Brent: The Heart Reader
Brent: The Heart Reader
MY FRONT room has 122 hardwood planks that makeup the floor. It's an exact count. Precise. Some planks in the collection have ripples, and all have the patina of wood that's a hundred years old.
Dining room's next. It was yesterday, and I was more than halfway through the inventory of floor planks there when the phone rang. Dratz.
It had been a difficult count because of the interruptions. I should have marked the planks that I'd counted to help me stay on target. The living room had taken a week and a half, and the dining room was going to be as big a problem. Why do I need this information? Who the heck knows.
The call was for a tarot reading, and they were happy to do everything by phone. It was my only business yesterday, and I was happy to get the work. She wanted to know about somebody her daughter was dating.
First came the Five of Pentacles crossed by the Four of Pentacles. Ick.
"Get a prenup," I told her.
"He seems so lovely," she said.
Then why the Sam Hill did you friggin' call me, lady? I thought to myself.
"Yes ma'am," I said into the phone, trying to make it sound like I was smiling pleasantly.
Yeouch. Can I file for Workman's Compensation when I bite my tongue? I thought.
"What do you see?" she asked me with a kind of British accent. I don't think it was an upperclass accent, more like something you'd find from a blue collar woman. I don't even know if British workers have blue collars. Maybe I'll be curious enough to look that up some day. Not.
"The cards say there's something about treasure," I told her. "There's struggle combined with not sharing. It says stinginess is some kind of issue in there."
"Well, you've been right before," she said grimly.
Keep that in mind, lady.
"It certainly puts me into a pickle jar," she added. Ick. I can already smell the vinegar.
A few bucks that day from a phone call. That was it, and the credit card company was going to get its greedy claws into most of my profit. What's most tragic is that the call made me lose track of my count on the floor. I was in danger of not knowing how many planks were in my dining room. I started the count again.
I counted planks on the floor of the dining room because there was no tarot business, and that was how it was at Brent Tarot yesterday.
Last week I played hide-and-seek with a squirrel in the front yard. Freakin' squirrel knew he was faster than me and taunted me forever. Squirrels laugh and bark, you know. He didn't take our hide-and-seek as seriously as I thought he should. Bloomin' squirrel.
"Click, click," the squirrel barked. I think that means neener-neener in squirrel'eze. Lame street squirrel: no proper squirrel would click like that.
"Don't shake that tail at me," I warned him.
"Click, click," the squirrel repeated.
Some days I can do all sorts of things as I wonder how I'm going to pay the rent and keep the lights on. Those days are nothing but dust on my tarot cards.
Oh, for the quiet - that was then. Today's like a bunch of drunken gnomes who congregated and brought out stacks of boxes and bags, each with a lifetime supply of wrinkly torment and sleazy mischief. Hey, Louie, let's go to Brent's place... They went down to the U-Store-It and retrieved a bunch of dusty shenanigans they hadn't used in years, and they mushed it at my face like a mudpie. And then they got on the gnome-phone to summon all of their astral agitators and troublemakers to come invent whole new ways to keep me at a motocross pace. My tarot readings were on a double black diamond pathway