sweet. It's likely she's been sitting out here for at least a hundred years, and they just built the cement building and gas station around her.
Her voice is gravelly. "My dear, there is a long road ahead of you."
"Yes, that's quite clear," I say, glancing over my shoulder at the cars and trucks whipping by on the nearby highway.
"You currently live an interesting life, but it is not your fate."
She must mean my destiny because as I understand it fate is out of my control, meaning I have no say in what the cosmos or gods or whoever is in charge has in store for me. I'm half-Christian and half-Jewish, and I haven't quite figured out how or if it fits into my life. When I left home, I took back my fate, my destiny, and my sanity.
"What's my fate?" I ask.
She drags an irregular smile onto her face as though her lips don't see one often. "So glad you asked. Will you sit down?"
"If you're going to tell me that my fate is how I'm going to owe you twenty bucks in five minutes, just come out and say it." I'm no fool, except, of course, when it comes to Niko.
She snorts. "Pay me if you want, but when I come across hands like yours, my reimbursement is the simple pleasure of the reading itself."
Clever saleswoman. Entrepreneurs should take note. She could make millions with multiple streams of revenue: classes, webinars, books, and bonuses.
"My name is Josephina. It's nice to meet you. May I read your hand?" she asks more formally.
Josephina? Seriously? My laugh is the kind that comes from humility in the face of the fathomless universe. I ask, "Don't you want to know my name?"
Her expression suggests she already does.
She rubs her withered fingers along the lines on my hand, running a dirty nail along the crevices. "If you thought that perhaps I confused fate and destiny, the confusion was your own. They're more dashes than solid lines; a fine distinction really, one that can quickly veer in one direction or the other. Of course, there is always overlap. Us meeting for instance. I take it there are facilities on that bus?"
"Meaning I didn't have to come out here to the use bathroom?" I nod, amused.
She stares steadily at my hand. "Meaning you're in charge of your actions, shaping your destiny and it's as wonderful or shitty as you make it."
"Shitty?"
"There's much to be gained by surrendering to the guidance of the universe, fate, instead of being so bossy about making poor decisions."
I snort. "#Bosslady, that's me," I say.
She studies my hand a moment more. "We both know that isn't quite true. You're meandering, Josephine, in a petulant kind of way. You left something behind; perhaps it was for the best, but not all of it. You're not taking hold of the gifts you've been given and using them. You see, my biggest concern is the Mount of Venus."
"Concern?" I ask, stifling a childish laugh because if nothing else the Mount of Venus calls up vaginas.
"That and the shape of your hand. It's round and square, suggesting you're a musician, but—" She holds my fingers at length. "Not lately."
Josephina tilts her head. "But back to the Mount of Venus." She studies the space between the base of my thumb and my wrist. "People think palm reading is all about fate lines and heart lines, but the texture and color is important too. Your mount confirms your musical skill or potential, but what it doesn't contain is happiness, which is different, than pleasure as I'm sure you know." She levels me with her gaze. "Do you understand?"
Of course I do. But I answer with a hesitant nod because understanding and acceptance are two vastly different things.
"My job isn't to tell you how to manipulate your fate, change the course, fall in love, find marriage, or resist tragedy. So many people want instructions. How do I live? What do I do? Only you can answer those questions. I'm just here to tell you what I see. You seem to be handling things fine. However," she runs her finger over my lifeline again, "if you want better than fine, you
Her voice is gravelly. "My dear, there is a long road ahead of you."
"Yes, that's quite clear," I say, glancing over my shoulder at the cars and trucks whipping by on the nearby highway.
"You currently live an interesting life, but it is not your fate."
She must mean my destiny because as I understand it fate is out of my control, meaning I have no say in what the cosmos or gods or whoever is in charge has in store for me. I'm half-Christian and half-Jewish, and I haven't quite figured out how or if it fits into my life. When I left home, I took back my fate, my destiny, and my sanity.
"What's my fate?" I ask.
She drags an irregular smile onto her face as though her lips don't see one often. "So glad you asked. Will you sit down?"
"If you're going to tell me that my fate is how I'm going to owe you twenty bucks in five minutes, just come out and say it." I'm no fool, except, of course, when it comes to Niko.
She snorts. "Pay me if you want, but when I come across hands like yours, my reimbursement is the simple pleasure of the reading itself."
Clever saleswoman. Entrepreneurs should take note. She could make millions with multiple streams of revenue: classes, webinars, books, and bonuses.
"My name is Josephina. It's nice to meet you. May I read your hand?" she asks more formally.
Josephina? Seriously? My laugh is the kind that comes from humility in the face of the fathomless universe. I ask, "Don't you want to know my name?"
Her expression suggests she already does.
She rubs her withered fingers along the lines on my hand, running a dirty nail along the crevices. "If you thought that perhaps I confused fate and destiny, the confusion was your own. They're more dashes than solid lines; a fine distinction really, one that can quickly veer in one direction or the other. Of course, there is always overlap. Us meeting for instance. I take it there are facilities on that bus?"
"Meaning I didn't have to come out here to the use bathroom?" I nod, amused.
She stares steadily at my hand. "Meaning you're in charge of your actions, shaping your destiny and it's as wonderful or shitty as you make it."
"Shitty?"
"There's much to be gained by surrendering to the guidance of the universe, fate, instead of being so bossy about making poor decisions."
I snort. "#Bosslady, that's me," I say.
She studies my hand a moment more. "We both know that isn't quite true. You're meandering, Josephine, in a petulant kind of way. You left something behind; perhaps it was for the best, but not all of it. You're not taking hold of the gifts you've been given and using them. You see, my biggest concern is the Mount of Venus."
"Concern?" I ask, stifling a childish laugh because if nothing else the Mount of Venus calls up vaginas.
"That and the shape of your hand. It's round and square, suggesting you're a musician, but—" She holds my fingers at length. "Not lately."
Josephina tilts her head. "But back to the Mount of Venus." She studies the space between the base of my thumb and my wrist. "People think palm reading is all about fate lines and heart lines, but the texture and color is important too. Your mount confirms your musical skill or potential, but what it doesn't contain is happiness, which is different, than pleasure as I'm sure you know." She levels me with her gaze. "Do you understand?"
Of course I do. But I answer with a hesitant nod because understanding and acceptance are two vastly different things.
"My job isn't to tell you how to manipulate your fate, change the course, fall in love, find marriage, or resist tragedy. So many people want instructions. How do I live? What do I do? Only you can answer those questions. I'm just here to tell you what I see. You seem to be handling things fine. However," she runs her finger over my lifeline again, "if you want better than fine, you
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