Stacy struggled up the steps of the five-fifteen Friday afternoon bus, her energy level low. The school year had barely begun, but she didn't feel her usual enthusiasm. Funny, she thought, once you've passed that thirtieth birthday, the whole machinery of your life just didn't operate the same. Taking the last seat, she sank down and closed her eyes. The bus moved off with a jolt that made her eyes pop open. A woman in a threadbare brown coat stood in front of Stacy and from the back, the droop of the woman's shoulders was obvious. But as Stacy watched, a shimmering pink color, delicate like the inside of a shell, edged the woman's figure.

It's happening again, Stacy thought. Fascinated by the fluid color that spread smoothly about the woman, Stacy concentrated on the emotions that enveloped her. Then she rose and tapped the woman on the shoulder.

"Please, won't you sit down?" she said.

Turning in surprise, her swollen middle confirming her condition, the woman gave a grateful smile. "Thanks."

Stacy blurted out, "It's a girl." The woman looked puzzled, so Stacy hastened to add, "I mean, I hope it's a girl. They're so adorable."

The woman nodded happily.

Turning away, Stacy wondered when she would learn to think before she spoke. Soon it was her stop, and she left the bus. No big deal. She'd let her guard down because she was tired; that was all. She began the blocking exercise the psychic had taught her.

"A barrier, Stacy. You just build a wall."

Maybe that was easy for someone accustomed to this kind of experience. But for Stacy, the sudden events were akin to having a door opened into infinity. She was simply not prepared to deal with the consequences of having access to feelings and secrets of others. She'd never been a believer in anything supernatural, and the phenomenon of being able to see beyond the obvious was unnerving.

She had first experienced the new awareness visiting her doctor for follow up tests after completion of chemotherapy. He'd been giving her the good news that her cancer was in remission. As he spoke, she was startled to see a bright blue glow surrounding his hands. Without knowing why, the meaning was clear to her.

"You have the mark of a healer," she told him.

"I only try to do what I think will help. The healing's up to your body and the good Lord, I think," he said.

Stacy had been embarrassed and confused, unable to speak about what she had seen.

Over the next few months, the episodes came infrequently, but unexpectedly. Each was different, allowing her to tune into an unseen dimension of those around her. Fearing that she was losing her mind, she finally decided to consult a psychic.

"It's an extraordinary event in your life," the psychic had told her. "It's a gift, really. For some reason you've been made sensitive, given the ability to see auras. But you need to learn to control it, not let it overwhelm you."

So Stacy had tried the blocking exercises, which seemed to work. Now without warning, it had stuck again. This time had not been unpleasant, but as always she had felt sneaky peering into the life of another. She felt marked, more so than she had felt singled out for cancer. The disease she shared with many others. The "insight," was a trait that seemed to be claimed mainly by misfits and those on the fringes of polite society. Now as she walked from the bus stop to her apartment, she concentrated on making deep breaths. Reaching her building, she had to shift mental gears, nearly colliding with an elderly neighbor.

"Mr. Evans," she said. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you."

He held tight to the rail, cane gripping the sidewalk below him

"That's all right. I wasn't watching out, myself,." he told her.

But as their eyes locked, Stacy felt the spreading warmth that signaled a probe into another's psyche. Mr. Evans' aura was a deep brown that pulsated very slowly and irregularly. Stacy wanted to ask him if he was OK, but he was on his halting way down the sidewalk. She felt nauseated and a pain in her head caught her up short. It was her imagination. After all, she couldn't go chasing off after every person she met, inquiring about their health. She needed to tune out, to resist the unbidden knowledge. But what if something was very wrong with Mr. Evans?

Stacy shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. Part of her wanted to go rushing after him; another part just wanted to go home. Since Mr. Evans had already made his slow way around the corner and out of sight, Stacy put him, if not out of her mind, at least into a rear portion of her consciousness.

The evening went on forever. She tried to prepare her lessons for next week, but she could not concentrate. She really loved teaching and was fortunate that her illness had begun during a summer break. It had never interfered with her school life. Thank heavens she'd never had an episode of the "insight" while teaching. It was hard enough to ignore the plight of kids who had so little, let alone be privy to their innermost secrets. But tonight, her mind would not let her work, or rest.

Finally at about nine-thirty, knowing that she would toss and turn all night if she did not, she left her apartment and headed for Mr. Evans' ground-floor flat. Her tap on the door was unanswered, but she could see a light streaming through the crack. She rapped again, but still no reply. Sighing, she made her way to the superintendent's rooms down the hall.

The next moments were a blur, as paramedics were summoned, and Mr. Evans was transported to the hospital. Several hours later, standing beside Mr. Evans' bed, Stacy reflected how little she knew about this man whom she'd seen almost daily in the hallway. The superintendent had not known how to reach family members, so Stacy went along in the ambulance.

Now she worried alone beside his bed, her brief period of "seeing" was over. That was the problem with the "insight". It only gave her glimpses and never came at will.

A tall man in a white coat came into the room. "Are you a friend of Mr. Evans?" he asked.

"Just a neighbor," she replied.

The man nodded. "I'm Dr. Morris, David Morris. We've treated Mr. Evans before. His sister's name was on his records. I understand that they've contacted her, and she's on her way now."

Stacy still wondered about the old man's condition. She recalled that people were often aware of conversations held in their hearing, even unconscious. She was hesitant to ask any questions.

Dr. Morris answered her unspoken query. "He's responding to treatment, but probably won't wake up for a while. Would you like to talk in the coffee shop downstairs?"

Her watch confirmed that it was nearly midnight, but tomorrow was Saturday, and she didn't have to worry about an early morning.

"Thank you. I'd like that," she said.

Soon, seated in a corner booth of the coffee shop, she was surprised to see a number of people having coffee or meals.

"It's amazing how busy this place always is, even now," Dr. Morris said.

"I guess caring for people is a 24-hour job."

"Sometimes even a 36-hour job," he replied. "but you do what you can. I think Mr. Evans will recover, and I hope he gives in to his sister's pleas to come to live with her."

"I'm glad he has someone who cares about him," Stacy said.

"He's fortunate to have a neighbor like you, too."

"I just couldn't get him out of my mind," Stacy answered, avoiding a mention of the real reason for her concern.

"Good for you. Too few neighbors would get involved."

"Getting involved means a commitment that many people aren't willing to make." Stacy admitted.

"The important thing is that you did. We need to care more about each other."

Before she thought, Stacy blurted out, "But isn't it hard for you, for any doctor? Don't you have to shut out caring sometimes?"

"Sometimes. Having to perform under pressure knowing that a life is in your hands is never easy. But the reality that you are dealing with people's lives never leaves you."

"How can you deal with it day after day, person after person?" Stacy wanted to know.

"The way you deal with anything," he said. "One day at a time. One patient at a time. The strength to do that comes from somewhere, from some reservoir that you didn't know you had. People do get to the end of their resources sometimes, but their ability to cope is amazing. People rise above the ordinary more often than not. That's what makes us human."

He stopped and smiled at her, and for the first time she noticed him as a person, not a doctor. His soft hazel eyes shone with an intensity that reassured her, gave her encouragement. Knowing that he had strength to deal with life and death situations with such everyday dedication, gave her faith that she could find the courage to meet the less frequent emotional demands of her new insight. It was a responsibility, but a gift as well.

"You seem to have the answer," she told him.

He laughed. "Would you like to know my secret," he asked, a slow smile spreading over his face.

"Absolutely."

"My official start to Saturday morning is a really big ice cream cone. Shall I get two?"

"Sure."

He stepped to the counter to survey the assorted tubs of icy confection. "Raspberry nut ripple is my favorite choice," he said to the counter clerk, then turned to grin at Stacy. "That's yours, too," he announced.

Surprised and pleased, Stacy only nodded her agreement. Her gaze fell on the mirrored wall tiles across the room, and she watched as he returned to the table. She was not surprised to see the soft blue aura that edged his reflection. Noting with pleasure a nearly identical one outlining her own image, she saw the colors merge and blend into one.

As he handed her the cone, the pink of the ice cream matched the blush of her cheeks. "Here's to a brighter tomorrow," he said.

"Seeing is believing," she replied.