When Patrice touches the deck, the memory begins to play again. "Okay, Mama!" Wyatt agrees eagerly. He has some sort of food smudged at the corner of his mouth, an artificial orange that suggests that it might be cheese whiz, but neither he nor his mother seem bothered as they settle in to flimsy plastic lawn furniture against the porch railing farthest from that acrid smoke that seems to creep into the lungs and buzz pleasantly.
Cassandra takes out the deck and begins to shuffle it, the motion repeated and thoughtless as an old habit. "Why don't you do the honors?" she asks, still unconsciously shuffling over and over, before passing the stack to him. "Three card spread. Past, present, future." She looks up briefly, smiling faintly. Maybe it's just because the porch is so small, but she seems to be straight at the group of teenagers standing here in Wyatt's memory. "Your past, present, and future."
Wyatt takes the cards and begins to shuffle them awkwardly. His hands are already getting big, but he holds the deck awkwardly, trying to hide the scrapes and bruises on the back of his knuckles from his mother, and he doesn't have her years of practice. More than once, he nearly fumbles the deck, but manages to keep a hold on it. One by one, he lays out three cards on the top of an overturned plastic milk crate without flourish or any thought to presentation. They're blurry and difficult to distinguish, like you could see them if you squinted very hard or just put on your glasses. The bold colors and the clean lines of the Rider-Waite-Smith tarot deck could be recognized by anyone familiar, but the individual cards are still impossible to name.
"Okay, so. This one's…" Wyatt says, pointing to the first card representing the past. "It's like… success. Confidence. Winning. And this suit means fire. Oh, but it's upside down, so it's like the opposite."
Cassandra doesn't comment, only watches Wyatt as he moves on to the next card. He leans in, searching the card's illustration for clues. "This suit's water, like tears, so it's for feelings. So it's… Sad?"
Wyatt scrunches his nose at the last card and pointedly refuses to look at his mother, thinking through his options. "This, uhh…" He scratches the back of his neck. "It's an end."
"And how do you put that all together?" she prods. "You look at everything you have first, whether that's bones or tea leaves or clouds or any other tools, but then you have to look at the big picture."
"I lost at something, so I'm going to be sad about it, and uh…"
The memory suddenly freezes on Wyatt's uncertainty. A breeze begins to blow, but it only impacts those visiting the memory, picking at their hair and skirts impishly. It almost feels like the breeze is trying to pick their pockets or do some other mischief, until it starts to pick up anyway. It gets faster and stronger, whipping into an angry frenzy, though it still has no effect on Wyatt and Cassandra Webberley. It wails and thrashes and threatens to blow the Wildgulch Juniors over the porch railing. Then it grabs the cards from Wyatt and flings them everywhere. Just like that, the wind is gone, though it leaves a mess in its wake, tarot cards on the ground, stuck to the walls, tucked in Wyatt's hair and on Cassandra's shoulder, laying on the banister, and even a few in a spiderweb overhead. Did any get blown over the railing? It's hard to say. Wyatt, meanwhile, is still frozen holding a deck that isn't there with the other hand hovering over an empty makeshift table.
MEMORY: Practice
Cassandra takes out the deck and begins to shuffle it, the motion repeated and thoughtless as an old habit. "Why don't you do the honors?" she asks, still unconsciously shuffling over and over, before passing the stack to him. "Three card spread. Past, present, future." She looks up briefly, smiling faintly. Maybe it's just because the porch is so small, but she seems to be straight at the group of teenagers standing here in Wyatt's memory. "Your past, present, and future."
Wyatt takes the cards and begins to shuffle them awkwardly. His hands are already getting big, but he holds the deck awkwardly, trying to hide the scrapes and bruises on the back of his knuckles from his mother, and he doesn't have her years of practice. More than once, he nearly fumbles the deck, but manages to keep a hold on it. One by one, he lays out three cards on the top of an overturned plastic milk crate without flourish or any thought to presentation. They're blurry and difficult to distinguish, like you could see them if you squinted very hard or just put on your glasses. The bold colors and the clean lines of the Rider-Waite-Smith tarot deck could be recognized by anyone familiar, but the individual cards are still impossible to name.
"Okay, so. This one's…" Wyatt says, pointing to the first card representing the past. "It's like… success. Confidence. Winning. And this suit means fire. Oh, but it's upside down, so it's like the opposite."
Cassandra doesn't comment, only watches Wyatt as he moves on to the next card. He leans in, searching the card's illustration for clues. "This suit's water, like tears, so it's for feelings. So it's… Sad?"
Wyatt scrunches his nose at the last card and pointedly refuses to look at his mother, thinking through his options. "This, uhh…" He scratches the back of his neck. "It's an end."
"And how do you put that all together?" she prods. "You look at everything you have first, whether that's bones or tea leaves or clouds or any other tools, but then you have to look at the big picture."
"I lost at something, so I'm going to be sad about it, and uh…"
The memory suddenly freezes on Wyatt's uncertainty. A breeze begins to blow, but it only impacts those visiting the memory, picking at their hair and skirts impishly. It almost feels like the breeze is trying to pick their pockets or do some other mischief, until it starts to pick up anyway. It gets faster and stronger, whipping into an angry frenzy, though it still has no effect on Wyatt and Cassandra Webberley. It wails and thrashes and threatens to blow the Wildgulch Juniors over the porch railing. Then it grabs the cards from Wyatt and flings them everywhere. Just like that, the wind is gone, though it leaves a mess in its wake, tarot cards on the ground, stuck to the walls, tucked in Wyatt's hair and on Cassandra's shoulder, laying on the banister, and even a few in a spiderweb overhead. Did any get blown over the railing? It's hard to say. Wyatt, meanwhile, is still frozen holding a deck that isn't there with the other hand hovering over an empty makeshift table.