Today I am thinking of Freda. I see myself walking to her house on what feels like a Summer afternoon. The year is 1992 or '93. Freda lives near the Mall. Mom has given me her address. Freda's street is a little hard to find because it's hidden in a block of cul-de-sacs, but I finally make the correct turn and now I'm in front of her house. What to do but ring the bell? I'm feeling a little nervous.
I got the call...when? Was it the day before? The same day? I'm not sure. But it was you. You called. It was one of your Special Calls, where you said, "wait for the bells before you hang up." There were these bell tones or beeps or bleeps at the end of those calls. I wasn't supposed to hang up until I heard them.
I don't know if you mentioned Freda or if it was Mom who told me to go to her house. You might've just said "I'll see you tomorrow." Your Special Calls always contained instructions. But I think it was Mom who gave me Freda's address.
When I was little, my family lived on Hatton Street in Reseda. Freda and her family lived directly behind us on Lull (and next door to Pearl). I was briefly friends with Freda's son Richie. She sometimes picked us up from Kindergarten at Lorne Street School, located a mile away. Back then, Freda was a boisterous lady, in a fun "New York" sort of way (she was from NY), and whenever she picked us up from school (in her big 1960s sedan) she'd say, "Push down!"
I don't know how many of us kids she gave rides to, but it was enough to pack her car. And I was a dunce because I didn't know what "Push down!" meant. The first time I heard Freda say that (or exclaim it), I was getting into the back seat of what might have been a gigantic Oldsmobile. A boat, you remember the type. I was getting in, following the kid before me, and we were running out of room in the back seat. That didn't register with me, and I might've been malingering, so when Freda exclaimed, "Push down!" I didn't realize I was holding up the parade, and instead of doing what she wanted, I pressed down, with both hands, on the cushion of the rear bench seat. In fact, I pressed it down with emphasis, hoping Freda would see me in the rear view mirror, because I didn't want her to get mad at me. I have always been sensitive to people's energy, and even at five years old, I could tell that Freda was "fun but tense". She was then married to Harry, a PTSD Korean War vet, which could not have been easy. When Freda told me to "Push down!", she was trying to expedite the ride home.
"Push down!" was New York for "move over." When one of the other kids pointed that out to me, I moved over, the last kid got in, and Freda drove us all to our houses. Then, at the end of 1967, my family moved to Northridge and I didn't think of Reseda for a long time.
But then, in the mid-70s, Freda also moved to Northridge. By that time, she'd divorced Harry and opened a New Age book shop in the strip mall at Reseda Boulevard and Prairie. Usually, I'm not a fan of New Age, but Freda was the real deal. She was into astrology and especially numerology. She was a highly intelligent lady. My Mom also studied astrology (even took classes at CSUN) and one day she re-connected with Freda.
Or maybe they never lost touch. I say that because it turns out that my Mom was what you might call A Very Interesting Person, and so was Freda.
Freda played a role in 1989.
Hypnotism and hypnotic states have played a role in my life. I'm thinking of the Special Phone Calls again.
And when I walked to Freda's house, that Summer day, I think I was under a spell. It's funny about hypnosis - you don't always know that you're under. I mean, sometimes you do, like when some bad guy has slipped you a Roofie, or when you're riding in a silent helicopter. Sometimes, like when you've been given sodium pentothal, you have no doubt you're under hypnosis. In that case, you're So Far Under you feel like you're inside yourself. You feel like just Eyes and a Voice, like you're a Miniature You Inside Your Brain...
But there are different levels of hypnotic trance, and at a low-level, you might feel like it's an ordinary day and you're walking to Freda's house in the Summer sun.
You are a specialist at administering low-level trance, at least with me. But I have to say, it's never an ordinary day with you. Because at these meetings, like the one we're about to have at Freda's, wonderful things always happen.
I think Mom may have arranged the meeting at Freda's house. Remember, Freda played a role in '89. That means she knew what was going on. And Freda was a true-blue friend who believed in love. I don't know if you knew Freda before that day. I just remember ringing her doorbell, and then being in her living room, and suddenly you were there, too. In a low-level trance, it can feel like an ordinary day, but you're still very much "in the moment." The people around you know more of what is going on than you do. That's why seeing you at Freda's was such a surprise. I don't think I knew you were going to be there. Or maybe Mom had given me a hint...
Freda raised a toast. I think it was "to love", and she said something like, "can you believe you're both here?" I don't know if Mom was there, too (or anyone else), but it feels like there's more than me, you, and Freda. You guys used her house because it was a safe place for us to meet. I think I apologized for "being sweaty" because I'd walked there and it was a hot day. But Freda had her AC on, it was cool in the living room and she said, "Yes, it is hot, but it's a beautiful day and it's going to be a lovely evening."
I can see us getting in your car and backing out of Freda's driveway. If we went where I think we went, it blows my mind in the best possible way.
I see online that Freda passed away in 2018. The last time I saw her was after the earthquake, but I didn't know anything then.
Now I do. Thank you, Freda. You believed in love and you were absolutely amazing.
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