Black Magic Woman

It was one of those it’s still to cold to wait for you at the park so I’ll wait for you at Sephora days. Sephora, my secret magical hiding place, where I love and hate to adhere to the feminine beauty ideal at the same time. Hair did, nails did, everything did. Perfect for turning your face around before a date and perfect to pass the time while you wait for a friend to show up. I hit up the lip stains, lip liners, perfumes (got me a few samples) and then finally the nail polish. There’s even a “nail bar” to encourage this. Crazy, I know. I chose a shiny nude color to sample and found a spot next to this girl who was already excitedly applying Christian Louboutin polish to her left hand. Yeah, the shoe designer makes nail polish too. The bottle had a really long and pointed lid and this piqued my interest so I struck a conversation with her about it. The design seemed over the top and useless but I bet was trying to mirror the sleekness of a heel. This is how I strike up converstaions with total strangers, by the way, and while I do it often, never has my friendliness and curiosity led down this road before. We talked about nail polish for a short two minutes and then the mystical happened.

The perfect stranger revealed that she was a third generation palm reader, said that I was giving off really great energy and that she was dying, I repeat dying, to read my palm. She wouldn’t charge me anything and it would be quick, so I obliged. I’m usually very cynical when it comes to these things, my pragmatism is known to suck all the fun out of life. But something told me to let her do it, it might be fun and I might learn something. So there, between the nail polish bar and my skepticism, I let her borrow my hand. She put her hand under mine and studied it for a minute. The long Nile River-like line that ran across my right palm indicated long life. 91 to be exact. I started thinking I should put together a list of movies I’d like to watch one more time for my grandkids to bring to my nursing home. Just making jokes, pinche cabrona, I know.

Her findings only got better.

She asked about my last love, she wanted to know what exactly happened. Why it had’t worked out. I didn’t go into the details but gave her the ten second well-rehearsed spiel l I gave anyone that asked. He wanted to get married and I wasn’t ready. She continued to tell me that he was going to try to come back. Nice try he’s engaged. It doesn’t mater. Right. She said he was one one my great loves and that I had already gone through two, life was to award me three. I’d meet number three in the upcoming months, May or June to be specific and that his name was going to start with an M or a J.


I could think of men with both initials I’d chased in the past few years and nothing. She kept going, said I was very unfulfilled and that I needed to find a way to work for myself. That life would instantly get better if I took this leap. Shit, this was starting to hit home. I started to believe her.

And finally she addressed by aura. It was black and one of the blackest auras she’d seen. She was receiving so much negative energy and said therapy wouldn’t help my restlessness. She also said that she could clean it for three hundred dollars. That’s some deep aura cleaning, damn. She asked for an initial payment of one hundred and fifty dollars, check was okay. We’d make the appointment for the upcoming week and I’d be able to show off my brand new aura in no time.

Okay. This is where survival mode kicked in. All the big city hustling she’s learned, I’ve learned too. I know how not to be taken advantage of, you learn that quick here. The conversation then became about money and payments and lay away and all that shit until finally I told her I had to go. I was nice and took her business card and said I need to think more about cleaning my aura, thank you. She recommended I burn sage in the meantime because of how bad my shit was. I smiled and said goodbye and took my black aura and my white ass out of Sephora.

Now it’s May, almost June and although there hasn’t been an M or a J just yet, I’d settle for an R just fine.

“You put a spell on me baby” — Santana