The Querent
It was supposed to be me.
The Tarot Reader was as vague as death vision and cards―her truth was never straightforward. She gave me partial truths and let me choose the way to interpret it.
I walked around the empty store. It was supposed to be easier if I collected her things after-hours. But the empty shop reminded me of too many intimate sessions and too many years. She always said I smelled like summer, but I swear she smelled like spring. She was the scent of hope after cold grayness.
Her missing scent was like a sword in the heart.
I approached our table. It was so peculiar to see the table without her. I could see flashes of twenty years worth of the woman that I loved. The young goth whose tongue stud glimmered in the candlelight. The hippie in the wrong time, wearing her flowered dresses.
The naked woman on a table.
I almost sat down on my old chair out of habit. I shuddered and moved away quickly. It would have been profane to sit there and not see her.
Her deck was on the table―as if it was waiting for me.
I pulled the cards out of the box―not in the delicate way that she managed―and caressed the weathered cards. The little finger indentations on the cards were almost like touching her again. Her fragrance lingered in the pentacles, the wands, the swords and the cups.
"Why didn't you just tell me that it was you?" I whispered.
I wanted to hear one of her witty retorts. I wanted to see one of her provocative smiles. I wanted her to pull out the cards and make me feel safe.
She shuffled the cards with a grace that was foreign to me. As I shuffled the cards, it was all I could do not to let her precious deck fall to the floor. Once I shuffled it to the best of my ability, I shut my eyes and drew the cards.
"You can do your own readings, right?" I asked my absent wife. "I'm pretty sure that your book said I could do it myself."
First card. Past card.
The Hanged Man.
I grimaced. "Of course. You had to show your smug face."
The blank face of the Hanged Man had nothing to say. He just hung there like a doofus.
"I hate you." I glared at the offending card. "I really hate you. What kind of selfish shit just sacrifices themselves? Just surrenders to fate? And this card actually gives you a damn halo?"
"The halo is spiritual enlightenment. It means..."
Words the reader once said off-hand flowed into my mind. But I couldn't remember the rest. That was right―it was only days since we last spoke. Why couldn't I remember?
I couldn't even look at the Hanged Man anymore. I turned it over. Then I took a deep breath and revealed the present card. "The World. Another naked lady card, huh?"
"The World card represents the end of something and the beginning of something else..."
"Thanks," I said sarcastically to the card. "Big help."
"The problem is you accept the end―just not the beginning."
"Beginning?" I scoffed. "This is only an end. Everything is done! You are gone...there is no more beginning for you. And I'm sure that you were certain you'd end up reincarnated and skip along on your next cycle. But what about me? There is no new beginning for me without you!"
YOU ARE READING
The Last Card
ParanormalEvery year a man seeks out a tarot card reader, hoping for a different future.