In the last months of high school, I learned tarot with my best friend beneath the new spring sun. The key to tarot is cycles; each suit contains a patchwork of highs, lows, and hesitations. Her favorite card is the High Priestess—a powerfully intuitive woman draped in blue, ruled by the Moon—while I love the Sun and its emblazoned sunflowers, dancing baby, and new beginnings. Card by card, the summer unfolded in front of us.
Seeing the future did not stop it, and it’s been a year since we’ve last drawn out our fate together. Instead, I offered my services to a stranger I met on a convoluted campus tour in August. He drew nothing but cups, ruled by emotional and insightful water energy, and now we get dinner every Wednesday. I read cards for my suitemates, knowing little more than their names, and watched their personalities emerge in swirls of blues and greens. Now, I puzzle why my suitemate pulls the High Priestess again and again. I ask strangers turned friends if the Fool sounds right, if they too have taken a leap of faith armed with hope alone. I buy cards for a new friend to teach them to read, to carry the Sun with me.