Magic Hands

You meet him at a petrol kiosk at night, when not much people are around. The kiosk is open with only the accountant counting on the desk. He sits you down on a red plastic chair. You tell him you have headaches in the morning when you wake up. He laughs and says he knows exactly what to do.

Then you feel pain when he swipes your arm with only his fingertips. This small man, with a light blue cap with silver stars all over. That means your blood circulation isn't so well, he says. This small man, with a long, grey braid streaming down his back.

Then he pulls across the skin of your arm. You feel it burn. He pulls your fingertips. Pop! Pop! Pop! You feel relief. Relax, he says. Now up! Your arm rockets to the air. Again, he says. Up one more! Pop! You feel light. He does the same to the other arm. You feel like a feather.

This small man, whose teeth are black to the gum, smiles in delight as he watches your face glimmer in awe. Thanks god, he says. He swipes your arm. Not even a flinch. He swipes the other. Nothing. He laughs. I told you I knew what to do! You pay him, he smiles as he shakes your hand.Thanks god, he says again, thanks god. And you both leave.

This small man, who wears a white singlet and a pair of jeans, who lives with a psycic in his apartment, walks back home--denim jacket in hand--his brown skin blending into the night. This small man, has magic hands.