(task 001.) - upright&reversed
Knight of Swords rx: restless, unfocused, impulsive
An August dawn had blanketed the town of Lucrece in a fog, the cool air of the morning combining with the warmth of the earth and bayou. Dominick had been awake for hours, unable to sleep. In times such as those, he found himself walking the lengths of the property, running his fingers along flowers to see them open up and turn to him. Even that bored him, and as the sun began to show its lovely face, he found his way back to his little home tucked away in his garden, to have a morning cup of tea. It was a Sunday, the last Sunday before the beginning of the semester, and he thought he ought to cherish it.
The dogwood that obscured most of his house from a distance seemed to glow in the morning rays, a dazzling display of whites, greens, and pinks. It felt natural to sit and inhale its aroma, and let its energy work its roots into him. Nearly 5,000 miles from his childhood home, the tree was the closest thing he had to it, a near twin of the one in Hastings. His head against the wooden trunk, he took slow sips of black tea. Closing his eyes, he could almost feel the English grass and soft wind, hear the twinkling of his mother’s piano. All that was overtaken by his father’s scowling face and a disappearing license plate, the smell of smoke and gravel filling Dom’s lungs and forcing him to open his eyes.
His tea had quickly disappeared with just the saturated leaves left. Studying them for a second, all he could see were his father’s eyes, then his mother’s hands. He decided, his Sunday morning would not be a happy one, his subconscious had decided to ruminate on a day burned deeply into the folds of his brain, the day he was disowned.
That day, a Sunday too, was plagued by rain. That day, he had informed his parents of his engagement to Virginia only to be met with anger, yelling, slamming doors, and ultimatums. He recalled his mother weeping and his father swearing at him. Truly, their response had been his fault, and he knew that. They’d told him before that his wife-to-be was no good, that she was evil and manipulative, among other things. They had seen the writing on the wall, Virginia’s desire to isolate him entirely from his own blood. But Dominick had been young and rash, certain that the woman they called demoness was his soulmate, his twin flame, and everything in between. He didn’t believe his father when he told him that he had to make a choice between his family and Virginia. After all, he had been the favorite child, the crutch his valetudinarian of a mother relied upon. But Leon had been telling the truth, and intended to fulfill it.
Leon’s last sentence to his first born son was simply, “Ich hoffe, du bist mit deiner Entscheidung zufrieden.” I hope you’re happy with your decision. He did not hug Dominick or shed a tear, merely led his weeping wife to their car. What Dominick remembered most was the last parting glance the two had from the rearview window. His father’s eyes were filled with an emotion he didn’t learn until many years later - grief.
But Dominick had seen his parents since his estrangement, unbeknownst to them and his wife. Five years later, when he and Virginia were living in West Berlin and he had become prone to late night walks, he heard a familiar song twinkling out of a slightly-out of tune piano, and a sweet French voice following it. It was his mother’s, and he could see her through a large lit window across the street. She appeared as if she had aged a decade, her hair now completely white, her hands shaking. Dominick could see his father just beyond her, slumped over in an upholstered armchair, seemingly asleep. He considered knocking on his parents’ door and begging for forgiveness, begging for them to take him back, but Leon’s eyes were burned into the back of Dominick’s skull, he would never be brought back into the fold. He stood silently for a moment longer, savoring the image and the sound of his mother’s voice, before retreating back into the night as thick raindrops began to fall.