Everybody loves a choice when the choices fit the page, A or B, left or right, pick a door and act your age. Stay or leave, yes or no, take the road they put in view— Says who? Oh. There you are. I knew there had to be one of you. Where is my JØKER? JØ—KER— And NO, not Prince, no horse, no castle, no dramatic rescue scene, no excellent hair arriving right on cue to tell me what it means. I don’t need somebody riding in to save me from the plot, I need the odd little option everybody else forgot. There. Exactly. Give me the card nobody thought to put down on the table, the crooked little maybe hiding underneath the label, because everybody gets so serious when choices start to shrink— take the job, take the road, play the hand, don’t overthink. Choose—choose—choose— And I can choose, that’s not the problem, I just want to know who counted every possibility and said, “That’s all. Now go.” Because maybe there’s a sideways one, a route behind the route, a door that looks suspiciously like wall until you check it out. Not listed. Perfect. JØ—KER. Maybe it’s a person, maybe one ridiculous idea, maybe one wrong turn that somehow makes the whole direction clearer, maybe somebody asks the question everybody skipped before, maybe something doesn’t work— and that’s exactly where you find the door. Again? Beautifully. Because I don’t need the answer wrapped and waiting with a bow, sometimes all I need is one more place the question gets to go. An answer says, “We’re finished.” A JØKER tilts the frame, moves one little piece aside— and now we’re playing a different game. Different— different— Same table. Same cards. One possibility nobody named. Maybe I kept asking where my JØKER was because I thought somebody had to bring the missing thing that couldn’t yet be bought, slide it neatly toward me, wink dramatically, save the day— Excellent hair? Still no prince. Please put the horse away. Because maybe the strangest thing about the deck was never what I drew, maybe nobody ever said the deck was finished when they handed it to you. Maybe there’s another card, another angle, another way, something without a name because nobody needed it yesterday. And if there isn’t? Make room. A can stay A and B can stay B, I’m not burning down the game, rules can keep their little chairs, the table gets to stay the same. I’m only asking who drew the edge and called the counting done, who looked into the empty space and decided there was none. So where is your JØKER? Funny you should ask— I stopped waiting for somebody else to deal one from the stack, because I looked down at my hand and found a card that stared right back. Nothing printed. Nothing promised. Nothing telling me how hard— That’s dangerous. No. That’s useful. I’ve got a blank card.
