Overture
Peel the wide double doors agape
Slowly
Yield to it
Denial is futile
For its gravity is certain
It eases in
Like a clear creek rushing
On dust-caked feet
The midsummer breeze kissing
Your trickling beads of sweat
Or bullfrogs singing
After a rainy evening
Fireflies in thick fog flickering
And the silver thread of moon
Glowing softly
On sky of raven ebony
I spent weeks concentrating on writing and I had come up with a few more poems that I figured would go well into my next collection. The only breaks I had were a few visits from Marilyn, cleaning day, market day, and occasional messages from Adam as we e-mailed poems to each other and expressed our thoughts on them. I found him to be a most unlikely friend, since we had barely begun to know each other and technically he was just an acquaintance, but at the same time it didn't feel wrong to call him "friend" even when it seemed premature. I delighted in the fact that it's such a rare thing to meet someone you instantly connect with and I managed to do that in this tiny corner of the world, where I'm supposedly running away from everything and everyone.
Two weeks after we sold the oranges, Marilyn dropped by to give me a bottle of red wine. "From Uncle George," she said, "he wants to say thank you for everything before he leaves the country and he hopes you appreciate the sweet red." Man, these people are too nice. I invited Marilyn into the house and said, "Please tell George that I'm very, very grateful for the gift and he doesn't have to thank me so much." Considering how I soaked up all his alcohol that night. Marilyn smiled as I helped hang her coat. "Oh, Miss Sylvia, he never runs out of wine, so it's nothing really. But what you did for us meant a lot. It would break uncle's heart to see that many oranges go to waste and because of you that didn't have to happen." Her words warmed me up inside. "Oh... well, you're always welcome. Have you had lunch yet? I bought some lasagna this morning from this little Italian place right across the market. It's good, I'd like you to have some. It will go well with the wine, too. Your timing is perfect, Marilyn." I urged her to sit at the dining table while I heated up the lasagna in the microwave. "Thank you," she said. An inviting, gentle aroma of tomato sauce and mozzarella filled the air. We sat and ate, talking about the most mundane things, telling each other what we've been up to lately. I finally got the chance to apologize to her for the trouble I caused. I said, "Marilyn, Adam told me about what happened that night and I just... I'm so, so sorry for the nuisance. I mean, you had to tuck me into bed, it's embarrassing." We both laughed. "Adam told me you really took care of me and I don't know how to thank you enough for that." Marilyn smiled and said, "No worries, miss." She fell silent, sipping her glass of wine slowly. Oh, right! I should ask her about Adam. I cleared my throat. "So, I saw how you were staring at Adam all the time that day." I looked at her and smiled teasingly. Oh my god, she's blushing right now. Marilyn was quiet. I giggled, amused by her shyness. She tried not to smile but gave up and said, "Oh, miss, I don't want to talk about that." And we both laughed. "So you DO like him then?" I asked. "No," Marilyn said. She quickly followed it up. "I mean, yes... I think I find him good-looking. But... it's nothing." She kept her eyes lowered as she spoke, staring at her uneasy hands on her lap. "Perhaps you're confused," I said, "maybe you feel warmly about him because he had been generous to you and your uncle. You should think about that. But if you're sure you like him for other reasons, then... well, I could tell you right now, as much as I've gotten to know him, he's not bad at all." She looked at me wide-eyed and silent. I felt a wave, cold at first and then warm, rising up from my stomach to my chest. That's weird... is the wine doing that? I lifted my glass and took a sip. "Just be careful, though," I continued, "We hardly know the guy. Have you two been talking?" She smiled shyly. "No, not since we visited the farm. He just called me for the payment but... I don't think we can be friends... and he'll never go for someone like me..." What!? "Nonsense! Why not?" I asked sharply, surprised at her lack of confidence. Age difference, perhaps? "Oh, it's nothing, miss... forget I said anything. I'll be alright." I looked at her askance. "You sure about that? Maybe I can help you out with him, like I could..." Marilyn interrupted. "No! No, there's no need for that. But... thank you." She took a big gulp of wine. Holy crap, this girl is troubled. I wanted to comfort her. "Well, if it's any consolation, I want you to know that I think you're a great girl and he has absolutely NO reason not to like you. Don't hope for too much, I don't want him breaking your heart. But don't be afraid to give it a try either. Just be ready for the best and the worst, be yourself, be honest and... just take it slow." Where am I getting this relationship advice? Oh, right. Teen magazine. I held Marilyn's hand, squeezed it gently and smiled at her. Lord in heaven, she's blushing again. She smiled and chuckled. "Thank you, Miss Sylvia. You are... I just..." We both laughed. "It's okay. You don't need to say anything more."
As soon as we finished the lasagna, Marilyn said goodbye. When she was gone I went back in the kitchen, cleaned up and checked the time. 7:00. I felt restless so I sat down in front of my laptop and tried to write, but no words came out. Maybe I should take a walk on the beach before sunset. I thought I might get some inspiration from the change of scenery. I put on a light, brick red sweater over my gray tank top, black leggings and kept my navy blue flip flops. It took only a few minutes before I got to the beach. I held my slippers in one hand and tread slowly along the shoreline, pausing to grasp the fine sand with my toes. The sky was a battleground between salmon pink, blue and violet gray, speckled with the light of the first few stars. The breeze glided on my cheeks, chilly but gentle, and the waves rolled in low. I felt for the thick rubber band on my wrist and tied my hair into a bun, stopping to face the setting sun. I stood there for what seemed like an eternity and a split-second, my thoughts carried away by the tide further into the deep. I recollected myself to notice that the sky had grown dark except for a thin line of blue on the horizon, and the battle between night and day had been won. I walked into the water until it reached just above my ankles. Looking down, I leisurely lifted and turned my right foot in circles, watching the seawater warp and ripple around it, breathing in deeply the scent of salt and fish all around me. I resisted the urge to just dive in like I had no care in the world. But I was held back by the thought of my clothes getting soaked and heavy. Eventually, everything around me was swimming in moonlight and I still found myself alone. I looked up at the sky to try and find the moon, but only a few dim stars could be seen and I knew she was hidden behind one of the scattered clouds. The icy breeze grew stronger and colder. I should probably head back and make dinner. I turned away from the ocean and hiked up the sandy slope rising gradually towards the road. By then the beach was half moonlight and half yellow light from the beach houses. The sand caught in between the soles of my feet and my slippers felt coarse as I walked up the street leading to the west side of the market. I chose to take a different route so I could pass by the church. I wonder what it looks like at night. I approached the back of the church and I could see how the amber light coming from the inside filtered through its windows onto the stone ground of the plaza. The street lights glowed warmly and the market was a kaleidoscope of color. I thought most shops were closed by evening? Damn, I should do my shopping at night. It was wonderful to behold. More vendors took their places in front of the church and the area didn't seem as empty as it was during the day. The garden bench had three people sitting on it and a string of bluish-white lights crowned the head of the sycamore tree in circles, trailing downward until it wrapped around the tree trunk like a python. I was gazing at the steady lights, delighting in how beautiful they looked reflected on the bench's polished wood, when I noticed the old fortuneteller talking to one of the people sitting there. It's her! I wasn't sure if I should hide or approach her for a reading like I promised myself I would. So the bench is your office, huh? I saw the man on the bench shaking his head no to the old woman's offer. She smiled anyway as she walked away from the sycamore and headed towards the middle of the plaza, clutching her black lace veil. Fuck it. I'll get a reading. I'd been to the market a couple times after I first encountered her, but I never saw her again until now. I almost completely forgot about her, too. Just then I realized she was right. The oranges, my poetry. Somehow, she got it. She was right. I don't know how, but... She was wearing the same clothes as when I last saw her and as I approached she was turning her head in my direction. I had been walking towards her while thinking and so my thoughts were cut off when she faced me. I decided to make the first move. "Hi, I'd like a reading, please." She chuckled in response. "Orange lady," she said. "Come with me." She remembers me? What the fuck?
The fortuneteller continued towards the market and I followed. I was a little worried about where she was taking me. First, with my nonexistent sense of direction I knew that if we started weaving through alleys and shortcuts I would have a hard time getting home. Secondly, my imagination was running wild. She's not some folktale shape shifter who wants to eat me, right? I imagined how she could both turn into a really ugly beast or a gorgeous young temptress and give me hell all the same. I saw Hansel and Gretel skipping happily, unwittingly to what could have been their fiery doom. I almost laugh at the irony. Oh my god, ovens. I shook off my horrible expectations and walked carefully along the cobbled pathways of the market. The old lady was making sharp turns left and right and I struggled to remember my way back until we reached an opening leading to the beach. Oh wow. So all of that just to get back here, huh? The universe LOVES me. "Where are you taking me?" I asked, trying to hide the panic in my voice. She turned to me suddenly, shocked and wide-eyed, saying, "Orange lady!" She laughed hysterically. "I forgot you were following me." What in SEVEN HELLS!? Is she fucking serious? Too bewildered to say anything, I just stood there with my mouth open. She smiled and said, "I'll take you to my cottage and we can have some tea." As soon as I heard that old lady voice of hers saying the words "take you to my cottage" my paranoia took over me. "Whoa, wait a minute," I said, stopping dead in my tracks. "You could... We could just sit here along the edge, or on the sand if you like, and just do the reading here... Please?" My voice was getting small and shaky. I clung to my sweater with both hands in anxiety, pulling and stretching it down. The old woman chuckled. "What for? My house is right there!" And she pointed northwest towards a coastal house just ten meters away. It was a quaint one-story wood cottage painted white, a little worn down, with a small front porch, two shutter windows and a red door. The roof had gray stone shingles where a half-broken chimney top protruded. The inside was well lit and the moon finally showed its fullness so the house and the beach seemed to be illuminated by early dawn. I breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly, my breath fogging up in front of me. Okay, calm down. The road's right there. It's safe. Just quickly get the reading and get out. I relaxed a little and said, "Alright. Just one reading." The old lady smiled. "Wonderful. Come, come."
I was surprised to find the inside of the house so normal looking. The furniture was simple and everything looked oddly clean. The living room only had one beige couch, a small wooden table in the middle and beside it was a floor lamp. Up ahead was an entryway that led into the kitchen which also served as the dining room, and to its left was the bedroom door, half open so I could see the white sheets of a single bed inside. The entire house smelled like lavender oil. The old woman walked into her dining room and beckoned for me to follow. She feebly pulled a wooden chair from under the modest wooden table and I helped her with it. "Thank you, sweetie. Take a seat while I get my cards." She walked towards a small refrigerator situated right across the table. The cards are in there!? I watched her open the refrigerator door, taking a small rectangular tin can from inside. The fridge wasn't running, no sign of cold air came out of it and I was able to quickly glance inside. I saw that it was crammed with books, sheets of old paper, black and white photos stained with age, old records and other stuff I couldn't make out. Odd. The tin can she took was intricately designed with colored paintings of lilies, fairies, phases of the moon with some words and other tiny details I couldn't see from where I was sitting. She placed the can on the table ceremoniously before taking a seat at the other end. I stared at her, waiting and wondering what's gonna happen next.
Nothing.
The old lady just stared right back at me. It went on forever. Is this some creepy shit or what? I was beginning to question if I'd made a mistake coming with her. I was about to get up and leave when she spoke. "Tell me when you're ready, sweetie." Oh, you were waiting for me? Great. "I'm ready." I relaxed and watched her take the cards out and shuffle them. She didn't move so slowly anymore. She briskly flipped three of them onto the table face up in one straight line. "This is your past," she said, flipping another set of three right below the first. "This is your present... and this is your future." When there were three rows of three cards each, she stopped. What the hell is this? All the cards were plain white. Blank. Empty. Is it upside down? I peeked underneath to try and see if any of the cards were bent upwards just enough for me to find out. The old lady was just staring at the first row of cards as if watching TV. My heart almost leaped out my throat when she laughed. "Look at you, all dolled up at a party. Your dress looks a little tight around the waist, too. What a shame, it was a buffet and you couldn't eat much because of it... Oh... but this young man you're with... He broke your heart." My pulse was racing. Is she actually WATCHING my life? No, any girl sometime in her life would be all dressed up with a boy who'd break her heart. Any girl. "He will try to come back into your life, but you will say no. And for good reason." No way. Seriously, you just told me I'd say no. Now how am I supposed to decide? Her hand hovered over the second blank card and she said, "You have been gifted since childhood, Sylvia. You were always beautiful. Pale, but beautiful." Now she knows my name. The first time anyone called me beautiful to my face and it has to come from an old fortuneteller, like the universe has shrouded my beauty all too well that you'd need a third eye to actually see it. "And you always wrote with a childlike wonder about the world. You still do. But... deep inside you don't believe it." Her face and her voice grew sad. "There's a teacher, a writing class... he liked you. Or was this a woman? It feels like a woman, but... you listened to him well. He almost gave up his passion and then he had you in his class, and you told him he had nothing to regret. You wrote something about... Dreams... I see you talking about it once more, it's in the future, and with a different person." I froze. She... she's right. But, I told no one... and he's a million miles away. My favorite professor in college was gay and he told me he wanted to quit because the pay just wasn't enough. But he was brilliant, and I felt bad for him, and I felt bad for the intelligent, creative and honest people in the world making an honorable living but never getting the credit they deserve.
The old woman watched my life like a soap opera, smiling and giggling to herself and then breaking down to tears. I was worried. I asked, "W-What's wrong?" She looked at me with mournful eyes. "The hospital... That silver pair. You always wondered how your feet never hurt in them even after hours of rehearsal, but you never took them out of the closet anymore." I sank back down on my seat. "Don't do it, Sylvia." Yes, well, I wasn't going to anyway. The doctor said I couldn't. Ever. She was taking me back to the memories that hurt. I couldn't speak, so I waited for her to continue. She went on to the second row. "A woman in love, but it's not you. You will find out about her. You know her but... You don't." Right. Marilyn. She looked at me as if waiting for a response. "Yeah, I have a friend who likes this guy... She told me already, though." The old woman smiled at me strangely and looked back down at the cards. "You're not helping her." I was appalled. Excuse me? "What do you mean by that?" I asked. "The cards don't show me anything more about it. All I know is that you cannot help her," she answered. A few moments into gazing at the other two cards, she burst out laughing. "What? What is it?" She replied, "You think oranges are oranges and poetry is poetry!" I was dumbfounded. Holy shit, she's gone mad. "But in time you will understand." She moved her hand on the third row. "Now, as for your future... Oh, dear me. Look at this..." She was pointing at the blank card, chuckling. "It's still oranges!" And she laughed hysterically once more. Seriously? Serious-fucking-ly? "I'm sorry, but... I don't know what that means... What..." The old lady interrupted. "Your heart, sweetie. Your dying heart." And she placed her hands on her chest, looking at me with a crying smile and puppy dog eyes.
I got home and checked the time. 8:30. Damn, I stayed out longer than I wanted. I took off my sweater and went straight to the kitchen to make dinner, busying myself so I wouldn't keep thinking about the fortuneteller's words. That was a mistake. A mistake! I regretted letting her read to me. I knew I would be bothered once again by her predictions even though I try to ignore them and the last thing I want is to have my thoughts and decisions influenced by these prophecies. Fucking Macbeth. I should know better! God, what an idiot! I felt it was impossible for me to regain my peace of mind. I kept preparing the ingredients for cream chicken and macaroni soup, channeling my restlessness into the kitchen tools and vegetables. When I noticed I was moving too quickly, I slowed down to prolong the process. Anything to keep me moving and to delay the still, quiet moment where I'd have nothing to do but think. Even so, after an hour I was already sitting in the dining area with a hot bowl of soup in front of me. I stared at it for a few minutes before moving a single muscle. Oh well, whatever will be, will be. Cheers to blank tarot cards and creepy old ladies. I raised my water glass in salutation.