Two weeks ago I found an old audio cassette in bottom of my sock drawer. I had seen it a few times before, but this time it caught my eye. I picked it up and noticed that is was an audio recording of a psychic reading that I had gotten at the Bottom of The Cup in New Orleans. I saw the date on the handwritten label. It was exactly 25 years ago to the day. This was an omen.

I frantically searched the house trying to find a working cassette player, to no avail. I finally found one in the car. I was very excited as I put the time capsule in the cassette deck. I had to rewind it first ... then I had to flip the cassette over and rewind it again. This is one reason we don't have cassettes now. I finally heard a voice. A psychic reader named De Loris. (She spelled it as two words as psychics often do.)

What was the psychic about tell me? I settled back to listen. This is when I still drank, and it was during Jazz Festival weekend in the French Quarter. When my voice came on it didn’t sound entirely coherent. De Loris asked me some questions, then read Tarot cards and my palm. In total, it was rather generic and uneventful. I waited 25 years to hear this?

Did she predict my marriage to my girlfriend at the time, and two daughters? No ... she kept asking me about blonde people. One of the cards must have said blonde. I loved Debbie Harry, who was the lead singer of the band Blondie. De Loris kept mentioning blonde men and women. She said I would have a partnership with a blond man, and make a lot of money. I was also supposed to come into some money in June or July of that year. Trying to remember that summer, I know that I didn’t win the lottery, but I might have found $10 in my jeans after the wash. It was a long time ago, and De Loris never specified.

In the day between finding the tape to hearing it in the car, I had built up some pretty big expectations of what the tape would reveal. I thought it would go something like this:

De Loris: The cards say you should invest in Google

Me: What’s a Google?

De Loris: It’s a search engine that eventually will control our whole lives.

Me: What’s a search engine?

De Loris: Never mind. You will partner with a blond man.

Me: Twenty-five years in the future that will be probably be legal, but what about my unblonde girlfriend in the waiting area? Will we get married? Will we have two daughters, and two six-toed cats? Will I have a white picket fence that needs painting and live in the ninth best place to live in America?

De Loris: That is an oddly specific question. Maybe.

Me: In the future, will Metro-North trains run faster and will I-95 be full of flying space cars?

De Loris: The trains will actually run slower, and so will I-95. Also, I am not kidding you, but Donald Trump will face off against Hillary Clinton for president in what everyone is predicting will be the ugliest election the world has ever seen.

Me: Really. I can’t believe it ... How much slower will the trains be?

De Loris: In the future you will be sexting, vaping, twerking, tweeting and ubering.

Me: Wow, the future looks bright.

I wanted to find out what happened to De Loris. Did she use her God given psychic powers to pick horses or lottery numbers and retire to a small island in the Caribbean? The company has been around since 1929 and is still in business. I looked them up on the newfangled World Wide Web that De Loris almost told me about. She is not one of their current psychics, according to the website. So I left a message asking what happened to De Loris. They responded that she “retired several years ago and has indeed passed over. She was one of a kind.” In my mind De Loris is somewhere on that island and not reading intoxicated tourists’ fortunes for 25 bucks a pop.

I never did win the lottery that summer. I did marry that woman in the waiting area, we did have those kids and the cats. All in all, if you showed my younger self 25 years in the future I am sure he would have been slightly disappointed we hadn’t done more. But he is a young drunk guy getting advice from a psychic during Jazz Fest. Me, I’m not doing so badly.

Thomas Lawlor lives in Southport with his wife and two daughters. His “Father’s Journal” column appears every other Friday. He can be reached by email at