(no subject)
I got a free palm-reading from my cabdriver the other day. Perhaps he could tell that I was furious by his tardiness and lack of direction. Perhaps my left hand spoke volumes. Perhaps he got off on squeezing chicks' palms. Perhaps he wanted a hefty tip.
We were at a stoplight about to turn onto Weston. Instead of keeping his eyes on the road, something caught his sideway glance and he asked me, "Can I see your hand for a second?"
Naturally, I thought I had a greasy spaghetti stain or that he liked my red nail polish. His face came close enough for me to cup his chin in my hand.
After a few scrutinizing moments, he caressed my palm and said "You can't make up your mind" (Which was startlingly accurate enough, considering the destination of this cabride and what it entailed. Those 6 words had been eating at me for weeks now). Next traffic light, he came back to my hand and continued to poke and prod about, squeezing the blood out, letting it flood back in. Stared at my family-tree roots for a bit.
"Do you draw? Y'know, art?"
I shook my head ruefully and thought about Czereyska's grade 10 art class. That 99 was what gave me honor roll.
"Well you should be"
"I....draw, words? Well I write"
He nodded away, stepped on the gas when a car behind honked on a green light. He said he could see that there were three boys. Three. This was my third one. At first I laughed at him and said "Nope, I'm only on my second" But upon closer inspection, he was correct. This would be the third.
We dabbled into the deeper significance of birthmarks for a bit. He translated some of mine, some which I'm not quite ready to accept but inside I know he was dead on.
I never got his name. He had told me that he studied Astrology and Palmistry back in India. I tipped him $5 for the free fortune. I liked that the first thing he said to me wasn't even a word, it was an action.
It was a point to the chest with his index finger and a bowing nod. I was dumbfounded to realize that he just wanted me to put on my seatbelt.
Of course.
We were at a stoplight about to turn onto Weston. Instead of keeping his eyes on the road, something caught his sideway glance and he asked me, "Can I see your hand for a second?"
Naturally, I thought I had a greasy spaghetti stain or that he liked my red nail polish. His face came close enough for me to cup his chin in my hand.
After a few scrutinizing moments, he caressed my palm and said "You can't make up your mind" (Which was startlingly accurate enough, considering the destination of this cabride and what it entailed. Those 6 words had been eating at me for weeks now). Next traffic light, he came back to my hand and continued to poke and prod about, squeezing the blood out, letting it flood back in. Stared at my family-tree roots for a bit.
"Do you draw? Y'know, art?"
I shook my head ruefully and thought about Czereyska's grade 10 art class. That 99 was what gave me honor roll.
"Well you should be"
"I....draw, words? Well I write"
He nodded away, stepped on the gas when a car behind honked on a green light. He said he could see that there were three boys. Three. This was my third one. At first I laughed at him and said "Nope, I'm only on my second" But upon closer inspection, he was correct. This would be the third.
We dabbled into the deeper significance of birthmarks for a bit. He translated some of mine, some which I'm not quite ready to accept but inside I know he was dead on.
I never got his name. He had told me that he studied Astrology and Palmistry back in India. I tipped him $5 for the free fortune. I liked that the first thing he said to me wasn't even a word, it was an action.
It was a point to the chest with his index finger and a bowing nod. I was dumbfounded to realize that he just wanted me to put on my seatbelt.
Of course.