Great-Aunt Ruth hums a tune Tim doesn't recognize as she gracefully places the cards in an order he doesn't understand. The fringe of her shawl drops down onto the cards and covers them. Tim giggles and Aunt Ruth smiles. She moves the shawl off her shoulder and tucks a strand of grey hair back behind her ear. The rest of her colorless hair is pulled back into a tight, curly bun.
His mom once told him the tune was an old song from the Motherland, but that was all she would say. She never mentioned where the Motherland was or why Aunt Ruth would sometimes cry when she says his name.
Instead, his mom smoothed out his hair and smiled at him with water in her eyes. "It's not you. She cries for someone who's gone, Tim."
Aunt Ruth doesn't cry when she hums, which is why he enjoys moments like this. The cards, she says, tell a story.
"Your story, Timothy."
"How?" He looks at down at them in great curiosity. Aunt Ruth, with her knobby finger, taps the one on top which shows a picture of a man hanging upside down.
"A gift," she whispers. It is the way she says it, like it is a secret only to be told to him, which makes him believe her truth. "It shows a different world than most people see.. of what most people should see."
She trails off into silence and Tim waits. Aunt Ruth tended to stare off in the distance sometimes and forget that he was there. Most times, it lasted for a few moments, but there was another time he had to fetch his mom because he thought maybe she was sick. Mom said it happens because of her age, but Aunt Ruth yelled at her niece when she said that. The foreign language helped censored his young ears, but the message was clear about what she thought about her "age".
The minutes tick by on Aunt Ruth's grandfather clock. He starts to fidget on the old, rickety chair and wonders when it would be a good time to yell for his mom in the other room.
Thankfully, before he could decide, Aunt Ruth's gaze relaxes and she smiles at him. "You show signs of this gift, Timothy."
Tim tilts his head in thought. "Mom says I have a good imagination."
Aunt Ruth snorts. "She says that about me. Your mother doesn't understand."
"She doesn't 'see'," Tim says. He smiles back and it feels like he's sharing a private joke with her.
She leans over and ruffles his hair as she is prone to do when he says something that pleases her. "Yes, Timothy. But you do."
He laughs and then studies the cards on the table. "How does this gift tell my story?"
"Let me show you," she says and places down several more cards. She closes her eyes and the story begins to unfold.
"You were born with a fire, Timothy; so great and wild. There is nothing that could ever extinguish it if you let it burn. Be wise. There is a chance this fire could burn you, too." Her hand hovers over another placement in the cards. "Your life will be moved by your search for Justice. People seeking the same goal will see this and be drawn to you. Do not let go of them and they will not let go of you."
She frowns. "You face many struggles. When you are in love, you will lose control. When you are balanced, something will come to unbalance. When you dream, you will not wake up."
Aunt Ruth opens her eyes, startled, and stares at him with a clarity he has never seen before.
"You will dream in the desert. You will find illumination and there you will die."
The words don't scare, but they do surprise him. "I-what?"
Her words are soft and reserve. "You will die in the desert, Timothy."
"Aunt Ruth!"
Tim turns in his chair to see his mom in the doorway holding a bundle of blankets on her shoulder. He can't tell just how long she was standing there or how she can yell like that without waking the baby. "You do not tell that to nine-year-old boy!"
Unfazed, Aunt Ruth merely shrugs. "My niece, a boy is meant to know Death in order to prepare for its arrival."
With a fury unmatched in anything Tim as ever seen, his mom grabs his wrist and he ends up being frog-hopped away from the table. "Mom! Ow!"
"We're leaving, Tim. There are some things I can handle with her, but she has no right to say that to you."
"But, Mom! Aunt Ruth was-"
"No, Tim! We are saying good-bye."
Tim doesn't think it is fair, really. But not at what his mom was upset about. How could Sarah easily wake up when he's trying to be really quiet sneaking downstairs to watch Saturday morning cartoons, but Mom's yelling doesn't wake her at all?
Somehow, Mom manages to grab all their stuff together with two children in each hand.
Tim looks back to the old woman. It is the last time he sees her, and it's an image that is engraved in his mind for the rest of his life: She sits at her chair, clutching one of the cards close to her chest. A small wave of grey hair escapes to fall in front of her downcast face and there are tears falling down her cheeks.
As they walk out the door, he briefly wonders who she is crying for.
