Authors note: Mysterious Marilyn, one of my favourite QAF characters, introduces this series and serves throughout as occasional Greek chorus. This prologue is not indicative of the rest of the series - it's just a lead in to provide context for the chapter names.

Prologue

As a devoted student of human nature, I often find myself people watching and perhaps eavesdropping a little from time to time. I didn't say it was a nice thing to do, you understand, merely that I'm fond of the activity. That little brunet a few stools down, for instance, he's very entertaining. Let's not forget his charming mother; she never fails to amuse...or to educate. What is today's T-shirt wisdom? Ah yes: Flies spread disease - keep yours zipped. So true.

"Ma...really...I'm done, and I have to get back to the store."

"Michael Charles Novotny, you finish everything on that plate. You're turning into a goddamn skeleton right in front of me. Now, I'm gonna pack up something for Ben and you make sure my gorgeous professor in-law eats it, and not the fuckin' bowl of granola he usually calls dinner."

That tone certainly discourages disagreement and I admire her vernacular. The dramatic Debbie is a delightful woman in every sense of the word - except perhaps, for the wig. It is a rather unfortunate shade of titian, although I've seen her in worse. She continues to mutter as she stomps off in search of sustenance for the absent Ben. "I swear, if I didn't make sure you ate, you'd fucking waste away to nothin'."

Now, I've seen her lad often around Liberty Avenue, even read for him once, and he isn't remotely skeletal. Actually, I believe he has a nice little tush on him, if memory serves. And it usually does where a fine behind is concerned. Not that I've had the pleasure myself - more's the pity. It's highly unlikely that anyone else has either since tall, dark and dreamy came on the scene. Before that he was pining for tall, dark and dysfunctional, but they seem to have sorted themselves out.

Look at him. The poor thing is clearly stuffed like a Christmas goose, but along with the takeout she's bringing him another platter full of ...good lord, what are those? Lemon squares? Well, let's hope they go straight to his ass. He should just refuse them, but I know his type - he won't.

Now there's a boy with mother issues. Sweet, to be sure, but definitely a Freudian's wet dream. Although, one must admit, there is something to be said for believing everything longer than it is wide is a phallic symbol.

I'm more of a Jungian, myself - hence my chosen profession. Not so much a profession really, as a calling. At least, that's how I think of it, though I'm not blind to the disparagement my vocation seems to inspire. Philistines! Well, in a group they might mock, but privately, many of them seek the guidance of the Tarot and I am its willing instrument - for a small fee, of course. A girl has to keep herself in mascara somehow.

As I said, I'm closer to a Jungian perspective, which among other things, means I believe we are all connected. That everything we ever were, or are, or could be, is sort of floating around in the ether and can be accessed at any time if only we would try.

Carl Jung presented the idea that all of humanity is linked together since the beginning of time in a vast collective consciousness. Has it been proved that memory moves forward as well as backward? Maybe. Waves of matter smaller that the atom are being discovered and mastered every day. Who's to say that emotions of love and hate are not a wave of energy yet to be discovered. If a concrete slab is vibrating at a molecular level, whose to say that emotions, thoughts, and actions are not vibrating somewhere in the past, which is the same place as the future. It was Albert Einstein who came close to proving that past, present, and future are all one; that we just choose to perceive time in a linear fashion.

So what does all this have to do with the Tarot, you ask? Each card is symbolic of an energy or spiritual truth, its relevance depending upon its position in the spread and of course, the perspective of the reader. Another way to look at it is to view them, particularly the 22 Major Arcana cards, as phases of life. Contrary to popular misconception, the Tarot doesn't exactly predict the future. What it does do, is point out probabilities based on past and current actions and beliefs. Think of it like a map. The tarot can tell you where you have been and, based on which route you are currently traveling - what little twists are coming and where you are likely to end up.

The whole point is to see where certain roads might take you, so that if you don't like the destination, you can change course. The cards can often tell you what part of your journey you are on, what lessons you are learning and what challenges are just ahead. As the wise Jonas Salk said so eloquently: Intuition will tell the thinking mind where to look next.

What - surprised? Just because I wear a dress and read what appear to be pretty playing cards for a living, I'm not an intellectual? It's not as though I'm blonde you know - well not this month, anyway.

Speaking of blonds, here comes a favorite of mine who does not fit the stereotype - although I'm willing to bet he has more fun. He's a perky little thing and I admire his spirit. I admire his ass too, but I'm not his type. Neither is brown eyes down the counter from me if their reaction to one another is any indication. That one's grabbed his take out container and is out the door faster than you can say fuck off. Which they just did, albeit in a non-verbal fashion. Boys, boys - can't we all just get along? Apparently not.

"Sunshine!" Well it would appear that his surrogate mother is happy to see him. "Christ, you look terrible. Let me get you something to eat." Ah yes, food - the cure all. In Debbie's world there's nothing that a little grease and fat won't fix, and I'm not entirely sure she's wrong. She's certainly correct in her estimation of little Sunshine's appearance; it looks as though there's been an eclipse.

"When the hell are you and Michael gonna behave like grown ups?"

"Deb, please. I'm begging you not to go there - not today, I just can't deal."

She makes a closer inspection and takes him at his word. "Ok sweetie. Whatever you say. Just promise me you'll eat a little something, hmm?"

"How about the special - to go please."

"Comin' right up." He looks relieved that she's getting his food with no further comment.

I surreptitiously make further observation, since he must look worse than I thought if he could dampen Debbie's garrulous disposition. Tsk tsk...oh dear. Debbie's concern is well placed I see. The poor boy fairly exudes melancholy and confusion. One doesn't have to be psychic to guess why, unless one isn't privy to the Liberty Avenue grapevine. Those two beautiful boys are determined to give themselves a difficult time, it would appear. Well, some things have to come the hard way in order that we value them sufficiently. Still, I worry for the sad young blond. Maybe I'll just...it couldn't hurt...I won't say anything, but it might ease my mind to know...

I pull a card and...hmm, well...this is interesting.