I managed to contain my emotions as I climbed up the stairs and even during my passing conversation with my roomie, who was in the middle of watching The Walking Dead. Then I slinked into my bedroom, dressed for bed and sobbed myself to sleep when I couldn’t hold it in any longer.
Sometimes a good cry was cathartic, calming. But this wasn’t. Into the gaping hole that had just been torn into my heart, the salty tears flowed, only increased the sting instead of lessening it.
***
“What’s going on, Jenna? You seem so out of it this week,” Alex said to me. It was a few nights before I was to leave for the Beltane Festival, and yeah, ‘out of it’ might have been a good way to describe how I felt. Off-kilter was another one.
I missed William terribly. Since we’d started hanging out together, I’d spent a week without seeing him, but never without texting or a short conversation on the phone. This felt worse than a breakup—at least those breakups that I’d cared about, anyway.
And the more I thought about his words, the more I started to wonder about this flaw in myself. Specifically, whether I’d hurt other people because of my own shortcomings. My own fears.
Fears I’d hidden behind my beliefs.
And speaking of hurting people…I gave my notice at the Refugee Support Center, choking up when I saw the look on my boss’s face. Shock. Disappointment. Sadness. But in the end, she wished me well.
So yeah…I was out of it. I had reasons.
I shrugged at Alex, picking at my food. Reheated leftover spaghetti, along with ramen noodles, had become a staple of my diet.
“Are you nervous about the duel?” Her forehead creased. “Do you think William will lose the tiara?”
I shook my head. “I think he’ll win. He’s worked very hard.”
“Then smile!”
I put my fork down and stared at my plate, blinking back sudden tears as my hands shook. “What am I doing, Alex? Where am I going?”
She slapped her textbook closed—unlike me, she was actually doing homework—and set down her pencil. “Sounds like you need to hit the advice booth.”
Our little joke. Alex liked to counsel people and give them advice. My friends and I had started hinting that she should have a booth, complete with a tin can for change like Lucy from the Peanuts comic strip.
“Talk to me,” she said when I looked up.
“I don’t know…I just don’t… Up until last week, I was so sure of what I wanted.”
Alex’s dark brows rose. “But you’re not anymore?”
I knew Alex would never say she told me so. It just wasn’t in her DNA. So I didn’t fear sharing this change of heart with her. Leaning forward, I massaged my forehead with my hand. “I’m so confused.”
“The rest of the population our age is confused most of the time. It’s okay. No one knows all the answers.”
I sighed. “I was trying to be more excited about this move, but—”
“But the reality of what it will mean to leave everyone has sunk in?”
“I…” My gaze drifted away as I thought about what she’d said. Then I nodded. “Yeah.”
“Jenna, my abuelita had a saying. She said that the oak tree has the deepest and strongest roots, and that when the Santa Ana winds blow, those live oak trees are the hardest to blow over. On the other hand, the eucalyptus trees that grow all over the place around here…you know, those really, really tall ones? They’re always in danger of getting blown over by the very same winds, and that’s because their roots are shallow.”
I played with the food on my plate, listening intently.
She continued. “In other words, the deeper the roots go, the less likely you are to be blown over. And if you uproot yourself and move around every so often, there’s no way your roots can go deep.”
I smiled. “Why do I have a sudden urge to climb a tree?”
She shrugged. “You asked for my advice.”
“I didn’t, really, but thank you. Your abuelita was a wise lady.”
“She was.” Her wide, dark eyes grew solemn. “She taught me lots of things.”
I laughed. “You aren’t going to try and read my head bumps, are you?”
She snorted. “No. But maybe you should read your cards.”
That was an excellent idea…
And later that night, that’s exactly what I did. I pulled out my trustiest deck—the same one I’d used to give William his reading—spread a cloth out on the floor and sat cross-legged in front of it. I let my thoughts drift as I shuffled the cards, but every time I closed my eyes, he was there. His handsome face, his big hands holding my head as he kissed me, the feel of his body against mine.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and pulled a simple window spread—nine cards in three rows. The top row represented the past. The middle, the present. The bottom row, the future. I saved my more elaborate spreads for when I was reading for others. Either way, the cards in front of me all at once seemed to help clear my mind and whisper new stories to me.
Sometimes the cards “spoke” to me, and sometimes they just didn’t. Tonight, it almost seemed like they were shouting. The first row hit me squarely between the eyes: the Page of Pentacles, the Tower, the five of Cups. Wow, it was almost like my very own biography in three simple cards.
My hands trembled as I fingered the Page of Pentacles—Brock. The card represented a young person full of potential, practical, dutiful, reflective and conscientious. I smiled. Yes, that was him.
That card was followed by the Tower—the universal shit-hits-the fan card. It was always hard to have this card come up in a reading, but I comforted myself knowing that it was about the past. That the terrible event—the loss of Brock and all that I’d planned for our future—had taken place long ago. Six long and painful years ago.
Which brought me to the Five of Cups. The loss and my reaction to it. The impact that sent ripples of pain into the present and the future. My throat thickened so that I couldn’t swallow.
The suit of Cups represented all that was tied to emotions. And there were so many tied to that loss and the events that followed. Losses that went even deeper than the loss of Brock. Papa…
The image of three cups turned over, two cups still filled depicted three cups’ worth of water lost—mourning. And yet…two cups remained full. For the first time ever, I saw it as a card of hope. What a strange notion…