The Palm Reader's Last Customer

The air conditioning in Maria's storefront had died three days ago, leaving her **palm** readings slick with perspiration. Not that anyone noticed. The tourists who stumbled off the Santa Monica pier wanted magic, not meteorology. They wanted their fortunes told between visits to the overpriced taco stands and **swimming** in the radioactive-blue hotel pools.

It was nearly midnight when the bell chimed. A man in a suit that cost more than Maria's rent slid onto the velvet stool across from her. His eyes had that thousand-yard stare of the terminally successful—**zombie**-like in their emptiness.

"They told me you're the real thing," he said, placing his hand on the crystal scarves. "Don't give me the routine about the strong life line. I need to know something real."

Maria took his hand. His skin was smooth, unmarked by labor or worry. That told her everything. She traced the lines automatically, letting the silence stretch until it became uncomfortable.

"You're wondering why you feel dead inside," she said softly. "The money, the corner office, the wife who doesn't ask questions anymore. You got everything you were supposed to want."

He pulled his hand back as if burned. "Can you actually see that?"

"I see a man who's been **swimming** through concrete for twenty years," Maria said. "You think if you keep moving, you won't notice you can't breathe. But you're drowning anyway."

The man's composure cracked. A fissure of genuine emotion—anger, relief, she couldn't tell.

"So what's the cure?" he asked. "Another retreat? A new car? Tell me what to buy next."

Maria closed her eyes. Outside, a car alarm pierced the night. Somewhere, waves crashed against the shore.

"Go to the ocean," she said. "Not the beach with the tourists. Find somewhere dark. Swim until you can't feel your arms. Then keep going until you're not sure which way is up. That moment—that terror—that's when you'll finally know you're alive."

He left without paying. Maria didn't care. She watched through her window as he walked toward the water, a tiny figure receding into the vastness, finally brave enough to sink.