The Card Spinner

He lives in a cave. Now. Always has. The cave is not hidden nor does it beckon. It is just there. So is a deck of cards. Standard set—52 aces, twos, queens, threes, jacks, fours, kings and the rest of the lot. This is his deck.  Casting no shadows, he nor the cards, they are there, in a cave, backlit always. Spades, spin, hearts, spin, clubs, spin, diamonds, and the man, spinning. 

I am a ten year old boy. A curious fellow, they say, with a lazy left eye and a love of words and numbers and sports.  Sometimes my glasses are broken. I wander, I wonder. Tonight I leave my bedroom, walk passed my family, walk certainly to a backlit cave to meet him, to be shuffled. to be dealt. to be spun. 

The Card Spinner visits all children between between their tenth and eleventh year. He whispers in shallow dreams to

come to a backlit cave where he will spin the card and fate will be. “Come learn what fate is, what your fate is, come tonight. You will know the way, just walk, with your feet, to the backlight.” 

At the entrance of the backlit cave I stop, stand still, look forward, blink blink blink — the card, my card, he, my fate, the spinner, the spun, the diamond, the club, the heart, the spade, hang, spin, sputter, spun—

I am back in my bed. My head melted into a damp pillow. I am asleep. and I know I know I know I know I know I know I know when, where, what, why I am

done—