The flight had been delayed for another two hours and all I could think of is the varying types of noises I will encounter once I got on the plane: farts, squalling babies and chatterbox aunties. Oddly, this flight had not much noise. It was probably the seating arrangement, all passengers with babies were to sit in the front part of the cabin and I, fortunately got the seat in the back part of the cabin. Just as I thought I could drift away into a slumber, the passenger on my right tapped on my shoulder. “Who the hell is this?” I mused. Just as I was about to moisturize my hands.. Doesn’t she know how important it is for me to moisturize?
I’m allergic to dry conditions and why can’t people understand that! Oh right, I’m the only one extremely sensitive to dry conditions.
She introduced herself as a palm reader and she wanted to read my palms. “Oh no, not my smooth hands. I just moisturized them!” I mused. I obtained the moisturizer from my beg and placed in between my thighs just so I could immediately use them after the reading. She tells me I am a bitter person, bitter about loss or maybe heartbreak.
Although it has been years since my ex-husband and I separated, I had to agree with this palm reader. The plane shook for a while, but not enough for the seat belt sign to light up. I refocused on the palm reader’s eyes, hoping for something positive. Her eyes riveted on my palms for a minute. The wrinkles on her face indicated true mastery of this skill. “You need to get off this plane now, you’re getting sick,” the palm reader had alerted me.
“Because you’re not feeling well.”
“I am fine now, what do you mean I am not feeling well.”
“Get off this plane now!”
“We can’t land and could you stop clutching my hands so hard?”
I didn’t believe her until I reached my hotel. Her stern voice lingered in my ears for the rest of the flight. It worried me but didn’t stop me from entering into a deep sleep. When the plane touched down, I took a taxi and paid a huge fee for the ride. I checked in the hotel and upon grabbing the door knob of my hotel room I felt my hands hurt. The pain resembled being scalded by hot oil. The palm reader was right. No, she wasn’t. Yes she was, stop living in denial.
I resisted the pain and examined my hands in front of mirror with the tape water running. By each passing second, I got anxious as the situation became grave. Maybe it was the palm reader who drugged me. Maybe she had poison on her hands and had to hold on to my hands to let the poison diffuse into my pores.
Just as I thought I should have called an emergency line, something popped up my mind and relieved me of all my anxiety and panic. My skin had gotten too dry because I forgot to moisturize.