In Istanbul, even small children can flirt with fortune-telling. Little kids will grab the near-empty coffee cups of grown-ups and squint inside, trying to read their fortunes. A big lump of coffee grounds with a crater in the middle is indicative of a “bloated spirit,” whereas a clean spot can mean “light at the end of the path.” I have listened to my friends read my coffee cups, read theirs, and have even traveled to hear spontaneous prophecies delivered by strangers.
Back home in Istanbul, my walks down the street were frequently interrupted by fortune tellers who would approach me, offering unsolicited, spontaneous readings of my future. Old men would grab me by my arm to reveal a prophecy, or a gypsy would chase me across the park. However, my bonds with Fortune were severed when I left home—no fortune tellers stop me on the streets of Cambridge, no friends grab at my empty cups. I sometimes wonder whether I have fallen out of Fortune’s favor.
One day as I was walking down Brattle St., a storefront by the Brattle Theater labeled Astrology Crystals caught my attention. I peeked in. A slim woman was nestled in a purple throne inside; she beckoned me to enter her house of Fortune. Not entirely convinced, I asked for a reading. She listed three options: $25 Palm reading, $40 Crystal reading, $85 Tarot card reading. I decided to keep my sacrifice to Fortune modest, settling for a Palmistry reading—one hand.
Fortune asked me to open my hands, put my palms down on hers. My fingers started warming up in her grasp. She asked me to make two wishes and reveal one of them to her. Having gotten out of an LS2 midterm that afternoon, I filtered out my truest wishes of “not having estrogen receptor deficiency” and “having adequate secretion of lung surfactant,” replacing them instead with the first thing my mind landed on: “I want a house in Alaska,” I blurted. Upon seeing the puzzled look on Fortune’s face (the gods must not have caught up on Bering’s explorations), I modified my request: “or in Vermont.”
Fortune gazed into my eyes for some time and traced a line on my palm. “You will die of old age in your late 80s. Actually maybe even later. Yes, I think you will make it to your 90s,” she muttered. Squeezing her eyes shut, she said, “You will have three kids: two daughters and a son.” I was shocked by her blasé attitude. Was I to have triplets? I began to imagine how this burden of knowledge would affect my future pregnancy. What if my triplets felt unwanted? Would they be doomed by this prophecy and an increased secretion of cortisol leading to a premature birth?
Fortune sensed my unease and tried to calm me down: “Your children will have long lives too.” Damn it, I thought. What if they all want to go to Harvard?
Her next premonition followed my train of thought: “You will have stable finances. I cannot promise you wealth, but stability is a very good thing.”
Fortune kept massaging my hand in search of more lines. “You have the gift of helping people. Try to incorporate that into your career. You have a very powerful aura,” she disclosed. “I see positive energy around you.” She couldn’t get more specific, unfortunately. I started regretting my decision to settle for one palm. Some details are bound to be left out in a monocular reading.
“Your spirit is old,” she continued. “You matured at a very early age.” I instinctively touched my sweater that I got from a thrift-store. It was a men’s sweater from the ’70s. No wonder my spirit shone 20 years older. I made a note to wear only new clothes to the next reading, finally gaining insight into why my reading sounded like that of a 40-year-old Maple tapper’s.
Fortune was also perceptive enough to notice my faded skin color. She expressed her concern: “How long have you been having sleep problems?” I didn’t want to break it to her that I suffered from this very particular disease called, I’ve Had A Midterm And Two Papers In The Last Two Weeks, which is categorized under Not Sleeping, and not Sleep Problems. “A few weeks,” I replied. She said that my sleeping problems will end soon, announcing the 10 hours of rest I would get that night.
Fortune scrutinized my fingers—her face looked unenthused, like she was running out of fortunes. “The New Year will bring news to you,” she said, concluding with cliché.
She did not tell me if I would get a house in Alaska or Vermont. The path she traced across the crescents of my palm was one of a fairly unexciting future: a stable income, three children, delivering help, and enjoying a long life. I appreciated the simplicity and wished her the best of luck in Harvard Square, where she risks gaining more enemies than friends wrecking the anxious youths’ dreams of fame, money, and independence.
