The Palm Reader

I didn’t know how hard it would be. Truth-telling to strangers and friends alike can be tricky but when you see the kind of stuff I just saw? Well, that’s just more than I can handle. I started this thing as a fun parlor trick, something I read about in a book. A way to impress people. Or stand out in the crowd.

To get people to like me by telling them what they want to hear. It takes real talent to find out stuff, to see it but to think about all the things you should say but never do. I do it for them, really, it’s not about me.

But I just don’t know. Maybe it’s time to hang it up. Don’t get me wrong, I love knowing stuff other people can’t possibly know about themselves, I thrive on that, in fact—being the holder of the truth, keeper of their secrets, but I’m really not sure—it’s so different this time—how should I talk to Narda about what I saw. Is it lying? Am I a liar?

Narda and I have been friends since we waited tables together in our early twenties. She wasn’t my best friend, but we’d always kept in touch, even as other friends fell away. That happens as you get into your thirties, you know. Friends who get married and start families tend to stick together and us singles, well, we keep each other company on Saturday nights. New Years. That sort of thing.

Narda and I have dinner together a couple times a month, go to concerts and movies and parties together. We meet up for a run every Sunday at the trailhead near her apartment complex. I know as much about her as anyone could, I suppose. But I didn’t know this! Until today, I mean. My goodness, what are you supposed to do with that kind of information. It’s too much responsibility, you know what I mean?

Life Lines. Let’s start there. Narda’s was short. Very, very short. Alarmingly, short, in fact.

“This is so fun, Rebekah, I can’t wait to hear what you see in my hand!” Narda said. “This is so long overdue.”

Palmistry is an ancient art. It’s practiced all over the world and has been noted in Aristotle’s journals. That’s so cool, I think.

But you know, it can be super challenging and you have to totally clear out your internal space before you do it so you don’t reflect and project yourself into other people’s story lines. You can’t be thinking about your own life and what’s going on now or even your past or your future hopes and dreams. It all gets too muddled then. Criss-crossed. Confused.

So, I sat in silence for a moment at the table with Narda, closed my eyes. But the sound of her neighbor’s barking dog was so distracting, and I opened my eyes and sort of jumped into the reading unprepared. Got things going. Maybe too quickly, I don’t know. But that’s how this all started, anyhow.

“It’s more than fun, Narda, it’s insightful,” I said to her. “Ok, so you’re a lefty, right? Let me see that hand, your active and dominant hand.”

Narda had been asking me for months to read her palm. The time just never got set aside for it and there were others in line ahead of her. I was getting pretty good at it and word was getting around. Plus, it’s always harder with someone you know so well. Anyway. We finally made a plan and today rolled around like any other Saturday rolls around.

Up at nine. Breakfast. Read the news. Clean the bathroom. Scroll some dating sites, you know. Maybe do some shopping or errands and think about something fun to do. We had put it on the calendar. Saturday, April 18. Three p.m. There it was. In ink.

And there I was, sitting across from her at her kitchen table. I took her hand and turned it palm side up, opened it up for a broader view and saw the line. THE Line. The writing on the wall. Oh No! I wanted to blurt out, but didn’t. I’d never seen anything like it. It was as though her life would end abruptly. Today! Any second now, my god, it was more than I could take. Just jumping out at me like that, shouting its awful, unbearably ugly prognostication at me.

I looked up into her eager face. Looked back at her hand. Tried to re-focus. Look at some other lines. But what could they reveal of any importance after that, right?

“Your Love Line looks promising,” I finally said, though that was a lie, too. There couldn’t be anything there, I wasn’t even looking. My reading would be useless. Barely worthy, I knew that now. Meaningless as the day is long.

“Really? Tell me more!” she urged.

“Well . . . there’s nothing real specific but it looks like something will . . . change for you soon.”

“How soon?” Narda persisted.

“Um. Like I said, not specific. But promising,” I said.

How could I keep lying to her. Be vague, I thought to myself. It made me feel like one of those phony seers listed on the back of crappy magazines that you call and pay-by-the-minute for. Who would trust those charlatans? But people do. I cleared my throat and tried to gain some purchase in something positive or at least not about imminent demise, for Christ’s sake. What a spot I was in.

I stumbled through telling her this and telling her that.

“Hey, Narda, I see here,” I said, pointing to a peripheral line, “that you are going to come into some kind of fortune.”

It wasn’t a complete lie. I just didn’t tell her the fortune was not good. And who knows, maybe something good could still happen in the time she had left. I joked with her that she should play the lottery today or something. But I already knew her real number . . . was up. I was just trying to get through this. I ran my fingers along hers, lightly pinching her fingertips for something significant to tell her. At this point I was making things up because my fear and shock were clouding my view.

“Um. Let’s see, this here looks like you are maybe going to have dental trouble in the near future,” I told her.

I don’t even know where I was coming up with this stuff but she gasped at that so I was still not on the right track.

“Oh, don’t worry, nothing major. A quick fix I’m sure,” I said.

I went on with my tale. Success with an upcoming work project—a bold-faced lie, of course. A like-minded new friend entering her life. Another lie.

She asked me to tell her more about her romance and I just pulled out the old “tall, dark and handsome” line that everyone gets a kick out of whether they believe it or not. And maybe a minor digestive issue, but again nothing big to worry about, I told her. All lies of course. Um, that disappearing Life Line, remember? 

Finishing up, because I could pretend no longer, I took her hand into both of mine and told her ok, we’re done. I tried to balance the good with the not so good to keep my reading sounding authentic, convincing enough. I just didn’t have the heart, the heart to tell her what I knew. That’s just how it is, you know?

I stood up. I went into the bathroom to wash my hands, to splash some water on my face and clear things out. I couldn’t face her knowing what I did, couldn’t just make small talk all day. I needed to figure out an excuse to leave her company and sulk alone at home. Wait. For the inevitable.

But when I came back into the kitchen, she was standing in front of an open cabinet with her back to me. Hearing my footsteps, she turned quickly around to me, a fake little frowny, pouty lip accenting her face.

“All out of coffee, darn it! Let’s walk down to Highwire and grab some coffee there!” Narda said, with her child-like excitement that was always so charming. “They have a great outdoor patio. Want to?” Narda asked.

“Sure,” I said.

I mean, what was I going to say? No, I can’t go have coffee with you because I saw the terrible, ineluctable, tragic thing in your Life Line? Come on. Give me a break.

We ambled the three blocks to the café, ordered some lattes and I treated because I accidentally discovered a twenty-dollar bill in the back pocket of my jeans as we were waiting that I didn’t know was there. Oh! Look what I just found! And I was feeling pretty bad about everything anyway. Narda elbowed me.

“Hey, I thought I was the one supposed to come into fortune,” she giggled.

I laughed and rolled my eyes, yeah right, and told her something bigger was in store for her. Oh, how I hated hearing that come out of my mouth, mere seconds after I said it. Am I terrible? Narda beamed at me, basking in the afterglow of my palm reading like a little girl expecting Santa Claus on Christmas Eve. I cringed inside.

We found a nice table outside, partly shaded with a view of the street; people walking their dogs, shopping at the little boutiques, buying wine and cheese, having a leisurely day. The sun was warm on my back and I should have felt relaxed and content. But I didn’t. On any other day, yes, but not this day. What I knew was eating away at me.

Narda was talking endlessly, on and on, about something and I couldn’t even pay attention to her words. It was muffled, verbal muzak in my ears and my troubled mind. Should I tell her? How should I tell her? Warn her? Would that stop the march of time towards this terrible fate? That was all I could really hear. My own thoughts. My anxiety was mounting.

I bit into my cheddar and olive scone.

“Oh!” I exclaimed, louder than I wanted to.

“What is it!” Narda asked.

I was holding my cheek.

“I don’t know,” I said, fishing my forefinger around inside my mouth.

I put my free hand up to Narda letting her know it was ok. I pulled out the piece of my scone that was in there, rolling it around between my fingers. “I bit into something hard, like a piece of . . . I don’t know, a piece of olive pit or something?”

I didn’t break a tooth or anything, just maybe a sprain. I’m fine, I reassured her again. She resumed her monologue as I rubbed my cheek. Took a big swallow of my latte. And tried to listen and maintain some sense of place and time.

Then Narda, mid-sentence, suddenly waved at someone, flapping her wide open, energetic palm in the air. Then turned her hand around and began waving that someone over to us. I turned to look. A tall, handsome and serene older gentleman wearing all blue with a dog at his side was approaching us with a radiant smile. He reached for Narda’s hand, taking it with both of his and holding it warmly.

“Narda, my dear. It feels like ages since we’ve seen each other. How are you doing? Well, I’m sure,” he said.

“Farouk, this is my friend Rebekah,” Narda said, She turned all of her attention then to his dog, petting and cooing away at the fluffy, energetic mutt, oblivious to all else, letting us get acquainted without her.

Farouk looked at me with warm, brown eyes and that bright smile, taking my hand into both of his like he did with Narda, shaking it gently and holding onto it for what seemed like way too long. His smile slowly turned to a straight line.

He turned my hand over in his, my palm face-up. He looked quickly but deeply at my hand, cradled there in his left while running his right forefinger gently over the center of it. He turned it back over abruptly, taking it with both hands again and gave me a little squeeze, then released my hand. He gave me a solemn nod and slowly tucked his hands into his pockets. He turned to Narda.

“My dear, I’m afraid I’m very late for an engagement. I will call you later, ok? We’ll catch up,” he said to Narda. “Come along, Mimi,” he called out to his dog, who immediately perked up from her post at Narda’s feet.

Narda stood and they embraced, his dark eyes on me over her shoulder with a look, well, I’m not sure how to describe that look. Knowing? Admonishing? Suspicious? I’m not sure. Could he see through me? Then he and his dog swiftly walked away. Narda sat back down.

“Oh! I forgot to tell him about our palm reading,” Narda said. “It will have to wait. He’ll be interested in hearing about it . . .”

“No!” I belted out.

“No. That’s between us,” I said then, more calmly. “No need to share that with him. Or anyone else for that matter, Narda.”

She frowned. Not understanding why it should be such a secret, I’m sure.

“But Rebekah, that’s half the fun. Can’t I just share a little bit? He’s a very intuitive person himself, he would totally get it,” Narda pleaded.

I felt queasy. Uneasy. Stuck with the truth and unable to do anything with it.

“Look, Narda. I’m no good at this stuff. Really. It’s all just a guess. I’m a fake. You know? It’s just a game and I—"

“Not so, Rebekah! Everyone says how good you are at it. How accurate. Your reading for me must also be just as true. What’s wrong, Rebekah, you look positively green?”

“I think I just need to eat something. My stomach is a bit off . . .” I said, though food was the farthest thing from my mind. I had to figure a way out of this, at least make an exit from this situation right now, my charade, the mounting guilt.

Narda, I’m gonna head out, I have stuff to do and I need to get some food . . . I think the coffee on my empty stomach . . . I don’t know, I’m kinda tired, too . . . um . . . ok? I’m just gonna go . . .”

“But you had the scone . . . are you ok?” she asked, concern on her face.

Her question barely registered, though. I felt sweaty and a bit dizzy as I stood. I leaned in for a quick kiss on her cheek and nearly tripped over myself getting out of there. I saw the crosstown bus coming, nearing the stop just across from the café and I darted out impulsively to cross the street to catch it without looking for traffic coming the other way.

A car screeched its tires, barely missing me, and I heard voices yell out. I made it safely onto the bus, it was so crowded without a seat to be had, and so hot. I had to stand in the aisle near the front so I grabbed on to an overhead strap to steady myself. I just needed to get home. If only I could just get home.