The Sap

on the reference of a friend who used to be close, s/he asks the cartomancer to come to the house--- as this is not a privilege often granted to those whose cards are to be read (so the “reader” claims), extra funds are required to lure her in & the sap in question feels that the frustrations of his/her life have led them to this place of concentrated desperation & loneliness, are grounds enough to shell out the moola, to roll out the red carpet if necessary, in order to provide the best atmosphere for the “reader,” whose life has been based on “interpreting the tarot.” offering the tea of her choice & brewing it whilst they both sit down, the woman’s stereotypical garb woos the sap into thinking that this woman has some kind of ancient presence & the power of the mythical washes over the sap like a gentle breeze tickling the back of her/his neck on a chilly October afternoon. after the tea is poured, the cards have been chosen, the “reader” does not break eye contact, proceeding to tell the sap a tale that could be weaved (and quite probably has been) for anyone who asks the reader to come to their house, who seems so distraught & alone, who evidently has come to a major turning point in her life, weighs upon every word that the “reader” spits at them. dewy eyed with brand new hope, more horrible than the loneliness that led them to this charlatan, the sap sees her to the door, constantly thanking her for the things that s/he heard which s/he liked, like a mouse sticking its head into the trap right before it sets it off, licking its lips & thinking that it found the peanut butter all on its own & oh how lucky it is to have this feast lie before it.