By Summer Bacon
[Here's another excerpt from my one-day-to-be-published autobiography. I have had mystical experiences from the time I was eleven months old. As a teenager, these experiences began to accelerate, and oftentimes they frightened me. Fortunately, my parents didn't have me committed, but instead watched me in wonder. Daily life for me was often a challenge. In the following story, you will see how spirits even joined me on Prom Night.]
In 1976, when I was sixteen years old, I attended a prom at the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles. Klaus, my handsome German boyfriend, an exchange student, suddenly disappeared after dinner, and I got tired of waiting for him to return to our table, so I wandered the ballroom looking for him.
To my dismay, I found him sitting at the top of the many-tiered dining room, smoking cigarettes with a stunningly beautiful Chilean exchange student who had gorgeous hair that cascaded nearly to her ankles. Heartbroken, I left the dining area to soothe myself with a tour of the elegant and stately hotel.
The Ambassador Hotel was rich with history. I didn't know the history, but I could feel it. I decided to check out the restroom. My Mom always told me that you could tell a place had class if the restrooms were clean and beautiful. I walked through the large foyer past a fountain that was lush with plants. I was the only one in the foyer, and I remember feeling quite self-conscious about my heels clicking loudly on the marble floor.
I walked briskly, but as I passed the fountain I was stopped dead in my tracks by a strange icy chill in the air. I stepped forward a bit, and it was warmer. I stepped back, and there was clearly a pocket of chilly air. My whole body tingled with goose bumps, but not from the cold. I felt breathless and immobile.
I looked down to find I was standing by a plaque stating that the Ambassador Hotel was the site where Robert Kennedy had been assassinated. I was overwhelmed by sadness, and yet I was profoundly afraid because I knew intuitively that a larger force had stopped me. I stood, paralyzed with fear. I couldn't take a step forward. Then suddenly I heard: "Please. Please tell my family..." repeated over and over again. The voice was not in my head. Instead it came as a loud whisper from the side and behind me. Kennedy had taken some secret to his death, and was trying to tell me what it was...and wanted me to deliver the message to his family? It was a tall order to ask a shy sixteen-year old girl to accept responsibility for this knowledge! I was frustrated, and I welled with tears.
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Kennedy," I whispered back, "I don't know what to do."
I continued standing there, breathless and uncertain what to do. Then I felt the distinct pressure of someone standing directly behind me. I felt relieved, and took a calming breath, assuming Klaus had come to find me. I turned around and gasped! No one was there.
Needless to say, I high-tailed it back to the dining room, and never did find out what the bathrooms looked like in the Ambassador Hotel.
[For those of you who like knowing the rest of the story: it turned out Klaus and the Chilean girl were just friends. He and I went our separate ways when he returned to Germany just a week or so later. I met up with him in Europe shortly thereafter, and we traveled as friends to West & East Berlin. About fifteen years ago I found him on the internet, and we've even spoken on Skype. He is happily married with three beautiful children.]