Posted by Tedd V

While strolling through the care-free crowds at the fringe this summer, a gypsy looking lady told me she could tell me what my future held by feeling my hands, for a small fee of course. I'd heard about gypsies being gifted in this way, but this lady was only gypsy-looking. Not the real thing at all. I thought it to be strange, how could she tell me what lay ahead, by simply feeling my hands? I mean, I look at them every day, and I cannot for the life of me, guess what will happen in the next five minutes. I humoured her, infact, I think I humoured myself too; I took a two toonies and four quarters out of my back pocket, and handed it to her. "It's $10 for a reading, and if you can please pay it in change." she said with a smile. I took a moment to chew and swallow the last of the green-onion cake I had just put into my mouth, while I wiped the crumbs off my hands on the backside of my jeans. I looked her square in the eye and said quite sternly, "I don't believe you can tell me the future, and if you can, I only want to know what will happen in the next thirty minutes. If that does come true, I will be back with another five dollars to find out about the rest of my future." She could tell she had a tough-customer on her hands, but she appreciated my logic or lack there-of.

Something was strange about the way she looked at me though, I was two feet away from her, but she looked at me as though I was 10 yards away. It felt like she was looking through me. "I don't like strangers holding my hand," I told her, "so feel free to introduce yourself immediately." I sensed a discomfort embraced in curiosity coming from her. She could only look and smile at me, baffled by my border-line rude mannerism. "Shannon," she said meekly, "my name is Shannon Bailey, and if you care to know more about me, you could take me out for coffee at starbucks around the corner." I could only smile at the latter part of that response, she quick witted and playing my game well.

Gently grabbing the back-side of my left hand in her right, she slowly browsed over my palm with the fingers of her left, and seemed to look piercingly at it, as though my palm had a strange pattern on it. Her hand felt so much like mine, the texture of her fingers was smooth as she went over my palm, feeling little bumps here and there, from cuts and nicks of everyday life. Her temperature must have been exactly the same as mine because it felt like my own finger running on my palm. I still couldn't grasp the concept of how she could read what was going to happen just by her feeling my hand. "I need you to relax," she said, "you're too anxious; I can't get a good reading if you don't have the right energy for this." I had to just smile at her, maybe I was nervous about finding out what would happen in my future, so I did something a little out of character.

"Look Shannon," I said, withdrawing my hand. She immediately faced me with that gaze that seemed to see right through me. "How about we do this? you keep that five dollars, and if you like, you can use it to take me out to Tim Horton’s for tea and a muffin, and I'll tell you about my future, at least what I've planned. For now though, I'll save you the trouble of going to starbucks to tell me about yourself. How about we stay right here, and I take your hand, and tell you about you." She smiled shyly, and started to blush a little. "I'm busy right now, incase you haven't noticed this is my work," she responded, "but I'm interested to know what you could possibly tell me about me."

I remembered hearing how Ray Charles would grip a lady's wrist, and just by feeling it, could tell if she was pretty or not. I remembered how I'd read in the bible about Thomas, feeling Jesus' wounded hand and believing it was Him. At that moment, I took Shannon's hand in mine and just embraced it lightly. I could tell her life-story by the feel of her hand. I could tell she wasn't afraid of working; her hand had a light roughness to it, like Sylvia, widow who lives across the street from me. She lost her husband three years ago, and has been struggling to take care of her children. She makes bamboo baskets and straw mats, and does laundry for some of her neighbours using her bare hands just so she can have enough money to buy food for her children.

I could tell there was a new emptiness in her life; I felt a slight grove on her ring-finger, the same kind I felt on the receptionist at work after she got divorced. The new emptiness in her heart was signified by the new emptiness on her finger. There used to be a ring there, and there used to be love there. I put my thumb in the centre of her palm and with my four fingers placed on the backside of her hand; I pressed my thumb gently into her palm. Through assisted reflex, she clenched her hand, clamping my thumb in her fingers. Her grip was tight, firm, and this told me that she was not one to let go easily of anything she owned. She placed value on her possession, and rightly so, she worked hard for what she had and for a woman, her grip was solid. Probably because she had lost some precious things in her life.

"Well, are you just going to stand here and hold my hand, or are you going to tell me about me?" she asked.
"Hush,” I responded “I'm concentrating. I'll tell you in a bit." Seeing as it was trapped in the tight grip, I used my thumb as a pivot point for my hand to move around and continued navigating my way around my hand. I felt he veins on the back of her hand and they reminded me of my grandmother. She had the same pronounced veins and I was always curious as to why they were so exaggerated. Some would say such an appearance is not appealing on a lady's hands; then again, some haven’t witnessed first-hand the tireless efforts that some ladies put in to providing for their families. Grandma's hands were that way because she would use them same hands to knead dough when she made bread; those same hands she would use to wash the families clothes. Once again she'd use them the clean the house, and yes, including polish the floors. Those same hands were quite effective in disciplining my cousin and I. So many times I saw her, hoe in hand, working in the garden or out tilling the corn fields. So to me those veins commanded respect and admiration.

Shannon seemed to be embarrassed by them though. She looked down as the smile faded away from her face and loosened the grip on my thumb; she opened hand and faced her palm upward. I moved my fingers across her fingertips; there I felt a very familiar smoothness. I was at a loss for words. I let go of her hand, I reached into my pocket while thinking of my blind friend Michelle, who uses her fingers to read Braille. I thought of how life is tough for her, and imagined how much tougher it must be for Shannon out here at the fringe, looking into people's future when she cannot see her present. I pulled out a fifty dollar bill and pressed it into her hand, I told her I could see into my future a little clearer than before; thanks to her I would never take my sight for granted again. Out of compassion I felt a tear start to roll from my eye, and till today, I cannot figure out how she wiped it off my face.