The Tea Leaves

The Tea Leaves

The hand-lettered sign read: "Gypsy reads tea leaves - ONLY $10." I couldn’t resist.

I pulled back the curtain and entered a tiny room cluttered with useless knickknacks.  It looked as though this gypsy had raided an antique store for the most ridiculous junk and then stuffed it into every nook and cranny of the small space.  Already I could feel my claustrophobia kicking in and I almost turned around.

“Come in, come in,” said a soft woman’s voice thick with what I was sure was a fake accent – a cross between Ukrainian and Jamaican, I’d wager.

“I – er – okay,” I stuttered, moving forward most hesitantly toward her table. 

She was short and quite stout, with long stringy gray hair.  She resembled a troll, and her dark mustache over her lip was in desperate need of a wax.  I tried not to cringe as I sat down across from her.

“I’m not really sure why I’m here,” I said, though that couldn’t have been farther from the truth.

“Ahhh, that’s what you say but your eyes tell me otherwise,” she whispered, a smile creeping across her lips as she slid the cup of tea toward my hand. Her hand grazed mine and goose bumps paraded across my arms.

“Think carefully as you sip, dear.  Think about what it is you want to know and drink until only a few drops of liquid and some tea leaves remain.”

Without another word, I lifted the tea to my lips and thought carefully about what it was I wanted to know.  It was silly, I knew, to think that this would help me or bring me any clarity, but at the same time it seemed the sign appeared to me out of nowhere in the midst of my thoughts.  I needed to know what to do, and this seemed like as good a way as any to make my decision.

I finished and handed her back the cup.  She placed her hand over the top and swirled it three times clockwise.  When she removed her hand, she stared for several seconds before placing the cup down on the table.

“I see you are planning to take a trip soon…somewhere tropical or warm?”

“Yes, I am…” I said, trying not to sound so surprised at her accuracy so far. “I’ve won a trip to the Cayman Islands.  I’m trying to decide whether to go.  I…I hate to fly.”  Truth was I had never flown, but I have never been more frightened of anything in my life.  The thought of being trapped on a plane for several hours had me hysterical.

“Do not take this trip.  If you do, it will cause you great pain and suffering that you will not easily recover from.”  She continued to stare into the tea leaves.

“I knew it.  It’s a plane crash, right?”

“All I see is imminent danger and pain and suffering.  I do not see death, but I do see that you will regret this trip.” 

I took the tickets that I had recently received in the mail and slapped them down onto the table.  “I knew it,” I muttered.  “Too good to be true as most things are.”

I slid the $10 across the table, and she reached her hand out, still not looking at me.  I left the tickets and stormed out, knowing I had been ridiculous but still not willing to take the chance.

Two weeks went by and on the day of the trip, I chanced by the same tent.  The hand-lettered sign now read: “Closed: Gone to the Cayman Islands.”