I’m writing erotic bits and pieces in Scrivener about some of boys in my life when I suddenly thought of the time a friend and I visited a Tarot card reader.
This was in the 1960’s, the time of ‘free love’, and one of my current boyfriends took me to a Tarot card reader. He was expecting her to say how much I loved him. I know this because I asked him why we were going there.
The Tarot card reader, rotund and smelly, sat at dimly lit table at the back of a restaurant in New Westminster. We sat down and my friend said he’d like to know her (meaning me) future. I told him I could speak for myself, and asked the old woman to tell me if my love life included him. She asked for the $5.00 and my friend paid her.
She passed me the cards and asked me to shuffle them, which I did. She then created a pattern on the table of the top cards. She looked at them a while, then looked up at me and said “You hate men.”
My friend and I made fun of her decision and left. Now, many years later as I reflect upon my life and write about it, I know she hit the nail on the head. I loved men, but I hated them at the same time. Love and hate, what strong passions they are.