The Fortune Teller

I should’ve listened. That’s the thought that runs through my head as I look around, as I realize where I am and what I have done. I really should’ve listened. I don’t even know what it was that compelled me to enter a fortune teller’s parlor that day. I had passed by this house-turned-parlor several times before during my walks, but there was something different about it. The purple paint had started to peel off to reveal the original wood-brown underneath that looked like it was slowly taking possession over the house. I noticed it. The neon sign that read “Tarot Card Readings” flickered almost as if trying to warn me. Yet, I still entered. That day, I felt a pull, and before I knew it, I had made my way into a velvet cave and the sound of shuffling cards echoed. I remember the air being infused with jasmine incense. It was dark and the beads hanging from wall to wall were the only decoration easily visible past the amber amoebas in my eyes. From somewhere in the darkness, or from everywhere, a voice emerged.

“Welcome in, friend,” she said. The amoebas faded as I located the owner of the voice: a slender, dark-haired woman with an aggressive cat-liner etched across her eyes. That was as much of her face as I could really see because she had shrouds of curly hair slashing the rest of her face into Cubist pieces. 

“You look lost,” she continued, “and I wish you wouldn’t.”

What a strange thing to say, I had thought. If only that had clued me in.

“Isn’t this the place to find things?” I asked.

“Yes, if you know what you’re looking for already.” she replied quickly.

“Well, maybe I can figure it out as I go.”

She hesitated. “I hope that works. Tarot cards? Palm reading? What will it be?”

“Why don’t you tell me?”

She had been shuffling a deck of tarot cards throughout our conversation and quickly started placing them on the table. There was a clear order to the layout of the cards that I did not know, but I let my eyes scan the pictures as they hit the table. Her long nails clicked as she made two long lines with the cards and lay some on top of others. Finally, she laid one last card in the very middle making the layout turn into an H. An ominous H. The middle card was The Devil. The image of a winged beast sitting on a pedestal between a chained couple jumped out at me. The devil had a lion-like face with twisted horns jutting out from his forehead, but it was the couple that really stuck out to me. They were casually standing by though they were chained to the devil’s pedestal by their necks. Suddenly, I felt aware of the fortune teller’s eyes and their searing focus on me. 

“I see you’ve noticed the devil.” she said.

“What does it mean?” I asked, not sure if I truly wanted to know the answer. 

The tension in the air suddenly dissipated like water to vapor as she threw her hands back. 

“Well! You can take it many ways, but it did land upright. Looking at some of the other cards I have out here, it seems that someone from your past might come back into your life. Do you have any broken friendships…or any past lovers?”

“Doesn’t everyone?” I replied. I didn’t want to give her any personal information she could sink her teeth into.

“Sure, though this card usually comes out to warn people about vices, obsessions, dependency and traps.” She paused and, as if suddenly taking a leap of faith, she continued, “But, this layout is clearly telling me you have an ex that will soon show up. He’ll want to try again.” 

Her eyes quickly lifted from the cards to my face. I felt a tug. Sure, everyone had exes that could come back, but mine? He wasn’t coming back. That I knew. 

“What does the devil have to do with an ex?”

“It’s a warning against temptation. You are free, free to choose something different, and you should.” 

Oh please, I thought, he’s not coming back.

“What else can you tell me?” I ask, drawing my focus to the other cards. The fortune teller’s shoulders fell a little. The sudden shift in her posture drew her hair further to the side, exposing a small scar across her cheek. 

“Oh!” she exclaimed, picking up the cards, “There really isn’t much else of interest. Pay your taxes. Call your mother. You know!”

“What? What else is there? That can’t be it!”

“It is! Oh, and pay for your health insurance, you’re about to lose it.” 

That felt unnecessary, but I guess I had asked for it. She charged her fee as she shoved me out the door. I walked out pushing the short, wooden gate that introduced the house to the street. As I hear the door bounce once, twice, three times, I open my eyes. 

Here I am now. In this apartment that my ex and I got as soon as he came back into my life six months after that fateful day. I had forgotten all about it by that time, you see. All I could see was him. The promise of brighter days sprouted and twisted itself around us as we became familiar again. We talked about what was to come and what could be as that promise entangled us to one another, closing any space. It was only a matter of time before we were pressed together so tightly that I lost sight of where he and I began and ended. We were one. This is a beautiful thing for those who know how to love, but it can be a destructive thing to those who don’t. We twisted ourselves into the latter. Now, covered in thorns, we are held captive by our inability to cut ourselves free as we lumber through our miserable routine. Even when we try to avoid it, fights ensue and the blame is thrown without mercy, like bricks hurled at an abandoned house. Today, it’s about the cat. As we yell at each other, he loses his patience and shoves the cat in my face. With a reflective swipe, our cat draws blood from my cheek and I run to the bathroom in tears. I instinctively look in the mirror to start cleaning my face when my own reflection stops me still. With nothing but the sound of running water to accompany my shock, I notice my disheveled hair stream down my face, breaking it into messy shapes. The searing look in my eyes adds to the jogging of my memory as the final piece of the puzzle fits into place: the scar. The hair, the eyes, the scar. It was me. That day, it was me pulling that devil card out of the deck. My eyes wide, my hands shaking, I smell the scent of jasmine and it echoes: I should’ve listened.