GothiqueFae’s Weblog

I couldn’t believe it.  I stared at the screen in shock.  My biggest secret had just been splashed all over the most popular entertainment show ever.  I looked over at Ben who was also in shock, his bright blue eyes were wide and his mouth hung open displaying his red tongue for all to see.  I realized that I also had my mouth open and snapped it quickly shut feeling my teeth click against each other and making a conscious effort not to clench my jaw.  I unfolded my legs and stood up feeling the suede brush against my bare skin.  I stood there with the warm, hard plastic remote cradled in my hand watching the face of my best friend spill my confidences to the reporter.  Her violet eyes oozed contempt and victory.  As though this whole thing had been a competition and she had won.  I looked over towards our big bay windows and had a sudden image of reporters swarming everywhere trying to snap a picture of America’s Most Wanted.  I could see them; their big black shoes digging into the soft moist soil of my yard, their treads tearing at the bright, green shoots of the Kentucky blue grass.  They’d jam themselves up against the window smearing their spit and sweat and cologne all over it.  I looked back at the television but they had changed to another story.  Another person who would soon be swarmed by paparazzi was front and center on the screen smiling, oblivious to the hell they would soon be experiencing.  I clicked the television off and the soft electronic hum emanating from it was cut off. 

Ben stood up and walked over to me; he reached out and put his warm hand on my shoulder.  He had such soft hands.  Or at least he did once, a long time ago.  I looked over at him, he smiled and just like that he had faded like the last vestiges of a fog on a warm summer morning or that wonderful dream being cut off by the raucous cry of your alarm clock.  The warmth of his hand on my shoulder stayed.  I walked over to the bay windows and pulled the shades down.  They made a soft zipping sound as they covered up my view of the outside world.  The green/blue of the grass, the green of the leaves on the trees and the dark, dark red of Ben’s roses, all covered up by a sheet of cloth zipping down over the windows.  I walked over to the door my bare feet cold on the wood floors.  I shoved the bolt home listening to the snick as it made its home in the hole opposite it, its special opening that would protect me from ne’er do wells.  I followed suit with the back windows and door and than made my way upstairs feet padding on the carpet as I slid my hand gently up the maple banister.  I walked into my bedroom and sat down on the window seat.  I stared outside, it didn’t take them long to show up.  They tore up the yard and the roses and pounded on my doorbell desperately trying to get one picture of the most recent hot news.  Then one of them looked up.  I knew I’d been spotted, there was nothing for it now; I’d be on that six o’clock news and the eleven o’clock and probably on the morning news and the late afternoon entertainment shows.  I’d be mentioned in all the little talk shows and late night shows.  They’d crack jokes about me in all those strange Comedy Central and vh1 late night shows.  And not one of them anywhere would say the thing that they most wanted to say, “Prove it.” 

Because no one wanted me to prove anything – they felt safer cracking jokes and raising their eyebrows than actually asking me to prove it.  Because if I did prove it, there’d be nothing left to hide behind, there’d be no more jokes, no more raised eyebrows.  They would have to accept what I was.  And they couldn’t fathom doing that.  I sat there with my knees tucked up under my chin wistfully watching them snap their irritating pictures; I’d get phone calls soon enough, people wanting me to appear everywhere just to make a quick buck.  They’d ask me about my childhood, when did I first know, do I see a lot of them, blah, blah, blah.  And behind all those questions would be a smirk, a snigger, a certain amount of disbelief.  They wouldn’t give me the chance to definitively prove myself.  I’d just be able to answer questions and come off sounding like a nut job.  All because little Melody couldn’t handle the answer she got.  Those violet eyes snapping such rage at me when I told her and pain too – but she let the rage get the upper hand and now my life had been changed forever.  It could never go back to the way it had been.  All those people who trusted me would now avoid me like the plague.  All because Melody didn’t get the answer she wanted.  The answer she thought I should give her.  I guess maybe the blame rests partly on me; I’ve never been comfortable telling people what they want to hear instead of the truth.  Mom warned me once if she warned me a thousand times that that trait would get me in trouble.  Well Ma, you were right.  And yet I don’t regret what I did.  I told people the truth, I didn’t give them the dime-store answer just to make them feel good, I gave them something real, something no one else was willing to do and I knew I could hold my head high knowing that.  I wouldn’t shy away from this challenge, from this hardship.  I hadn’t yet and I wouldn’t now.  Let them make their quick buck.  I can see the headlines now – “Modern day Gypsy fortune-teller and ghost whisperer!”  That’s right kids, line right up buy your tickets and get a glimpse because the circus might be gone by morning.  But don’t forget you get what you ask for so be wary.  Be wary Melody, you just got what you asked for.  I walked down the stairs, slipping my peasant skirt and blouse on as I walked, I reached down and adjusted my ankle bracelet and smiled.  Be very wary Melody Violet-Eyes, the Gypsy is on her way.  I opened the door and walked out in the crowd answering questions, posing for pictures and handing out my card.  I smiled and the sun clouded over; oh yes, Gypsy woman is on her way.