Making Perfect

I take half a packet of cigarettes to an empty room and close the door. I reach into my pocket and pull out a brand new deck of cards. I break the seal and strip the plastic from the box. I shed the advertisements and the jokers. I examine the edges, checking the quality of manufacture, feeling for smoothness. I give the deck three sharp shuffles, and put my still shod shoes on the table. I start to move the cards between my fingers, shooting them around my palm, flipping them over the joints, rolling them like water across my knuckles. I take my tendons and muscles through unfamiliar paths, gently at first, correcting and adjusting. I make minute changes that I feel rather than see. I refine touch, balance, tension and grip. Every now and then I spill them on the floor, and have to dig my nails underneath to lift them from the boards. This is where I’ll remain for the foreseeable future, with a move that needs mastering and a schedule that’s as empty as my head.