Tag: Conflict

Chapter Fifty-Three – 5 of Swords

by Jamieson Wolf, posted in A Tarot Guide, Memoir, Someone Else’s Life, Tarot, Tarot Writing

I was so angry.

I was also surprised at the thoughts that were going through my head. Every memory of Francis was now tainted and dulled in my head because of what he had done. The fact that he had talked to everyone but me saddened me; the fact that he wouldn’t let me talk to him at all, that he wouldn’t talk to me at all, infuriated me.

I had been sad for days, but gradually, the sadness passed into anger. The water that had surrounded me slowly evaporated as the anger took over. There was a storm in my mind filled with hot shadows made from my fears come to life. Every time I closed my eyes, I could see Francis and his form wavered as if I were seeing him through the film of heat from a fire.

As much as I loved him, I was so angry. I couldn’t bring myself to hate him, for who could hate their first true love? Lisa had told me it was okay to hate someone, but I took offense to that. My love for Francis still ran so deeply in me. I couldn’t stop the flow of my thoughts and emotions, even if there had been a dam put in place in front of the emotions. I had used my mind to place a barrier around my heart and the memories that I had of Francis. I made sure that the metal barrier in my mind was sharp and pointy so that it would hurt every time I tried to look at the time I had spent with him. It was easier for me to go keep my head up afterward and didn’t hurt so much to go on without Francis.

And yet, I would find myself taking out those memories and looking at them, even though I knew that I was hurting myself each time I plucked a memory from that metal box. I would try to look at the memories through a thin red haze. I knew that it was hurting me to keep looking in, but I wanted to see what I had done wrong. When did he stop loving me? I was so lost within myself that even though I kept going, I was stuck. I said this much to Lisa one night.

She’d brought home a rare treat. She pulled open her pack of cigarettes and presented me with a rolled joint. “You look like you really need to loosen up.”

“Why, I’m not uptight.”

“You are so fucking controlled, Jamieson. When was the last time you did something for fun? And you’ve been mired in the dark forest; I don’t mind telling you that. Francis isn’t everything, Jamieson. You need to stop beating yourself up and thinking of him that way. You’re everything.”

Lighting the joint, Lisa took a few puffs and passed it to me. I gladly took in a few puffs of smoke, hopeful that it would at least lessen the pain that I was in and soften the edges of the steel knives. I passed the joint back to her, and she took a few more puffs of her own. Soon, the joint half gone, we were both giggling like school children. My face hurt from laughing, having been kept in a frown for so long. 

The moment made me realize how long I had been hurting myself. I shook my head and looked at Lisa, her eyes large with mirth. “He really was a dickhead.” I couldn’t bring myself to call him an asshole like Lisa did on a regular basis since he had broken up with me. Dickhead was as far as I was willing to go. I still loved him. It hurt to admit this to myself, but I knew that my love for him would take a while to fade.

Letting out a laugh, Lisa said “Well, he does like dick, so it’s an appropriate nickname! I’ll call him that next time I see him.”

I didn’t think anything of it until a few days later. My pager went off, and I saw Francis’ number flash on the screen. My whole world seemed to pause and go still. I couldn’t hear the sounds of Lisa in the next room, or the sounds of traffic from the freeway near by. I stared at the number and wondered if I wanted to talk to him or hear anything that he had to say.

I was still wondering this as I walked out the door, lit a cigarette, and found myself at the payphone across the street. I put a quarter in and dialed his number and when the phone clicked and he said hello, the sound returned to the world around me. His voice could make me believe in any kind of possibility and I wondered which one I would find here.

“Hello, Francis?” I said.

“Hello,” I was surprised to hear the coldness in his voice. “Don’t you mean dickhead?” he asked. “That’s what you’ve been calling me.”

The volume of the noise around me went even louder. Francis’ words seemed too loud and his words felt like a slap. “I mean, I could have called you worse things. You’re lucky that it was just dickhead.”

“That’s what I am to you? I loved you, Jamieson. You don’t talk about people you love like that.”

“You do when they are being mean. You hurt me, Francis.” Even saying his name hurt me and I felt the pain in my chest, the swords clanking together. “I have a right to be upset after you did what you did.”

“I set you free, Jamieson.” I heard the click of a lighter and Francis took in a breath of smoke. “You should be thanking me. I’m not a dickhead.”

Louder than any other sound was the loud beating of my heart. I could hear it in my ears and the noise of it seemed to fill my mind completely. I thought of every other man I had been with, and I didn’t use my voice. My heart wanted me to know that I had one. I closed my eyes and watched as I took hold of one of the swords that surrounded my heart. In my minds eye, I held it out towards Francis.

Letting my eyes slide open, I took in my own breath of smoke. “You’re right, Francis. You’re not a dickhead. I believe that asshole fits you a lot better. You don’t get to break my heart and then tell me how I feel. This is on you.”

I hung up the phone before he could start talking again because I realized that what he said no longer mattered. I could grieve now, finally seeing Francis for what he was. It seemed that he had given me a gift in the end, the clarity that can only come from pain.

I held on to the sword like a dowsing rod and let it lead me back home.

Chapter Twenty-Eight – 7 of Wands

by Jamieson Wolf, posted in A Tarot Guide, Finding Balance, Memoir

I was overjoyed to get a phone in my room.

It felt like such an adult thing to have such a thing. A phone was an item from my past and

I was finally able to stay in touch with those I loved and even a few friends. Not that many people had my telephone number and felt special. I didn’t have a lot of money and would not use the phone very much except for local calls. That’s why it was odd to find it ringing when I got home from the garage. I had made myself a bowl of pasta in the kitchen of the rooming house and was having dinner while I read a book. The phone ringing was like a siren and my fork clattered to the desk.

A part of me didn’t want to answer it, but I ignored that part of me and picked up the receiver, the ring of the telephone loud in my room. “Hello?”

“So it is your number.” Shades said. His voice was dark and full of honey, the kind that could clog your throat and make it hard to breathe. “I wasn’t sure that Sunshine was pulling my leg or not when he gave me your number.”

It had been so long since I had heard his voice. I had come to know it well during our time together and I knew that this was his angry voice. It was how he liked to start most conversations. He had always been angry about something or angry at someone. I saw that with the gift of hindsight, but when I first knew him, I thought Shades being moody was just his way of being misunderstood. I was attracted to these parts of him that he was brave enough to share under the cover of night. I realized that I had been something to be kept hidden and kept from the prying eyes of others.

I knew that he had been ashamed of me. At that moment, I was ashamed of myself because when I heard his voice, my body reacted automatically. Even though my mind and body knew that Shades was bad for me, they still wanted him. I still wanted him.

“I need to see you,” he said. “I don’t know what you did to me. I was never fucking gay before you but now I can’t get you out of my head.”

The words came out in an angry torrent, and I felt each one of them pierce my skin. I wondered how much a person could bleed before they had given away all that they were to the needs of someone else. He had already taken so much from me, aside from the parts of myself that I had willingly given him.

“I didn’t make you gay.” I told him.

“Then what did you do?” I could hear the desperation in his voice, and it echoed my own when I realized that I was gay and prayed for someone, anyone to take it away. “You only think of yourself, that’s always been the way you do thing. You just took from me.”

“I didn’t take anything from you.”

“You took my manhood. You made me gay when you put it in your mouth.”

I let out a laugh. “It doesn’t work that way. It’s not like you can catch being gay like you can catch the flu.”

“Then what did you do to me?” He asked again. “I need to see you. Will you come to see me, please?”

I nodded even though he couldn’t see me doing it. “Sure, I’ll come see you. How do I get there and what’s the address?”

He told me and I told him that I would be there in about an hour. I sat in my room and thought only for a moment of what I wanted to do and wondering if I could do it. I knew that it would make him angry, but I just didn’t care anymore. I sat there at the desk and looked at myself in the mirror that looked back at me like an eye. I went to my purple bag and took out all of my make up and set it on the table in front of me.

I pushed my bowl of pasta aside and began applying my makeup. I started with a light powder to cover my skin and then eyeshadow. I chose a light purple colour, an almost lilac colour that made my eyes brighter. I applied a little bit of blush in a natural tone and a lipstick in a soft rose petal colour. All very neutral but I was clearly wearing make up.

With every strike of the brush against my skin, it felt like I was putting on war paint. I knew that by going to see him, I had put the ball in his court. I had to take my power back from him. I knew that this had to be done, even if it meant going to him. By the time I was made up completely, I was ready for the battle ahead of me. As I waited for the bus, I said mantra’s over and over in my head and tried to recall what I had learned from reading Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. As I got on the bus and it began to bring me closer to where he waited, I thought of the bus as a chariot heading into war and wondered if I would be victorious.

In truth, I was afraid. I didn’t know how he would react, and I had seen him rage before. He had made me hide inside a closet rather than be seen with me. At the time, I had thought it was because he wasn’t out of the closet yet. Later, after I had left him, I wondered if it was because he was ashamed of the feelings I brought out in him, so I had to be hidden.

I would not hide now.

He would not make me cower because of who I was and what I was. The makeup drew looks from my fellow bus passengers, but I thought “Let them look.” That was the point anyways. I didn’t want to hide anymore so that I could make Shades feel better about his shame. I had to stand up for myself once and for all with him and let him know that he could not intimidate me anymore.

He was waiting for me when the bus came. I got off the bus and could already see a storm brewing around him. Part of me wondered why this was so important to me and what I had to prove, but in that moment when I saw the anger in his eyes when he looked at me, I knew that this was important to me. Shades didn’t matter one iota to me. I would not hide myself so that he could feel comfortable with who and what he was.

“Do you have to look like such a faggot?”

I could see the air around him and it looked as if it had been supercharged with the energy he was putting out. I could smell the booze emanating from him and knowing how alcohol affected people, I knew to be wary and on my guard. Confronting him was about giving myself closure, but that didn’t mean I had to endanger myself.

“I’m not exactly sure what you mean, Shades.” I told him. “How exactly is a faggot supposed to look?”

He waved his hands at me. “Like this! Like you do!”

“I’m not sorry if the very sight of me offends you.”

“It’s not that! Do you have to be so fucking gay all the time?”

“It’s not like I can turn it off, you know.” I said. “It’s not like there’s a gay switch that I can flick on and off to blend better with society.”

“You could at least try!” He was yelling now. “Then we could be together.”

I looked at him, at this man I used to be so enraptured with, and I wondered why he had held so much power over me. I thought of Rainbow and how he had treated her, how he had treated both of us and the way we thought we were lucky to have drawn his gaze to ourselves. We felt like we had been blessed to have him in our lives. I would have done anything for Shades, and I think he knew that, too.

That stopped now.

I was not someone to be ashamed of or shoved into a box or a closet to remain hidden until you were ready for me. “I’m not going to be the reason that you’re pissed off. You’re angry at me because I’m braver than you are because I can live as I truly am.”

“Just come inside and we can talk about this, about what you’ve done to me and what you plan to do about it.”

That sounded less like an invitation and more like a threat. I was done being threatened and I was done hiding. I looked at Shades and finally saw him for what he was. When that happened, I realized he had no power over me.

I could see another bus coming and I turned my back on Shades and walked towards the bus stop. It didn’t matter what bus it was, only that it would take me away from him and back to the life which I was trying to live where he had no place in it.

“Where are you going?”

When I turned back to him, it was to find him looking at me with eyes so filled with fear. I knew what it was like to be afraid, and I hoped that Shades would find a way through it towards self acceptance. I knew that it wasn’t my place to take on someone else’s fears and try to make sense of them. I had enough to deal with on my own.

I turned away from him and when the bus door opened, I got on and let the doors close behind me. As I made my way to a seat, I could see Shades looking after the bus for a moment and then he was gone from my sight and my life.

Chapter Twenty-Six – The 5 of Wands

by Jamieson Wolf, posted in A Tarot Guide, Finding Balance

Fox brought me to talk to one of the women at the YSB.

Her name was Vicki, and she had a riot of blond curls. “We’d like to offer you a job. You’d be working at one of the city yards. You’d be cleaning up the garage. You’d work 8am to 4pm. Would that be all right?”

“My goodness of course.” I told her. In truth, the endless days of doing nothing except hanging out with Sunshine and my family on the streets or with Lisa and her friends was wearing me down. I wanted something to do, something that would make me feel like I was making a difference in the world, however small.

Fox came with me for the first time. He was one of the people that helped to find patrons of the Youth Services Bureau that wanted to work. The YSB had funds to pay workers and though the responsibilities were rudimentary like cleaning or picking up garbage, they paid a fair wage that didn’t affect the money you got from welfare if you were receiving a check each month. I didn’t care that I was cleaning a city yard. I was just happy to be doing something with my time.

When we arrived at the city yard, Fox introduced me to everyone that worked there and the other guys I would be working with. I would be only one cleaning up the garage and three others would be going out in trucks to help pick up the garbage and trash that they found in the streets. I didn’t mind at all; I loved to clean. If the other guys wanted to pick up the garbage, I was happy to clean the garage.  Cleaning had always brought me a kind of joy, like finding brightness that before had been only shadows.

The guy that ran the city yard gave me a vest to wear and a bucket of cleaning supplies. He explained my job. I wouldn’t be cleaning the actual garage, that was full of smoke and dust no matter what you did. Instead, I would clean the locker rooms from top to bottom, the kitchen, washrooms and empty lockers. If I was able to, I would clean the windows for the garage. Basically, I would clean every surface I could touch.

He showed me where the vacuum was along with the buckets and cleaning materials. I thanked him. I was shy around him, being that he was an authority figure. I didn’t need to worry though, he was pretty much an open book. Frank had a bright open face and longish brown hair that hung down to his shoulders. “We’re so happy to have you cleaning for us, Jamie. It’s hard to clean. I mean, I’m on medication. It affects my balance, you know? I used to do all the cleaning, but I feel last month, and I have to be careful. I can still drive thank goodness for that. Do you take antidepressants?”

“No,” I said. “But I do deal with depression.”

“You gotta get yourself balanced, Jamie. No one is going to do it for you. I used to think that antidepressants were the devil, but now I know that Prozac is my friend. It keeps the voices away, you know?”

I knew all about voices. I could hear my muses talking all the time, telling me stories they wanted me to write down, different poems that they wanted me to write, snippets of text or poetry that they wanted me to remember. I nodded to show Frank that I understood him.

“Sometimes, it just gets to be too much, you know? I don’t know how many milligrams I’m on; I just take what my doctor gives me, but gosh I’m so much happier. You can’t always fight against yourself. There’s no shame, you know?”

I wonder what he saw in me to make him open up to me this way, but I felt an immediate kinship with Frank. He had been misunderstood, too. “Sure,” I said. “Sure thing.”

“That’s the ticket. Let me show you who you’re going to be working with. This here is Gus. He’s a grumpy sun of a gun, but he means you no harm if you get used to him. Bars worse than his bite if you get my meaning.”

“Sure,” I knew plenty of people like that, even those whose bark matched the sound of their bite. My hackles went up a little bit and I reminded myself to be respectful.

Gus was a well-rounded man with a mop of white hair and a large mustache. He was smoking a cigarette, and it dangled from his lip. He gave me a once over. His eyes stopped at the sparkly nail polish that decorated my fingers. “What’s that about?” Gus said, pointing at my nails.

“Just something of a prank, sir.” I said, trusting my initial instinct to hide myself as much as I could while being so far out in the open. “Roommates of mine painted my nails while I was asleep.”

He blinked at me in surprise, either shocked by the lie or believing me, I wasn’t sure. He took another drag of his cigarette and stubbed it out. “Well, you may be a faggot, but you’ll do.”