My brother gave me my first deck of tarot cards.
We hadn’t spoken a lot since he had been kicked out of home. Truthfully, we hadn’t spoken a lot before that either. There was a wedge between us, even then. Looking at us, you wouldn’t be able to see it, but we felt it. It was a physical presence in our lives. I’m not sure it we put it there to keep us safe, or if my parents placed it between us for our safety.
I was still living at home. My brother had been kicked out for stealing, or getting into a fight, or mouthing off. My brother was a rebel, and I don’t think he knew how much I looked up to him. He’s my older brother by fifteen minutes. I joke about how my order was fucked up and I ended up with him, as if having him in my life is some kind of mistake.
The truth that I’ve been coming to terms with lately is that I didn’t talk to my brother often enough in the end. We existed in two different worlds. We had our own language growing up, but now, we don’t even speak to each other. The irony isn’t lost on me.
I don’t know what he did to end up in the shelter, but at least he was staying somewhere this time. Normally, he just disappeared, and I didn’t hear from him. It felt like a piece of me was missing. He would come back eventually, he always did. It was those times that I was left on my own that I was most afraid. My brother had a way of looking at life that I admired. He didn’t say much, but he didn’t need to.
To me, it looked like my brother was free.
I know that this isn’t completely true. He was free spirited, but there were secrets he carried, too. We may have had an ocean of unspoken words that swam between us, but he had grown up in the same house I did. I went within and Robert would explode outwards, his actions and interests his way of escaping and speaking without words.
I remember phone call. My father and stepmother had been out. Robert knew when they would be at work. I remember his voice on the phone and it sounded like him, but calmer. Hearing his voice was like a breath of fresh air in the cloud filled world which I lived in. His voice parted the smoke and fog that surrounded me. If I remained in the fog, I wouldn’t be seen. Hearing Robert’s voice made me want to be seen again.
“Come on over and see me,” he said. I remember this part, but not how I found the shelter or if I looked up the address first. I don’t remember how I got there, but I do know that I went to find him. I remember the blue drawer, the darkness within the room punctuated by a single light.
I remember Robert gathering the tarot cards off the floor. I don’t even remember if this is true, or if he had the cards gathered in his hand. I remember seeing flashes of colour and the hieroglyphics that covered the card backs.
“Someone gave these to me,” he said. “I think they’re meant for you, Jamie.”
I remember taking the cards and the book that was falling apart. They had been loved, these cards, whether by him or someone else. I wasn’t sure how he had come by them, but I knew that I was more than intrigued. I didn’t have the words to describe what I was seeing yet. Those words would come eventually, but for now there were the pictures.
Robert had given me a copy of The Ancient Egyptian Tarot by Clive Barrett. Robert had been the one to find the first Ankh that I wore. I wore an ankh all the time as a teenager, and he knew how much I loved anything Egyptian. I remember flipping through the cards, wondering what kind of interactive book this was to come with a set of cards.
I remember taking the book out and reading it on the bus back home. I would take the cards out again when I was alone, but for now, I read what I learned was the guidebook and let Clive tell me a story. I thought what it must be like living in a shelter or on the streets. It seemed a tough way of living, but Robert was free in a way.
I had no idea that a few years later, I would learn what that was like firsthand.
Spirit of the Wolf 