It was a dingy little storefront in a questionable part of
town with a blue neon hand over the door. All it said was “Palm Reader.”
“We have to go!” my adventurous high school friend said. So
of course we did. The medium looked like the lady down the street, only more
tired, like this might be the end of her second shift. And she wasn’t named
Madame-Somebody or Serenity or Natasha or even Lilith. It was something like Mrs.
Palmer.
I refused to pay the full $20 for something I didn’t believe
in. So Mrs. Palmer read half my life for ten bucks. No kidding. On-sale palm
reading. Half my life for half the money.
Here is what you don’t want happening when a palm reader
looks at your palm: she looked upset. She sort of had an upset-looking face,
anyway, but I’m certain it got worse. More frowny.
And she told me something sort of negative. Then she said
she was feeling tired and not very psychic, and she gave me a coupon to come
back. I didn’t even get my full half-a-life. Of course I didn’t go back,
either.
Much later, I was sorry I didn’t. The negative thing not
only came true, but it came true in a big way. In fact, it could be said that
it became the bane of my life for a long, long time.
Last weekend, my more adventurous friends exclaimed, “We
have to go!” So of course I did. It was still $20 after all these years. Ironic
that at my age, I paid for the whole life this time. But here’s the weird
thing: I was a little nervous. Silly or not, I was scared that my palm, my fate
and my life were tainted somehow.
Instead, this happier-looking palm reader—named
Bree—immediately announced that I was a writer. “It’s like you have to write,”
she said. I found myself looking at my clothing to see if I had on anything
that might give it away. Not a hint. Then she told me that I’d been through
some bad stuff, some of which she described so accurately that I felt shocked
and raw. How odd it feels to have a stranger tell you your secrets!
But then she told me I’d changed course, and now I was back
on track. She predicted some good things. Very good things. “The lines in the
hand change, you know,” she said. Did she make that up? I don’t care.
When I was young and smart, I viewed the life I hadn’t yet
lived through the safe, logical theory of black and white rules. Now that I am old
and silly, I view life through the reality of experience—experience that tells
me life is wild and colorful and risky and full of broken rules. I no longer worship
logic because I no longer want to explain everything. Life is much more fun
with a little mystery. The question is no longer, “What do I believe?” The
question is now, “What makes me happy to believe?”
This does. Having adventurous friends who go to see palm
readers makes life better. I love knowing even at this age, I have a new hand.
Not all those who wander are lost. ~J. R. R. Tolkien
