by Unknown
Her hands gripped both of my shoulders, lovingly but firmly. She shook me gently, “You have to tell him. You have to apologize for hurting his manhood. It’s not often a man lays it all out on the line like that. I’ve found it takes a real man to have that kind of courage.”
“I know. Can you do me a favor, though?”
“Anything honey. You deserve it, after all the help you give me around here.”
“Do another reading for me?” She beamed and walked over to the corner bookshelf. Then she did something totally unexpected. She reached into a hidden pocket in her skirt and pulled out a little golden box, “You’re going to do your own reading.”
I had never read my own cards. The little psychic shops in strip malls always fascinated me as a little girl. I always wondered how psychics got their powers. I knew the Universe didn’t bless me with second sight. When I was a little girl I would lay in the grass and stare up at the sky, trying to interpret the shapes in the clouds, trying to spell out a message. On my long camping trips with my grandparents, I’d piece together a concoction of letters and numbers from passing license plates in attempts to answer my questions about life. Like how did humans get here? Will I marry Justin Timberlake? What color nail polish should I use – sparkly blue or bubblegum pink? That’s about as far as I’d gone in the world of divination. Just silly childhood games.
She must’ve sensed I was feeling clueless, “You don’t have to know how to read the cards to read them, Dottie. Just listen to your inner voice. Let the cards and your intuition speak through the silence.” She ushered me over to the table and chairs in the back corner of the store. The beaded curtains tap-tap-tapped as they swung closed behind us. All was quiet in the store in that moment, a welcoming environment for anyone to tap into their subconscious.
Setting the card deck on the table, I noticed an assortment of crystals and trinkets adorning the space. I wasn’t sure why I’d never noticed them before. A large chunk of glimmering pink rock stood at the center of the table, along with five small clear rocks that formed a circle around it. The stony scene reminded me of the Great Pyramid of Giza encircled by Stone Henge. The whole thing was strange - I could almost feel the crystals vibrating against the wood and up through the deck of cards. I was starting to believe that maybe there was more to life than just science and luck.
Miss Anne-Marie very quietly walked back out to the storefront, but not before lighting an incense cone that smelled like pine sap. I pulled my legs underneath of me and got comfortable. I didn’t even know where to begin. Do I shuffle the cards like a black jack dealer? Do I let them fall as they may? Do I break them into piles like I’ve seen her do, or do I pick just one? This card reading business was a lot more complicated than I’d thought it would be. It’s not as easy as playing a round of Uno.
I stared at the back of the deck for a while before making my first move. I shuffled the cards three times, three just felt like a good number. Then I split them into three piles. I honed in on the issue at hand – what do I do about Isaiah? I knew he wasn’t the issue though. I was the issue. It was my problem. I was getting in my own way. My insecurities. Not his. The answers were already flowing, and I hadn’t even dealt the first card.
With the first card flipped over, I focused on its intense colors and shapes. The two of cups. At first glance, I wasn’t getting any clear messages. I cleared my mind of random thoughts, breathed in and out a few times. Then I took a closer look, and I allowed the card’s images to speak for themselves as she’d suggested. There were two people on the card, each holding a golden chalice and facing one another. A red substance filled the chalices, which I assumed was red wine. The wine was overflowing. I got the message.
The second card was called the Fool. Immediately I knew the Fool was symbolic of me. I had been the fool and would continue to be, especially if I didn’t listen to the first card’s blatant message.
The last card’s matte finish felt cool against my fingers. My heart fluttered a bit as I turned it over to reveal the final piece to the puzzle. The King of Cups sat on a throne with a cup of wine in one hand and a paintbrush in the other. I blinked my eyes a few times to make sure I was seeing straight. Why was the King of Cups holding a paintbrush? Upon further examination, I noticed a canvas in the background of the card. This couldn’t be right. I shook my head and pinched myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. I brought the card closer to my face and the dots started to connect. The King of Cups was Isaiah. A man who was balanced in every way – his masculinity and femininity equal – he was a man’s man and yet he was sensitive and nurturing. His cup was full, representing his love for me. A true king in every way.
There was no denying it. I was in love. Completely head-over-heels-lose-my-mind in love. I had fought it for the most obvious reasons. Lord knew I had been through enough heartbreak to last a few lifetimes. But then again, everyone goes through at least one heartbreak. It’s a part of life. It happens so we can learn from it. You have to experience heartbreak in order to know what real love is.
Excitedly, I pushed my chair back and almost knocked the table over in the process. The crystal circle in the center of the table tumbled over like little dominoes. I double-checked I hadn’t broken anything and repositioned them around their giant pink crystal king.
Running down Seventh Avenue, the thoughts raced through my head faster than I could process. All those vivid dreams I had of Isaiah were simply my subconscious trying to break through my inflated ego. My subconscious knew I had the right person in my life. My father used to say dreams could be prophetic. They could tell us buried secrets and warn us of things yet to come. He always was a hippie at heart. Funny thing was he had come to me in one of those dreams, ushering me to Isaiah’s side. He’d brought the essence of Isaiah to me before I’d ever even met him. The realization of this hit me like a ton of bricks, and I tripped on a cobblestone in the street. I picked myself up, dusted my knees off and kept running.
Isaiah was right. We were supposed to be together. Stories like this don’t happen every day for just anybody. This was an once-in-a-lifetime deal. Men like Isaiah don’t come around often. In fact, I’d never been with someone remotely like him. I had to tell this man how I felt before some other woman scooped him up. Any woman would have been lucky to have him. A muscular, sensitive firefighter from New York who was also an avid art lover? My God, what had I done letting him go?
I darted up the steps to my apartment building, skipping every other step. Slammed through the front door, nearly catapulting a cat into the kitchen counter. I had to get to my cell phone and fast.
Wait a second. I thought I had locked my door. Then I saw it. A familiar guitar case mocking me from its smug spot on the floor. What the hell was going on? I was not prepared for what I was about to hear. The shower was running in the bathroom and a familiar voice was singing Hotel California. Rory Langdon. That piece of ever-loving shit. He was in my apartment and in my shower…why hadn’t I changed the locks? How dare he just traipse back in like he owned the place!
A torrential heat started to envelope my body, originating in my core and spreading like a wild fire to the crown of my head. My face was hot. The raw emotion built up inside of me, and I had the urge to rip Rory’s ass out of the shower and throw him out the window. I’d let my cats shit all over his prized guitar, then dump it in the Hillsborough River. No, I couldn’t do that. What I needed to do was just breathe. Hyperventilating and planning a homicide wasn’t helping the situation any.
Breathe. Just breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Smell the flowers. Blow out the candles.
Rory’s raspy voice rang out over the sound of running water, “what a nice surprise. Bring your alibis.” He better have a damn good alibi. Maybe I’d better start thinking of an alibi for when they find his puny body below my apartment window.
I took a seat on a barstool in the kitchen area, and I waited for him to emerge. This was the furthest spot from the window, so I figu
red there’d be less temptation to push him through it. I didn’t even know what to say to him other than get the fuck out. I was teeming with anger and disgust. Pinky and The Brain brushed up against my legs. It’s as if they were tapping into my need for distraction. Pets are funny that way. They sense when their owner is about to have a mental breakdown.
There was a squeaking noise as the shower knob turned off, and my nails raked against the leather barstool beneath me, digging deeper and deeper. This was the best way to brace myself and prevent from ripping this man’s head off in the heat of the moment. After what seemed like an eternity of seething and waiting for him to make his grand entrance, he strolled out with nothing but a towel around his pasty, thin waist.
“Oh, hey babe. I’m back,” he said with a smirk and walked towards me with open arms. He seriously thought he was going to get a hug. I couldn’t believe the nerve of this prick.
Without thinking, my arms shot out in front of me to prevent him from coming too close. The words calmly poured from my mouth, “You need to back away, Rory, before someone gets hurt.”
“Whoa! Hurt? Why would you want to hurt me? I thought you would’ve missed me.” A look of bewilderment was pasted on his face. The dark circles under his eyes made him look like a strung-out raccoon. No doubt from multiple sleepless nights on meth or whatever was the newest powder of choice.
“Explain to me where the fuck you have been and why the fuck you came back again,” I crossed my arms over my chest like a disgruntled mother lecturing her rebellious teenage son for staying out all night without phoning. It was fitting. Rory was no man, he was a child in a man’s body and didn’t deserved to be treated as anything more.
“You knew the band was going on tour. We’ve been touring the state, even got up to Georgia for a few.” Lies.
“That’s bullshit, and you know it. I called all of your bandmates’ after you left to see where you were. Not one of them was on tour, like you claim. I was worried sick about you, but I knew you’d gone on one of your two-month benders again. This time things are different. This time, I didn’t want you to come back and figured you wouldn’t. I figured you would have known what kind of hatred I would have towards you for leaving me…for the second…or third time. So try again.” Somehow throughout all of this, my voice remained at a sane volume. This was in direct opposition to the voice in my head, screaming kick his ass! Kick his ass!
He raised his hand to the back of his shaved head, his eyes dropped to the floor. He almost looked ashamed. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first time I’d seen this look before. It was a look of attempted manipulation, not genuine emotion.
He slouched over the kitchen counter and took a seat on the barstool across from me. He rested his elbows in front of him and interlaced his fingers. He held clasped hands to his chin like he was praying. Really he was calculating his next move.
The faded towel wrapped around his waist was slowly loosening. My eyes scanned his body, the parts I could see at least. He had a freshly shaven head, the same as when I first met him at a concert four years ago. It was shining like the tile floor under the fluorescent lights. I recalled the first time I’d met him, I thought he was a skinhead. A red-headed kid with a shaved head and a Cult of Odin tattoo on his right hand? New generation Nazi for sure. Then I was introduced to Rory’s best friend Jeremy…a black dude. Their band’s name was Cult of Odin. I don’t date racists. I date drug addicts, but not bigots.
I noticed a fresh tattoo on the side of his neck. It resembled graffiti you’d see on the side of an abandoned train, but not as nicely done. Where had he gotten a new tattoo, I wondered. It was obviously done in someone’s garage. That much was clear. It was peeling and weeping in places, almost appearing infected. Then I looked at his bird chest, almost concave it was so thin. Most likely from going on his bender and not eating for days on end. His arms weren’t any better looking for that matter. I wondered what I ever saw in this guy. What was I attracted to? It wasn’t the way he treated me, and it wasn’t his looks. And let’s face it, his personality had always sucked. He never had any motivation to do anything in life, and he was a drug addict. It’s funny how different people look once you’ve fallen out of love with them. Once the fog lifts, you see people for who they truly are.
“Please go get dressed.” I pointed to the bathroom with a shaky finger. Surges of rage still pulsed through my body and out through my fingertip. I could feel the fire emanating from my eyes. Steam blowing out my ears like an old school cartoon character. He walked over to the loveseat, grabbed a pair of ragged jeans and a t-shirt and sauntered to the bathroom. The door shut, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Relief that I’d stopped myself from ripping his fucking eyes from their measly sockets. Relief that I didn’t smash his stupid guitar over his head. Relief that I kept my shit together and saved face. I refused to let this jerk get the best of me. There would be no more displays of emotion wasted on this loser.
After getting dressed, he sat in the same barstool across from me and folded his hands in his lap. Quietly he pulled a phone from his pocket and began flipping the screen as if he was scanning for someone’s number. He made eye contact with me before starting to explain. “You know I can’t help it, Dottie. I have a disease. I’m self-medicating,” he avoided eye contact by staring out the window. The Florida sun poured in and made me long to be at the beach – away from the situation and away from him – my crackhead fiancé of the year.
I’d had enough, so I let loose. “I don’t know what you’re expecting of me, Rory. You leave me, you don’t even warn me that you’re leaving. This isn’t the first time. And then you come back after doing god-knows-what for almost two months and expect me to take you back in like nothing ever happened? I’ve tried to help you in the past with your addiction, but it’s clear that you’re not ready to change. And I can’t be your savior anymore. You have to save yourself. So get your shit and get out.”
The next-door neighbors stomped around outside the door, providing a momentary distraction. Rory picked up his guitar case, tossed it onto my bed and started cramming his belongings into it. Apparently he had a lot of time before I had gotten home to make himself comfortable. He was so confident that he’d stay and take up space in my apartment and my life. In the past I would’ve caved and taken him back. Not this time. I wasn’t going to be his doormat anymore.
“Well, where the fuck am I supposed to go?” This is when he started showing his ass. His face was beet red with what I assumed was embarrassment. He wanted to come out on top, but he had hit rock bottom. There was nowhere left for him to go.
“Anywhere but here. Go stay with your Mother. If you want I can call her for you,” I smarmily lifted the phone to dial. I was bluffing, of course.
“Don’t call her. She thinks we’re still together.”
“Real nice, Rory. Real nice. I’ll give you some time to get your stuff together and make some plans. I have to leave, but you have to be out in the next thirty minutes.” I glanced over at the clock on the wall and made a mental note of the time.
I swiveled on my heels to walk out the door and noticed the painting next to my bed. Not just any painting. The painting. The one of a lost young woman and a confident man, embracing one another in a moment of passion and intensity. I was actually surprised Rory hadn’t brought it to my attention. Its vivid colors and surreal brushstrokes reminded me why I had come home in the first place. Isaiah. I needed to tell him before I changed my mind and turned into a chicken-shit again. I had to tell him that I loved him.
I grabbed my cell phone and left Rory behind in my apartment to sulk, pack, and erase himself from my life forever.
I inhaled the afternoon air and nearly drowned on the sweet scent of cinnamon buns wafting out from a nearby bakery. The buttery sugar aroma coupled with smoke from the bar next door created a smell worthy of a prostitute’s perfume. I had to get away. I had to go somewhere if only to gain some distance from the apartment. To gain some distance from Rory
. I didn’t want to see his face ever again. Just thinking of him nauseated me. I had an aversion to his face like a pregnant lady has an aversion to a plate of greasy red meat. Getting over him was one of the hardest things I’d ever done, whether I was willing to admit it or not. I thought for the longest time I was in love with him, but realized I was just in love with the idea of him all along.
Sitting on a bench outside a clothing store, I pulled my phone from my back pocket and scrolled through my recent calls to find Isaiah’s number. My finger inched towards the screen to tap it, and suddenly something stopped me. Isaiah and I had only known each other for a few days before he had dropped the love bomb on me. Even though I was feeling the vibe too, I’d thrown the opportunity away like yesterday’s trash. And I’d been miserable ever since. No more guessing. No more uncertainty. I was going for it.
After the phone rang for a nerve-racking eternity, my call carried through to voicemail. I hung up before the beep. I couldn’t leave a message worthy enough for this man. That inner voice petitioned me to tell him in person, and I knew what I had to do. I was headed to the big apple, baby.
Chapter 14
Isaiah
Was it crazy that I was going to Florida to talk to Dottie after she’d flat-out turned me down? Probably. But it was necessary. I mean she was the woman of my actual dreams. No one should pass up an opportunity like this one. Fate didn’t come knocking at my door every day. If I had chosen to keep the door shut, I never would’ve known what it’s like to be with someone on my level and yet so different from me. They say opposites attract, I agree. Opposites are perfect for each other. And most of the time we discover our opposites aren’t so different from us.
Like usual, Suzy had convinced me to take the plunge. After I’d told her what happened, she didn’t give me any pearls of wisdom. I didn’t even get a hug out of her. All she gave me was a tough-love - “Isaiah. Get over yourself. Nut up or shut up.” Finally I gave in and agreed. I had to stop being such a wimp and do what needed to be done. And if I was rejected again, then so be it. At least then I’d know I did my best.
