aura deepens as our, well, our acceptance of purpose deepens. But have you?”
“Nothing’s changed. I mean…” I took a deep breath and spoke the words quickly so I wouldn’t lose my nerve. “I was at work and a patient came in who was a woman from my dream…”
“Vision,” he corrected me, then motioned for me to continue.
I was always so irritated when I was interrupted. I tried to shake it off now so as not to lose my rhythm and continued. “I had a sudden surge of anger and had to focus to be able to care for her. She didn’t die, so I’m not sure what to make of that. If what you told me is true then she should have died, and then I would be going after her killer, right? I guess I need answers. I feel like I’m losing my mind.” I stopped to catch my breath.
He sat back and smiled, took a breath in and out and spoke slowly. “You are not crazy, you are exactly who you are supposed to be.”
Ugh, I thought, that tells me nothing. I rolled my eyes and shook my head.
He held one hand up and continued, “Wait, listen. You had a vision of what
will
be. If you don’t intercede… well… those people could die. The fact that she didn’t die is good, it could have been affected by a number of factors. Have you seen the person responsible yet?”
“How would I know who it is?” This question made sense to me, but it seemed to send Aaron a different message.
“If you don’t know, then you haven’t because you’d be unable to stop yourself, the urge would be too much.”
I put my head into my hands and fought the urge to cry. “I can’t… can’t be… this.”
He spoke in a soft, almost tender voice. “I’m sorry, it’s not your fault. It does take some time to adjust.”
“I don’t understand,” I finally got out. “When I was in high school and I saw John, the boy who killed the students at my school, I didn’t kill him. So, it can’t be true.”
After a minute I looked up because he didn’t answer me. He was sitting back, eyes wide.
“What? What did I say?” I was confused. I wondered what I could have said that would have caused him to react this way.
He almost whispered, “You knew who the killer was? That person is still alive? The kid from high school?”
I leaned forward in response to his whispering, “Yes, I guess, I don’t know. I think he went to jail when I was in high school. That was the last I heard of him.”
He shook his head, “No, let me rephrase. Then from what you’re saying, you saw him, but you did not complete your purpose?”
“Well, your definition of
completion of purpose
is to kill someone, right?”
He nodded in agreement.
“Then no, obviously, he went to jail. I did
not
kill him. Why?”
He sat there for a moment as his expression changed into one of confusion. Then, again shaking his head side to side, he said, “This is beyond me. We need to call Max.”
I was confused. But then, I seemed to be spending most of my time this way lately. Was it beyond him because he didn’t know what to say or felt he couldn’t say anything? I got the feeling there were a lot of secrets. Many of which I was probably not privy to and maybe didn’t want to know.
“What’s beyond you?” It was a simple question, should have been easy to answer.
“There’s nothing in our history that comes close to this. No one that I know of has ever NOT completed a purpose. I don’t know what it means. I didn’t even know that it was possible. Then again, you’re the first woman that I know of.”
“Okay then, can we call this Max?” I felt anxious to find out answers but nervous at the same time.
He smiled, “You’re starting to accept who you are?”
I scoffed at that, “Well, I don’t know about that. I’d just like answers.”
Smiling wider, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. After dialing a number he said, “Your aura shows that you’re starting to accept. The aura doesn’t lie.”
My breath caught at his comment. He began to talk into his phone.
“Hello Max, this is Aaron… . good, good… and how are you? . . . Great…”
Pleasantries, I thought to myself.
He continued, “Well, I’m here with Megan… yes, that’s right… well, she actually has some questions for you. Can you meet? . . . Tomorrow?”
I nodded yes.
“Okay, sure. What time? . . . Ten in the morning?”
Again I nodded yes, but added, “Where?”
“UCSF,” he whispered.
“Okay,” I responded. They exchanged a few more words and then hung up.
I spoke first, “So this… Max… he’s going to have answers for me?”
“I don’t know. I told him about you last time we saw each other and he just nodded as if he understood. Then he told me to call him if you contacted me again. Why don’t we meet here at nine-thirty and go over together?”
“Why UCSF?” I asked. “Does he work there?”
“Yes, he’s a professor.”
“And he’s…” I trailed off, trying to lead him to answer.
“Yes, he’s one of us… an Aurator.”
I took a deep breath, becoming more resolved. “Okay, I’ll meet you here tomorrow.”
We said our good-byes and I left. I had enough time to go home and take a nap before picking up my kids. As I drove home, I kept thinking back to when I started seeing auras, first the priest, then high school. Now what am I up against?
The next day after dropping the girls off I went to meet Aaron. Normally I was not thankful for the year-round schools my daughters went to, but lately I seemed to need the extra time for myself. Aaron and I drove over to the University of California, San Francisco campus. I had never asked what Max taught but didn’t bother now because I knew I was about to find out. We parked a few blocks away, lucky to find a spot there, and walked up to the Parnassus Building at the School of Medicine.
We walked down the long hallway and I had flashbacks to nursing school. I shuddered, grateful that I completed it but sure that my time there had created some post-traumatic stress disorder. We reached a door that read,
Max Reibolt, MD
Medical History, Medical Anthropology
I wondered, what kind of medicine is that? Aaron knocked on the door and I heard a muffled, “Come in.”
As we walked through the door I was amazed at how large the office was. My nursing instructors had small closet-like offices or they all shared one big room sectioned off into cubicles. This room was very large with high ceilings. Every square inch of wall space was covered with shelving littered with books, papers, and what looked like various artifacts from all over the world. There was a massive wooden desk under the far window, covered with stacks of papers that, while a little disheveled, looked somewhat organized. The floor had an expensive imported rug with a beautiful red woven design that peeked out from among stacks of books and papers. Along the fringe of the carpet lay what looked like a long row of Big Little Books on the floor. These were something I knew well, but it was surprising nonetheless—my uncle was proud of being the only person in the world with a complete collection of these same books. I smiled at the thought and then noticed a movement out of the corner of my eye.
Moving toward us was a gentleman easily in his mid-seventies yet still strong and healthy looking. In my line of business, that wasn’t something I saw very often. If I saw people in their seventies they were usually sick with multiple chronic medical problems. This man was nothing close to that. He had short, straight, dark hair with a touch of gray in it, not as much as most men his age. He wore jeans and a simple, cleaned and pressed button-up shirt with a sweater vest over it. He walked toward me with a presence that immediately put me at ease. He looked familiar, maybe I’d seen him somewhere before. He stood in front of me with an expression on his face that I couldn’t comprehend. I heard Aaron speak up, “Max, this is…” Max held up a hand as if gesturing to wait.
“I know who she is. Hello, Megan.” He held his hand out to me. I then noticed the red glow around him. I don’t know why I didn’t see it until then. I extended my hand to him.
“Hello, Mr. Reibolt.”
He chuckled, “Mr. Reibolt is my father and he’s dead, so I’d prefer Max.”
“Okay then, Max, nice to meet you.”
He continued to hold my gaze and kept my hand in his. “Well now Megan, we’ve been waiting for you a long time. It’s nice to see you again.”
Yes, I caught that,
again.
“I’m sorry, have we met?”
“Yes dear, but it was a long time ago, you were too young to remember. How are your parents?” He allowed me to draw my hand back, and I slid both my hands in my pockets, feeling a little uncomfortable.
“You know my family?”
“It’s been many years, but yes.” He offered no other explanation.
I thought about this for a moment and decided there must be some professional correlation between lawyers and doctors and left it at that for now. I had bigger questions on my mind at that moment. “They’re fine, thanks. Dad’s retired and they’ve been traveling.”
“Great, good people.”
I couldn’t deny this. I just never had anything in common with them. So different… so completely different from me.
“So,” I began, “Aaron suggested that I speak with you about who… what I am.”
He smiled, “Ah, yes, I’m sure you have a lot of questions.” He motioned for me to sit on a large leather couch.
As I moved to sit I noticed that he barely took his eyes off of me.
He sat down in the largest of two leather chairs to my right. I sat on the couch and Aaron removed a stack of papers from a chair so that he could sit across from me. Max took a drink from his coffee cup and then began, “Okay, so… yes… lots of questions. Where would you like to start?”
Suddenly I had forgotten all my questions. Where do I start? I suddenly thought of a question that I had not considered before. “Can you see my aura also?”
He smirked and drew his eyebrows down, “Yes.”
I realized this conversation might be hard unless I started asking some open-ended questions. “Why am I the only woman who is like this?”
“An Aurator,” he stated simply.
“Pardon me?” I asked.
“You are an Aurator. Why are you the only woman Aurator?”
I sighed. I guess I was still having trouble accepting it. “Yes, why am I the only woman Aurator?” The words struggled to make their way through my clenched teeth.
He stood and walked over to a collection of large antique-looking books. He ran his fingers across the spines until he came to the one he was looking for. As he pulled it off the shelf a small cloud of dust dispersed around it. He brushed the book off and came to sit back down with us.
“Maybe the better question to ask is
how
did we come to be?”
Well, I thought to myself, I suppose it would be if that were the question I wanted answered. A little annoyed, I nodded, humoring the old man. “Well then… .”
He chuckled, removed a pair of reading glasses from his vest pocket, and opened the book. He took much longer to find the information he wanted to share than I would have expected from someone who clearly had his own agenda. He began, “What do you know about Greek mythology?”
“Not much, but I’m listening.” That is what I chose to say rather than,
Are you kidding me?
He looked at me over his glasses and grinned. “Megan, I need you to have an open mind. This is going to be harder for you than for all the others.”
“Why?”
“We’ll get to that.” He waved his hand around as if dismissing a two-year-old and settled on a page in his book.
“Have you ever heard of Asclepius the god of cleanliness, medicine, and healing?” He looked up from his book.
I shook my head no.
“Asclepius was a god from Greek mythology.” He looked up to gauge my response. I tried to not respond at all. He smiled and continued. “Asclepius was the son of Apollo and Coronis. Coronis had been unfaithful to Apollo. As punishment she was killed, but the unborn child, Asclepius, was cut out of her womb by Apollo. Apollo named him after
asklepios
, the Greek word for ‘to cut open’ which was later changed to Asclepius. Since Coronis may or may not have been unfaithful, Asclepius may not have been Apollo’s son. Apollo then took the baby to the centaur Chiron, who raised Asclepius and instructed him in medicine.
“So, Apollo was known in part for his medical abilities, and now so was his son. Asclepius married and had six daughters and three sons.” He paused for a second as if trying to find his next words. “Many of his daughters were healers.” He hesitated. “One of the daughters was like us, the first that we know of. She passed her genes down, and after generations in the ancestral line came Hippocrates. He was the most famous of our kind. Do you know who that is?”
“Of course I do, father of medicine, Hippocratic oath.” I was actually starting to get interested. Being in the profession, I had always been fascinated by the history of medicine, but I had never gone this far back. “Is everyone… like us… in medicine?”
“Yes.” Max stated simply.
I turned toward Aaron who replied, “Yes, I’m an anesthesiologist.”
I smirked, “So is this where the God complex with you doctors comes from?” I’d always wanted to say that to a doctor, and now that the moment seemed appropriate I was giddy with my joke.
Max laughed a boisterous laugh, “Well it’s better than
moron,
which is what you nurses
usually
call us behind our backs.”
I nodded, “Touché.” We all had a good laugh, then I continued, “Why are we all in medicine?”
“That’s unclear. Asclepius was the supposed god of medicine and healing, and Hippocrates was the father of medicine. There is something in us that pulls us, as if a genetic drive toward medicine.”
I thought about this. Why medicine? Why me, a woman? My head was spinning with information and more questions. I looked over and Max and Aaron were speaking together over the book. “Wait a minute,” I interrupted. “Are you telling me that we are descendants from mythological beings? You guys realize how crazy that sounds, don’t you? Mythology is just that… myth.”
Max looked up from his book and quizzically grinned, “Is it?”
This response confused me. What seemed rational just seconds ago now felt like a difficult concept. “Isn’t it?” I asked.
Raising his eyebrows and looking amused, “Some could say the Bible is fiction. Is it? Maybe, maybe not. The Bible is a compilation of stories of ordinary and extraordinary events recorded by man. Right?”
Although I grew up in the Catholic church, I had always grappled with the validity of some of the stories in the Bible. I waited for him to finish.
He sat back in his chair with a confident look on his face, seemingly happy that I was playing along with this theory. “Who’s to say that mythology is not the same? These are stories that were verbally passed down because there was no adequate ability to record the events. Couldn’t they also be a mix of ordinary and extraordinary events told throughout the generations until someone finally
wrote
them down into what we now call mythology?”
I couldn’t argue with that.
He continued, “Then, could we not hypothesize that since these stories
may
be true and these people or gods
may
have lived, that they too would have had children who had children, who passed their genes down through the generations to us?”
Max then looked up and started speaking again. “Dear, to get back to the matter at hand, I believe you’re wondering why you are the first woman with this gift since the daughter of Asclepius.” He leaned forward excitedly.
“I hadn’t thought of it that way, but yes, why?” My eyes were big and somehow full of hope that Max would have the answer.
“I don’t know,” he said furrowing his brow. “But I believe we are about to find out.”
Then he looked up, murmured something to himself and shuffled off to one of the many bookshelves again. My jaw dropped. I looked at Aaron, who had the same confused look on his face, as if he too thought that Max would have the answer. I looked back at Max who now, talking to himself, reached up and pulled an old, intricately carved wooden box off the shelf. He placed the box on his desk and opened it. I moved forward in my seat and noticed out of the corner of my eye that Aaron did as well.
Max reached in the box and pulled out a small key. He then walked over to where I was standing and asked, “Can you stand up please?” I stood up and held my open hand out, thinking he was giving me the key. He smiled, put both hands on my shoulders and moved me gently out of the way, steering me over to the chair he had been sitting in.
“Have a seat, Megan. Aaron can you give me a hand with the rug?” Aaron stood and walked over to Max, who motioned for Aaron to lift the corner of the rug. They folded it over itself to expose the wide wood planks of the floor. Max motioned to stop. Then, after Max and Aaron exchanged a glance, Aaron walked over to lock the door to the room.
I joined them by the rug and Max knelt down next to a plank marked with an intricate carving of a staff with a single snake wrapped around it. He placed his hand over the symbol, and without even a touch the board moved downward. The board then slid underneath the board next to it, exposing an iron box, which he lifted out. He placed his hand onto the floor again, and the missing plank slid back into place on its own. I shook my head in disbelief as I looked toward Max, who had an amused smirk on his face, and then I followed both men to Max’s desk.
He sat down and placed the box in front of him on the desk. He moved his hand over the box, admiring it for a moment and wiping the dust away. He then took a deep breath and leaned back in the chair.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” I blurted out, excited to see what was inside it.
Aaron’s mouth was open, “Is that what I think it is? Max?”
Max had a look of conflict on his face, somewhere between awe and fear. “Yes Aaron, it is.”
“I thought that was just legend. It really…” Aaron was breathing fast and started pacing, running his fingers through his hair.
“Megan,” Max began, “I spoke of Hippocrates because he was one of us. Also he was one of the first to chronicle his experiences.”