The Magic Palm

I hadn't been on the interstate long. From Colby to Sullivan took 30 minutes. The drive had been quiet, traffic was limited and the sun was just starting to go down behind the trees. I crossed the town line, just under Depot Road Bridge when the car started to slowly die out. "NO!" "No, please don't, not now. You piece of....." As though offended by my words, my 2002 Chevy Impala let out a final sigh before dying on the side of the road.

"Unbelievable," I muttered to myself, my hands frozen to the wheel in shock, my eyes welling with tears. I lifted my hands up and slammed them back down. As though beating the piss out of my vehicle would somehow bring it back to life.

With a deep sigh and a head flop back onto my seat, I opened the door and reached for the hood release. I had no choice but to get out and peer under the rusting gray hood.

What I was looking for and what I could possibly do about it, was the joke. I had no mechanical abilities. I couldn't even change a lightbulb without dropping it or forgetting to turn the power off first.

I went to the front and started fumbling around under the hood for the lever thingy. I scratched my finger on a piece of rust and yelled in frustration and pain. "URGH!" I kicked the bumper, as though that would help anything. As I sucked on my bruised finger, something in the bushes to my left caught my eye. "Probably a soda can or some other junk someone threw out their window."

I couldn't help but go look, ADHD kicking in. As I got closer, it began glowing. A bright yellow or green, I couldn't quite place the color. I was a little concerned it would give me copious amounts of radiation, but what the hell, I was already late for an interview and had a dead car; what was a little toxic energy flowing through my blood?

I reached for it as though it was calling my name. It was warm to the touch. My hand felt as though it was holding a freshly baked slice of apple pie from my Gram. I stood there, for how long I'm not sure. I felt as though I had taken LSD, at least I think that's what it would feel like, I've never tried it.

Before I could close my hand around it, it started, I don't know, evaporating into my hand. I think about it now and I guess I should have been frightened, but I wasn't. I felt calm and comfortable with this strange object being absorbed into my skin. When it disappeared, I had a small symbol tattooed on the palm of my hand. I couldn't decipher what it was then, and although it should have freaked me out, I was somehow ok with all of it.

I suddenly had an immense feeling of hope and peace. And as odd as it is, I had the strange urge to go back and fix the car. I sort of walked, or stumbled out of the tall grass, in a daze or trance. I walked over to the car, found the latch right away, and opened the hood. I looked at the engine, still having no idea what to do. Then I just laid my hand on it. No sparks, no fire, no burns, it just started. Just like that, it started up and ran perfectly the rest of the day.

I got to the interview on time and nailed it. I was hired the next day. I realize now that I had shaken the interviewer's hand when I introduced myself. On my first day on the job I was given a company car, "thank God for small miracles." I was a photographer, taking pictures all over New Hampshire for every company you could imagine. Airbnb's, hotels, fishing charters, you name it, I took the photos. Every photo I took came out perfectly. No blurs, no adjustments needed. Even the best photographers have to edit a bit.

I started wondering if I was really that good or if this tattoo, that object I touched had something to do with my luck, my newfound ability to fix anything and take perfect photos.

Sometimes my hand would reach for things I wasn't planning on touching, and BAM, the coffee maker would make a perfect latte. Why is that weird? It was a Keurig machine, it didn't make lattes.

I'd put a load of laundry in, adjust to the normal cycle then push the start button. I walked out to the living room and heard the "finished" chime. I figured I had messed up with the controls, or it was malfunctioning. No. The laundry was done. I washed it again just to be sure. It was done in seconds. The clothes seemed clean, they felt damp like they should so I put them in the dryer. Buzzed after a few seconds, everything was dry. Again, I should have felt terrified, but I wasn't. I was excited. I loved Harry Potter, and this was some magic crap happening here.

Dinner? Done in seconds after putting raw meat in the oven. Not just done, perfectly done. If I imagined medium rare, it was medium rare. If I thought well-done, boom, well-done steak. By now I knew my hand or whatever entered my hand was magic. I had the Midas touch. I also felt touched a bit, like was I losing my mind? How could this be real? I must have been losing it, right? No. It didn't stop with laundry and dinner.

Dating hadn't been my thing. I never knew what to say or how to act around people I was interested in, and it normally went south fast. My cousin set me up with a blind date. Someone her husband worked with. Ethan. He was gorgeous. A wealthy businessman just moved to Portland from New York. He was tall, handsome, funny, all the things I wanted out of a relationship. I knew I was doomed.

We were eating dinner and I thought, what the hell, if my magic palm is seriously magic, then well, why not try it out on a larger scale. So midway through the appetizer, when he reached for one of those amazing warm tortilla chips to dip, I went in at the same time and touched the top of his hand with my "magic palm."

There was this small shock. Then that feeling of warmth again. The feeling I had the first time I touched the light, orb, whatever you want to call it. That feeling of confidence welled up inside me, I felt completely at ease, the most comfortable I'd been on a date in my life.

The touch did something to him too, but I wasn't sure then. He had been on his phone quite a bit at the beginning of the date. Usually, a sign he wanted out. He put it away after that and never took his eyes off me. He was constantly smiling, actively listening to what I had to say, pulling the chair out for me, and standing when I stood to go to the bathroom. He opened the doors and took my hand to help me in the car. All things I wished a guy would do, but never did.

He brought me home, walked me to the door, and asked if he could kiss me goodnight. He did. Then things heated up and whatever I wanted him to do, when I touched him, he did it. At this point, I thought I knew what was happening, but I liked it too much to stop. I was becoming an addict. I needed to do what I wanted, I'd feel guilty after, but it quickly faded when I got something amazing out of it.

My Impala had died once more. I fixed it with a touch and then drove it straight to the dealership. I touched a car I liked, then touched the arm of the salesman. Then the arm of the finance manager, then the arm of the owner when they came up with a price that was insane and had him questioning their sanity. He suddenly felt like allowing the sale to go through.

I left the lot with a brand-new convertible for half the price. I'm not sure if the magic wears off eventually, but not much they can do about it once the papers are signed.

Amazing right? Anything I wanted I could get with a touch of the hand and a thought in my mind.

But like Midas, you don't always want what you touch to become gold.

My job was going amazing. I got promotion after promotion. If I mailed in a sweepstakes, I won. I bought a lotto ticket, and once I touched it, I knew I'd win. I only did that once. I didn't want so much money that I didn't know what else to do with myself. I wanted to keep working, so I just bought a ticket for a small amount of winnings and put it away for retirement.

My job was going perfectly, I had just made district manager. I got out of my apartment and bought a cute 3 bedroom house, with a two-car garage for my convertible. Ethan asked me to marry him, and I said yes.

Things were perfect. Until they weren't.

Two weeks before our wedding, Ethan was in a car accident. He was on a ventilator by the time I got to the hospital. When I entered his room, his parents, whom I never met, but had heard were not fond of me and how fast the wedding progressed, assumed I was pregnant or had some mind control over their brilliant son.

Well, they weren't completely wrong. But it wasn't their business. He was marrying me and they had nothing to say about it. He had already changed his power of attorney and put me as his next of kin. I'm not sure that's what pissed them off the most, but it didn't bother me. I was just going to touch his arm, think about him getting better and we'd get married and live happily ever after.

They didn't really have questions for me. They didn't yell, or get angry. They were gentle and soft-spoken and heartbroken for their son. I started feeling guilty. Then, they told me he had been texting them on our first date. Now I knew who he'd been talking to when he was clearly not interested in me.

"You know Ethan texted us about your date, the night you first met?" I just kind of looked at them without saying anything. "You must have really won him over later during dinner." Now I was curious. "How do you mean?"

His mother almost seemed embarrassed to say anything, so she looked at her husband. As if willing him to fill me in. He was tall and handsome like Ethan. He spoke with a sweet and deep voice. "He said you weren't really his type when he first texted us. Ethan had been in a relationship for a few years before going back out on the dating scene, so he was picky. Nothing against you, he just had a rough go before you met. He's also a bit of a snob about certain things. He likes woman who have some money, a nice car, financially stable. He said you had a beat-up car, a one-bedroom apartment in a bad part of town, and that you took pictures for a living, but for a small company. Those are all things that were, for him, not us, red flags.

He said you were a brunette, he likes blonds. He said you chewed your nails because you were nervous, he likes women with a lot of confidence. He also said you weren't particularly religious. Though he has many faults and is conceded about many things, Ethan is a Christian and that has always been something he wanted in a wife.

It just seems that he changed a great deal because of you. We were confused, but are also happy he found someone who made him see the good in people, and not in material things."

After that bombshell they left me alone with him. A gentle hand on my shoulder from the father and a small hug from the mom.

I looked at Ethan and sighed. "That's who you were texting, your parents?" I said it out loud, no one was around and I wanted to make sure he heard what I had to say, they say people in comas can still hear and understand the words they hear.

"Ethan, I wish nothing more than for you to get better. I'm not the person you want to marry. I might have changed some of the things you disliked about me, but the idea that our relationship was built on a lie, I can't do that. I do believe in something greater than ourselves, but I'm not sure it's the same entity or God you believe in. When you wake up, I want you to realize I just wasn't the right person for you. You'll realize that, maybe because of your brush with death, you need more time to find the absolutely right person for you. You'll break it to me as nicely as possible, and we'll go our separate ways. I can't Will for you to find someone perfect Ethan, but I can hope that you find someone who makes you truly happy."

I touched his face with my palm, kissed his forehead, then walked away.

I heard his parents crying with joy as I walked out of the hospital. I never looked back.

Ethan called me that night, told me how thankful he was to be alive, that he knew I had been there and thanked me for that. Then he told me he was truly sorry but after his scare, he needed time to figure some things out. I assured him I understood.

I had in fact told him how to think yet again, but in my mind, it was the right thing to do then.

So that's why I'm here, to remove this from my hand. If it means cutting the entire thing off, do it.

"Mam, as much as I think your story is fascinating, I can't justify cutting someone's hand off. I do reconstructive surgery and can try to take the tattoo off. But I won't cut your hand off. Also, I think you may want to seek some psychiatric help."

With her hand on his arm, she told him that he needed to slap himself in the face gently. He did.

He looked at her with the biggest eyes she'd ever seen and scheduled the appointment for the next week. He managed to cut the symbol out. When his knife entered the skin, a green mist seeped out with the blood and evaporated in the air. Whatever the magic in her was, it was gone forever.

She did find the symbol during a simple Google search. Eihwaz, also known as the Yew tree. It was part of the Norse runic alphabet.

Eihwaz was used to enhance personal power, overcome obstacles, and create a sense of balance and stability. Why or how it all came to be, she had no idea. Norse magic had just been sitting in the bushes on the side of the road in the Ride or Die State. Well, she still had her convertible.

She didn't feel that guilty.