Alissa

I wrote this short-short story over a year ago, and in my hope to keep my connection to AT alive, I thought perhaps to share it with others here....
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He looks nervous. New ones always have the same look about them. They come in and sit down, try to make things start too quickly. They might even smile. But, then they open their mouth, and the same old phrase pops out. “I’ve never done this before….”

“Relax, it’s fun. There’s nothing to be afraid of,” I murmur reassuringly, same as I have thousands of times. You do this long enough and you can tell just by how they react – the tone of their voice, a nervous flutter of hands – this is a virgin. Uncharted territory. Scared and excited all at once.

He smiles, just a flash, like a light bulb – bright, and then it’s gone. “What do I do?”

I push my dark hair behind my ear, “Just relax. I’ll light some incense and candles for us, help set the mood.” Plucking a stick of the lavender blend, I light the tip; nice, not overpowering. Soft and welcoming.

He smiles again, that flashing, nervous grin – incandescent teeth, there and gone. “How did you begin… I mean, how did you start doing this?”

Turning from the incense holder, I let my match touch the black wick of my favorite red candle. It sputters into incendiary life, the glow smoothing out the small room’s shadows. They all ask the same questions; I give them all the same answers. “I started when I was a teenager.”

“You were just a kid!” he says, scoffing.

Dispassionately, I face the stranger again. “I knew what I was doing… both then, and now.”

The man rubs his palms on his blue-jeaned thighs, shrugging. “Sure, if you say so,” he offers, an apology perhaps. His face changes, brightening, as he adds, “my friends all said you were really good, that you really knew what you were doing. That’s why I’m here.” He glances around my tiny room once more, his eye never stopping on the curiosities for display. “So how we do this, do I give you the money first, or…?”

I cock my head and smile at him before turning my back to this stranger while I speak. “When you’re here with me… it’s entirely up to you. This is about you… it isn’t about me.”

His eyes change, darkening as he hears those last words. Ah, this is the moment. Now he’s dropping the façade. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re here? What are you looking for?” I probe.

The last traces of polite chitchat leave his voice. “My wife and I are unhappy,” he begins.

I know better than to speak aloud as the confession leaves his lips, allowing my silence to draw forth more words. One of the reasons they come to me, as anyone in my profession well knows, is to talk. “I don’t know what’s happening any more between us, I don’t know what to think. I don’t even know if she loves me any more…”

He drops his head and I hide my smile as I catch him spinning his wedding ring. Freudian. “You’ve been unhappy…” I repeat back to him, just a moment before the silence becomes uncomfortable for us both. Scented smoke curls into the air, ethereal arabesques dancing above us before dissipating, like the words we speak.

He nods slowly and even with his head lowered, I hear the tears creep into his voice. Perhaps he’s ashamed of his emotions. His face is strained; it hurts him just to talk. That’s why they usually end up at my door. They need someone.

“We’ve been married for years, but I just… I need to know. I need to know…” he repeats, looking at the red candle’s flickering instead of at me.

With a small smile of encouragement, I nod in understanding. It’s a fine line… you don’t want to pry. “I can help,” I say, quietly. My voice becomes smooth with the confidence of a woman who knows her talents and abilities.

He looks up and nods. “I don’t really do this, you know,” he insists again.

I grin, taking one of his hands in mine, “I can tell.”

At the joke, he smiles once more… not the light bulb pop, but a slow authentic smile, one I can see reflected from within his amber eyes.

“You ready?” I ask softly.

He doesn’t speak, but squeezes my hand in a positive response. As his eyes meet mine, I see him beginning to fall inside of me, and I turn my gaze away, unwilling to use my charisma as an unfair advantage.

“I think I’m a little scared,” he finally admits. Honesty, at last. This might yet be a good experience, for the both of us. I nod slowly, dropping his hand, as well as my eyes.

“It’s ok,” I say softly. “I’ve done this for a long time. Nothing will happen here that you aren’t ready for. The Universe has taught me that.”

He shrugs, acting disinterested once again. “So how do we begin?” sitting forward, his voice loses the softness of emotion while attending to business.

Unhurried… at last, I sit down at the small, mahogany table in the chair across from him. If you sit down too soon, you may never know why they think they’re here, asking their favors of you.

But, essentially, they all want the same thing.

Show me… show me…. Show me what I’ve never seen but always wanted to believe in. Tell me that I’m right. Make me believe I’m not alone in this world. Help me understand the pain I feel. Make sense of this nightmare… I’m scared, and I don’t know what to do.

Gently, I ease the tools of my trade from their pouch. My Tarot cards slide into my hands, familiar rectangles of cardboard and ink – the cards are scratched, the color slightly faded with time, their edges soiled. Years and years of shuffling; a thousand times I’ve riffled these cards for those who sit before me, wanting to take a piece of my gift for themselves.

And, I give it to them. I give it away.

When it’s over, they often say, “I’ll never forget you,” but that’s not what they mean. They mean your words will live on, inside me, long after I’ve forgotten your real name. Even those who mock me, they too will remember what I’ve said, if only to live their entire life to prove me wrong. But, they remember.

I know it even better than they do.

So, I give them something worth remembering. I put away my insecurities and fears while speaking aloud the flashing pictures that no make sense, firing between the synapses inside my mind. What if they laugh? You can’t let those doubts in. Because those fears… they make the reading about me.

And, the reading… it’s never about me.

Softly, I turn down the light.
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(It would carry more impact if the ending weren't "telegraphed" by me placing this piece on a Tarot reading forum, but if you're old enough to see what connotations I was trying to make here, hopefully you still "get it" even if it doesn't *zing* you for a surprise at the end.)

catlin

Oh, Alissa, thanks for sharing with us. You are a very talented writer (and reader).

Knight of Wands

Thanks alissa! You are very good!

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..."Enveloped in a morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs".... (Based on a line from Donna Tartt's 'The Secret History)



IDS using Baroque Bohemian Cats

memries

Well Allisa... I felt just like the guy in the chair ! I am sitting across from this Priestess who knows everything and I cannot get anything straight so I keep listening and trying to hear those words that I need to hear so badly..she still loves me despite all the mess...

Everyone wants to be loved just as they are and accepted and of course they are not. Most of the time they are totally rebellious and contrary. That is when they need hugging the very most.

I think your story is just great and it drew me in totally... thanks memries

Sulis

It drew me in too - I wanted it to be much longer

Thank you Alissa for sharing this with us - now I reckon you should go and write some more

Bravo!!

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Sulis xx

'Be excellent to each other and party on dudes' - President Abraham Lincoln in Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure.
)O(

fantasymoon

Thank you for that delicate story.. I enjoyd reading and feeling whit it.

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I wish you the best of luck
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English is NOT my first language.

satinangel

Alissa,

Thank you so much for sharing this with us!

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Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming -- WOW--What a Ride!

Sheri

You have a great writing style that makes it easy to become part of the story! Thanks for sharing it with us! You are an excellent writer...don't let the lack of publishing keep you from pursuing it!


valeria

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"Never let the future disturb you. You will meet it, if you have to, with the same weapons of reason which today arm you against the present." -- Marcus Aurelius Antonius

Brock Johnson

As a writer, I appreciate it but if you want criticism, please let me know. You write very poetically.

Brock