Sounding The Current: Chapter 13 – Airing Things Out

Lisa had no idea when she went to bed. She knew what time she woke up. Though the rising sun does not shine into her window, the tennis match of light rays between her building and the building across the street illuminated her room enough to convince her body that it was time to get out of bed.

Her body’s refusal to go back to sleep prompted Lisa to greet the gentle morning with harsh expletives as Sundays were the one day of the week that she had no employment obligation to meet. She sat up, rubbed her face, and poked herself in the eye. Instead of continuing with the usual stream of unpleasant and vindictive blasphemies against everything that existed, Lisa was reminded of the vision of the eyeless girl that claimed the Death card was her card.

As she started to get out of bed, she was also reminded that the child had not only touched the card, but had turned the card over. “She was here? She was here! Oh shit, Death was in the room with me!” Instead of going to the bathroom, Lisa went to the table. The cards were still as she had left them last night, with the Death card resting face up on the decorated deck. She was now unsure if the card had ever been moved at all.

“I couldn’t move. I was too cold. I couldn’t even talk. She turned the card over. I know it. I turned it back after I got up, after the vision ended. I know it. What the hell?” Lisa realized she was crying again. She turned and went to the bathroom to take care of morning obligations and to wash her hands and face after.

After straightening her bed and getting dressed, she came back into the kitchen to make her morning coffee and plot out her actions and visits. She reflected on all that had happened in the previous seven days and wrote out a timeline of when each tarot card inserted itself into her life and how that card’s theme affected her.

She sat down with the decks on the table and counted the cards remaining. Lisa had recognized the effects of ten cards up to this point. She still had another twelve cards to work through. She held her mug with both hands. Lisa had accepted the judges working through dreams and visions, had accepted seeing them while she was awake but still having control over herself, and had accepted that the effects of the cards would be part of the environment like the warmth of a sun or the heat of an argument.

She was certainly not prepared for these figments of her imagination to reach out and actually touch her life. Spirits aren’t real. Archetypes don’t have agency. They are projections of thought. Games of reason. Meme-fodder. Spirits don’t flip cards because cards are physical and spirits are not.

She looked over the remaining twelve cards. According to the list, the next card to encounter was the Hanged Man. She wasn’t ready to see any vision of a hanging person, and certainly not ready to be touched by one. Rebecca had told her not to come back to her until she had worked through the entire deck. Lisa made the determination that Rebecca was going to have to start answering some questions right fucking now.

She looked at the time and saw that her questions and concerns were going to have to wait despite her set jaw. The coffee house wasn’t even open yet, and as far as she knew, Rebecca camped there after noon. At least this will give her time to look up more about tarot cards online and walk into the coffee house later with intelligent questions.

Before she went for her laptop, she moved the Death card to the bottom of both decks and studied the next image to face her. Since she already learned the hard way that the tarot cycle was going to continue with or without her conscious involvement, she might as well be prepared anyway.

If it wasn’t for the raging fire in the background of the image, Lisa would have thought the card was as upside down as the man in the image. A tangle of thick woody vines had caught the man’s feet, though the posture made it ambiguous if the man had clung to the vines first, or if the vines had caught his legs first. Crawling up from the bottom of the image was a black tangle of thorny branches and vines that was implied as being the source of the background flames. The shirtless figure’s chest and upper arms were held captive by three tight lengths of cloth that seemed to be attempting to pull him out of the upper vines, with a fourth cloth that was had been part of the pull but was portrayed as having just ripped away.

This didn’t bother Lisa. What did concern her was the elaborate series of black markings that covered the exposed torso, arms, and hands of the hanging figure. Lisa was not sure if the image was of a condemned man or of a sacrifice. And if it is of a sacrifice, was it voluntary or not? The more she looked at it, the more she felt that the action portrayed in the image was a futile one. The offering was accepted, but nothing came of it.

“Sacrifice, release, and restriction.” Lisa could see how those three keywords were demonstrated in the decorated card’s scene. “Neither/Nor and Both.” Lisa could not see how the catchphrase was relevant to the image as the image was making a point and the catchphrase was doing its best to avoid making any kind of conclusion. Most of the forum and blog posts that Lisa found online talked about a pause in a journey and how a person is undecided about what to do, which only added to her confusion.

In the midst of a very dense post about the origins of tarot cards, Lisa read a sentence that struck her so deeply that her body rang with fear and implications. It would seem that in the earliest version of the trumps, the card she knows as “The Hanged Man” was once labeled “The Traitor”.

Lisa looked at the image again. It did not fit the consequences that would come when a traitor was caught. His hands were free. He appeared to be yielding to his fate. Traitors are too busy trying to escape being held accountable for, well, everything! And if they could blame others, or better yet, put someone else in their place in the jail, well then, all the better for it.

She tried to go back to discussions about the modern meanings of the card, but the historical footnote would not leave her thoughts. There was something critically important about the title of “The Traitor”, but Lisa could not recognize the shape of the conclusion. Finally, she stopped avoiding the thought that closely followed the Traitor and yielded to the silent prompting.

She kicked the second chair away from the table in a crude invitation. “Alright, bitch. Let’s go. BUT! No visions, this time. I’m still not sure what happened last night and I’m not prepared to go through something like that again. Tarot, capital T, who is the Traitor and what does this card mean to me?”

Her cell phone rang. The overly compressed tones of Ricky Martin’s “Livin La Vida Loca” initially hurt only her ears until she remembered who she assigned that ringtone to and why. Then the headache started.

She turned the cell phone over to silence it. No more booty calls, please and thank you. She may not have made much personal headway into fixing her life since Rebecca gave her the cards, but one resolution she was going to live and die to was leaving Ricardo in the ditch of his digging. Now that there was no restaurant to work for, his status as the restaurant owner’s son meant nothing to her.

Still face down, the cell phone buzzed as another incoming call was recognized. Lisa stared at the vibrating phone for a moment, knowing that the only reason the silence was being broken was because this was the caller’s second attempt within a minute of the first. Ricardo was calling again.

Lisa pushed the cell phone away from her and turned her attention back to the screen. Seeing again the words “the Traitor” reminded her of the words she had spoken just before Ricardo’s call came through. Her attention was slowly pulled back to her cell phone just as it stopped buzzing. She took the phone, flipped it back over, and unlocked the screen.

There was a notification of two missed calls and a notification of two new voicemails. Lisa did not play them as she expected them to contain voice samples of Ricardo cursing her out for not answering him on his timing. She waited for his text messages to begin barraging her screen. She did not have to wait long.

“CALL ME LISA IT IS VERY IMPORTANT!!!!!1111”

“LISA I CANT PUT THIS OVER MESSAGES YOU HAVE TO CALLME WE HAVE TOTALK RIGHTNOW”

Lisa waited for the cycle to play out.

“GDI LISA IF YOU DO NOT CALL ME YOU WILL BE SUED THEY FOUND SOMETHING PERSONAL OF YOURS AND SAID IT STARTED THE FIRE!!!11”

“I CANT MESSAGEANY MORE BUT I CAN TALK SO CALLME RIGHTNOW”

Lisa wanted to reply to his text with one of her own asking how many more souvenirs had he forgotten to take home with him, but remembering which tarot card ordeal was active, she held back and waited for the rest of Ricardo’s texting cycle to complete.

“LISA PLEASE CALL I WONT YELL BUT I NEED YOU TO CALL ME RIGHT NOW BEFORE MONDAY BECAUSE THE COURT IS OPEN TOMORROW”

That’s not his usual pattern, Lisa recognized. Against her better intuition, she left the messages as “seen” but called him.

“S’up, Ricky?”

“OH FUCKING HELL IT’S ABOUT TIME YOU CALLED ME BACK HOLY FUCKING SHIT EVERYTHING IS GOING TO HELL!” Ricardo’s voice was one part panic, one part pissed, and many parts confused about what to say next.

Lisa had a good idea what Ricardo was referring to, but decided to follow her sister Jean’s pattern of being calm and unassuming. “Well. Yea. The restaurant’s gone. But other than that, you doing okay?”

“NO BITCH I AM NOT DOING OKAY WHAT THE FUCK!” Lisa put the phone down and activated the speakerphone function while Ricardo caught his breath and audibly struggled with himself before continuing. “I’m sorry. I’m just… This is fucking nuts. Listen, have you been served yet?”

“Have I been served? Like, with court papers?”

“YES WITH FUCKING COURT PAPERS LISA I CAN’T BELIEVE I USED TO ENJOY FUCKING YOU WHAT THE FUCK LISA FOR ONCE IN YOUR GODDAMN LIFE STOP BEING AS BLONDE AS YOUR BEER!”

Lisa did not respond as Ricardo again had to talk himself down to a calmer level. “I’m sorry, Lisa. It’s just… fuck.”

“It’s okay, Ricky.” She used the same voice as she did when beginning to talk him into keeping her employed. “It’s okay. You just tell me what you need, honey, and we’ll see if it happens.” Those used to be very fun words for her to say to him. They now felt like rusted knives scraping across her tongue. It was good this call was audio only. Her face refused to make the expressions that the words implied.

“Yea?”

“Yea. I mean. I know I left some things behind that I probably shouldn’t, but there gotta be a way to make everything right in the end, right?”

“Okay, baby.” There was no hint of Ricardo’s anger in his voice now. He felt sure that he was going to get what he wanted from Lisa. “And yea, heh, you left some… things… behind. So you know how there was a fire, right? The investigators found some of your clothes in the room where it started.”

Ricardo paused. Any other time, Lisa would have made some sort of accommodating or agreeing noise to encourage him to continue. She thought about why he insisted on a phone call when this information could have been sent over text. Unless he’s recording the call, she realized.

“You there?”

“I’m here, Ricky.” She thought about what she admitted to Jean just a few days ago. “I may have left some panties behind, but that’s about it. Don’t tell me your dad is trying to claim they’re some designer one-offs and is asking four digits as a replacement cost!” Ask a stupid question, Lisa thought.

“NO YOU STUPID BITCH! THE INSURANCE COMPANY IS DENYING THE CLAIM BECAUSE IT WASN’T JUST FOOD IN THERE LIKE WE SAID IT WAS! GOD FUCKING DAMMIT LISA! YOUR FUCKING AROUND IS GOING TO COST US EVERYTHING!”

Lisa almost replied back in anger, but remembered the Devil card and the conversation with Jean that it presided over. Rebecca said that Lisa could use already completed cards to help her as she moved forward. She pulled the Sun card out of the decorated deck and propped it up on the table to face her. Lisa felt she could use the card’s steady warmth to carry her and steady light to see her way through Ricardo’s manipulations.

She took a deep breath and loudly whimpered as if in pain. “I’m sorry. I was just having a little fun.” She remembered the call might be recorded. “Okay, a lot of fun, with you, and it’s a wonder we remembered our clothes at all, sometimes!” She giggle-snorted, both to mimic being as daft as he was accusing her to be and because she had no intention of taking all of the blame.

She stopped laughing. All of the blame. She looked at the Hanged Man card on the top of the stack that the Sun card was leaning against. No, she thought, she’s taking none of the blame.

“Jesus Fucking Christ, you really are that stupid.” His turn to laugh, though there was a cold and cruel tone to it that reminded Lisa of the few times she had seen Aunt Helen smile. “Okay, listen. There’s a way out of this mess, but it means we’re both going to have a rough time of it for a while. But once we’re out of it, you’ll be able to walk away very comfortably.”

“What I need you to do, Lisa, is when you get served with papers, to ask, no, demand to make an agreement with the insurance lawyers instead of going to court. You sign that you left your clothes and stuff in the stockroom, the insurance lawyers mark the fire as employee negligence, and in about six months, you start your life over again. Everything is already set up. You just have to sign when they bring the papers. Can you do that for me, baby? It will help us start over, much better than before.”

Ricardo spoke as if the papers were already signed and filed. But Lisa heard the lies underneath the command. She knew, hell, the entire town probably already knew, that they had been fucking in the stockroom on the regular. But even if she had a suitcase of clean clothes in there (again), that was not enough for the insurance company to deny the claim. The papers he wanted her to sign must admit to more guilt and improper action than just knockoff designer polyester panties labeled as 100% pure silk.

“But, Ricky, what’s so stupid about leaving my clothes behind? I mean, you even kept the panties sometimes.” Lisa stared at the Sun card and wished she had something stronger to lean on for support and guidance. Right now, she was just waiting for a revelation to make this all make sense.

Ricardo laughed that low and cruel laugh again. “I know who you’re related to. If you ta… er… acknowledge your part in this, then she’ll make sure that it won’t stick to you in the long run and my family can walk away clean. If you don’t, then our people will let her know just how dirty and filthy you can be, you have been, and you are. Don’t make this hard on yourself, Lisa. The courier will be there tomorrow morning, you sign, there’s a little noise, and then this all goes away. I just need to hear from you that you understand not only what to do, but your part in it.”

And there’s the hook, Lisa understood. It was clear to her that he was asking her to take the fall for everything else that the investigators found in the remnants of the stockroom. Which, from what the chatroom gossip implied, was not only what was poured around to make sure everything burned, but some other items that Ricardo’s dad was stashing in the stockroom that most certainly should not have been there. Or anywhere near a restaurant, for that matter.

Lisa realized that the best possible outcome was the revelation of her sexual indiscretions with Ricardo to Jean and Aunt Helen, which had already happened. The worst possible outcome would be to assign herself the position of token sacrifice and be betrayed for the benefit of another. In other words, to make herself the physical representation of the Hanged Man.

She started laughing. Now that she saw through Ricardo’s bullshit, it was all humorous as hell. That her underwear was being viewed as a highly suspicious item by everyone involved was humorous as hell. That he was trying to blackmail her was humorous as hell. Her realization that he couldn’t do a damn thing to her without her explicit permission was the most humorous thing of all.

“No.”

Lisa felt something break within her psyche. Not to her detriment, but as a release. As if something had been chained up in the depths of her being and that something just flexed and released itself merely by moving. She felt giddy and buoyant, as if at any moment, she could float to the ceiling and stay there.

“I’m sorry, baby… What?” Ricardo’s confident gloating also broke. Lisa could hear the edge of his anger returning.

Let him get mad. Let him stay mad. She was free of him.

“I said, no. No, I will not be signing any papers. And no, I will not be accepting any responsibility for whatever the hell your father had in the stock room. And no, I don’t really give a flying shit who you tell in this town that we’ve been fucking, because do you know how many pity fucks I’m going to get from all the guys who are able to prove that they have better skill and technique than you? It’s going to be a fun time for me!” Lisa’s laughter drowned out the raging tones of Ricardo’s immediate rebuttal.

“NOW LOOK YOU FUCKING WHORE! YOU ARE GOING TO FOLLOW ORDERS FOR ONE GOD DAMN TIME IN YOUR LIFE!”

Lisa laughed again. “No. Goodbye.” As he began a fresh round of expletives, she hung up on him and immediately blocked his number. She thought about sending a message to Jean, but decided that being quiet was best for both of them right now.

She took the Hanged Man card and propped it up next to the Sun card. “I am everything he accused me of, but at the same time, I’m free because I’m everything he accused me of. I’m neither, nor, and both. In between heaven and hell. But I still don’t know which way is up or which way is out.”

It wasn’t until she reached with wet hands to put the cards back in order that she realized she had been crying. Being straightforward about her intercourse with Ricardo should have given her a sense of relief. So why did she feel hurt, exposed, and even worse than she did when everyone was pretending it didn’t happen?

Lisa looked at the clock. The coffee house had opened an hour ago, but it would still be another two hours before she could expect to catch Rebecca there. She looked around. The apartment felt tight and restricting. If it wasn’t unusual for Rebecca to be there with her tarot cards out then it wouldn’t be unusual for her to be there with her tarot cards out. The only difference is that Lisa is studying and Rebecca is refusing to teach her.

Lisa began packing up her laptop and the tarot decks. Now that she was halfway through the cycle, she thought, it would be nice to start the next cycle in warm surroundings instead of waiting for the phone to ring with more drama. She thought about tucking the Sun card in her jacket pocket but saw that it was already a clear day. Best to avoid too much of a good thing.

Lisa settled on her opening question to Rebecca: If Rebecca knew what havoc the tarot cards were going to bring to Lisa’s life, what the hell made the card reader think that Lisa had the strength to make it through?

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