Thanks Jael, Aingeal, and daf9! *does a happy dance* :-)
Jael: I have *no* idea how to do a real tarot card reading, so this is
prolly very messed up--my apologies... :-(
***
Carver turns the card over.
There's a picture of an wrinkled, weathered old man hunched over inside a dark stone cave. The man's clothes are tattered rags and his bony hand grips a gnarled branch of warped wood. His wiry white beard tangles around his knees and his eyes are sunken and dull.
The old man sighs and twists his fingers around the hilt of his staff. Carver blinks for a second. It's an image on a card. As in, not real.
"The Hermit," the woman purrs in a silky-smooth, cloying voice that coils as sinuously as the smoke of fragrant incense, "represents solitude, searching, guidance, and introspection. He is often said to speak of retreat, of the need to be secluded, of the withdrawal into exile and isolation. He gives us serenity and wisdom..."
Carver's eyes sink sleepily; the click and clink of the woman's bracelets chime melodiously in his ears. He feels so drowsy...
***
Joe wants to hate his family, but he can't.
He wants to hate his father, David Carver, because the balding, stooped man in his faded gray suit shouts furiously at him every time he stumbles in stoned or drunk. But he can't, because there are tears in his father's eyes as he yells.
He wants to hate his mother, Lydia, because she raids his room every day and cleans out his stash of magazines and drugs, and then she screams and he swears and she cries for hours on end. But he can't, because she feeds him and cleans his clothes and really does try to encourage him in every way, but mostly in the way she knows best.
And he wants to hate his older brother Ron. Because Ron does the dishes, helps his mother iron and vaccuum, keeps his room tidy, does all of his homework on time and gets outstanding marks. Because Ron never smokes or skips school or comes home at two in the morning. Because Ron is perfect.
But he can't, because his room is right next to Ron's. And he knows that at night, when the TV goes off and Mom and Dad are asleep, Ron goes into his own bedroom and locks the door carefully behind him, and then cries and cries and cries until his choked sobs dwindle to sniffles and hiccups, then fade away altogether.
Joe wants to hate his family, but he can't.
***
***
Carver turns the card over.
There's a picture of an wrinkled, weathered old man hunched over inside a dark stone cave. The man's clothes are tattered rags and his bony hand grips a gnarled branch of warped wood. His wiry white beard tangles around his knees and his eyes are sunken and dull.
The old man sighs and twists his fingers around the hilt of his staff. Carver blinks for a second. It's an image on a card. As in, not real.
"The Hermit," the woman purrs in a silky-smooth, cloying voice that coils as sinuously as the smoke of fragrant incense, "represents solitude, searching, guidance, and introspection. He is often said to speak of retreat, of the need to be secluded, of the withdrawal into exile and isolation. He gives us serenity and wisdom..."
Carver's eyes sink sleepily; the click and clink of the woman's bracelets chime melodiously in his ears. He feels so drowsy...
***
Joe wants to hate his family, but he can't.
He wants to hate his father, David Carver, because the balding, stooped man in his faded gray suit shouts furiously at him every time he stumbles in stoned or drunk. But he can't, because there are tears in his father's eyes as he yells.
He wants to hate his mother, Lydia, because she raids his room every day and cleans out his stash of magazines and drugs, and then she screams and he swears and she cries for hours on end. But he can't, because she feeds him and cleans his clothes and really does try to encourage him in every way, but mostly in the way she knows best.
And he wants to hate his older brother Ron. Because Ron does the dishes, helps his mother iron and vaccuum, keeps his room tidy, does all of his homework on time and gets outstanding marks. Because Ron never smokes or skips school or comes home at two in the morning. Because Ron is perfect.
But he can't, because his room is right next to Ron's. And he knows that at night, when the TV goes off and Mom and Dad are asleep, Ron goes into his own bedroom and locks the door carefully behind him, and then cries and cries and cries until his choked sobs dwindle to sniffles and hiccups, then fade away altogether.
Joe wants to hate his family, but he can't.
***