The Fortune Teller
"He stops at the carnival tent as a joke. She takes his palm and tells him exactly what will happen tonight—in her trailer, in her bed, for the rest of his life. The cards never lie."
I went in as a joke.
The county fair, Saturday night, too many beers making me brave. "Madame Zara—Past, Present, Future" painted on a purple tent with plastic crystals in the entrance.
My friends laughed when I ducked inside.
They stopped laughing when I didn't come out.
The tent was bigger than it looked.
Velvet curtains. Candles everywhere. The smell of incense thick enough to chew.
And Madame Zara.
Three hundred pounds draped in silk scarves. Sixty years old with eyes that had seen things I couldn't imagine. Rings on every finger, bangles on every wrist, a presence that made the tent feel like a cathedral.
"Sit," she said.
I sat.
"Give me your hand."
I gave.
She studied my palm for two full minutes.
Silent. Intense. Her massive fingers tracing lines I didn't know I had.
"Interesting," she finally said.
"What do you see?"
"Your past: running from something. Pain. A woman who hurt you." She looked up. "Accurate?"
"Lucky guess."
"Your present: lost. Drinking too much. Pretending fun is fulfillment."
"Getting warmer."
"Your future." She smiled. "That's where it gets interesting."
"I see a woman."
"Of course you do."
"Not just any woman." Her grip tightened on my hand. "Large. Older. Powerful. She's waiting for you."
"Where?"
"Close by. So close you could walk there in minutes." Her thumb traced my lifeline. "She's going to change everything."
"How do I find her?"
"You already have." She released my hand. "She's sitting in front of you."
I should have laughed.
Should have paid my twenty dollars and left. Gone back to my friends, told them about the crazy fortune teller, gotten another beer.
Instead, I said: "Show me."
"Show you what?"
"My future." I leaned forward. "If you're so sure."
"I am sure." She stood. Walked toward the back of the tent. "The question is whether you're ready."
"I'm ready."
"We'll see."
She parted a curtain.
Behind it was a trailer. A bed. The rest of my life.
"The cards told me you were coming."
She laid out a spread on her nightstand while I stood, uncertain, in her bedroom.
"Three weeks ago. They showed me a man—lost, hurt, ready. They said he'd come on Saturday night, during the fair."
"And you believed them?"
"The cards don't lie." She touched the first one. "This is your past. The Tower. Destruction. Everything falling apart."
"My divorce."
"Your divorce." She touched the second. "This is your present. The Fool. Starting over. Looking for meaning."
"That's why I'm at a county fair."
"That's why you're in my tent." She touched the third. "And this is your future."
"What is it?"
"The Lovers." She smiled. "Can't get more clear than that."
She didn't rush.
Undressed slowly, letting me see every curve, every fold, every inch of the body that fate had apparently designated for me.
"Touch me," she commanded. "See if it feels like destiny."
I touched her.
It felt like coming home.
We made love while the carnival played outside.
Distant calliope music. Children laughing. The normal world continuing while my life changed completely in a purple trailer.
"God—" She was on top of me, her weight pressing me into the mattress. "The cards were right—you're perfect—"
"Perfect how?"
"The way you touch me." She ground down harder. "The way you look at me. Like I'm not just a fat old fortune teller."
"You're not." I grabbed her hips. "You're my future."
She came with a cry that the calliope couldn't cover.
"Stay the night," she said after round three.
"My friends—"
"Won't notice." She pulled me close. "I told you. Fate. The cards don't lie."
"What else did the cards say?"
"They said you'd stay." She kissed me. "That you'd come back tomorrow. And the next day. And eventually, you'd move into this trailer and never leave."
"That's ridiculous."
"Is it?" She looked at me. "Are you going to leave?"
I wasn't.
I knew I wasn't.
The cards don't lie.
One year later
I work the carnival now.
Set up tents. Run the ring toss. Travel from town to town with Zara—my Zara—and her purple trailer.
"Any regrets?" she asks some nights.
"None."
"The cards said you wouldn't have any." She shuffles her deck. "Want to know what else they say?"
"Tell me."
"They say tonight you're going to make me come four times. Then we're going to fall asleep tangled together. Then tomorrow, we're going to drive to the next town and do it all over again."
"The cards are very specific."
"The cards know everything." She pulls me toward the bed. "Now. Let's not disappoint them."
We never disappoint them.
Destiny is like that.
Once you accept it, everything falls into place.