Monday, February 22, 2010

The Root of all Freedoms

Today I participating in the 1k Words/a picture is worth a thousand words BlogFest hosted by Ralfast.

My Picture
My story

On a desperate whim, Evie saved $64,000, the equivalent of a full year’s salary in eighteen months by moving back home with her parents, teaching summer school, night school and offering private tutorial atop her regular teaching job.
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She was still not sure where she had first heard about the gypsy that would, for the mere sacrifice of a year’s salary, tell you the course of your true happiness, but there she was with her hard-earned money in a shoe box standing in a Zen garden, around the corner from the China Town at Spadina.
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Though, the truth of the matter is she had pretty much been heading here since her break up with Mr. Merrill Lynch two years ago. He kept telling her in a voice reminiscent of that movie Wall Street, that she "wouldn’t amount to much if she did not play hard ball.” His saying so, always made her defensive and she would end up mocking his firm’s cult-like conduct.
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Poor guy. It hadn’t been his fault and she knew two months in that they hadn’t a future. She had gone for drinks with him, a few of his colleagues and their dates, all of them in their Brooks Brothers suits, efficient haircuts and Blackberries looking like grown-up Children of the Corn. Each gave her pitied looks, when she told them she taught English at an all-girl's private high school before one of them simply declared that he did not see the point of that since, ‘nobody reads anymore.’
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Scarily enough, they all agreed.
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They broke up a few weeks later and the thing is that she missed him for a long time though not for the reasons one aught to. He was very efficient and goal-oriented in all aspects of life - even in bed. She missed his eager, downright determined approach to seeing her cum every time. Hell, she even missed his happy little self-congratulatory cheer at the end.
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Though why he should be the catalyst to her gripping a small, self-earned fortune to her chest in some stranger's yard when her life until him had been just as tragic she would never know. Maybe she should leave and try to remember first how she had heard of the gypsy. It was too late. She’d been spotted by someone who was looking at her as if he was expecting her.
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The gypsy was not at all, as she had expected. She'd thought maybe an old woman with a European accent, kind of like the ones you see on television but instead he was a soulful twenty-something.
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He resembled one of those guys that sold hemp and cannabis paraphernalia on Queen Street West except for his eyes. They seemed a thousand years old. That and he had a voice that did not at all fit with his appearance. It was steady, humble and sure.
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After scolding her for walking around with that amount of cash, he had her put one thousand dollars of the money in an ugly clay urn. “That,” he told her, “Will be my fee. The rest, you and I will decide on together once you have told me why you came.”
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Can you imagine it? She there with her year's salary, hoping for guidance only to have him ask her ‘why she has come.’ Surly he was the worst gypsy in the history of the world and still she had spent the entire Saturday afternoon with him making homemade pasta and sauce with tomatoes from his garden in the backyard.
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She couldn’t remember having said anything of herself or her life but she must have for sometime after they had eaten and watched several episodes from the Faulty Towers marathon on BBC Canada he made a pot of tea and said, “You have said enough and now we must decide where you go from here.”
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He poured her a cup of the sweet red tea, which he had her drink while he put, in front of her a compass, three business cards and a pendant bearing the likeness of St Anne. Then he said, “Those are for you. The cards are for a real estate agent, a money manager and travel agent. You are to go Argentina for ten days next winter. The compass, you will need on the third day you’re in Argentina. On that day you are to rise with the sun and head north for three hours starting at seven o’clock the rest will reveal itself to you. Oh and the pendant is of the patron saint of childbirth. It is to help you through your first pregnancy.”
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Evie had a million questions following this but the gypsy would say no more than, “Trust yourself and those I’ve sent you to. Now leave one of your cards in place of one of mine on the table by the door and give it to one you feel deserving of my guidance."
My love, my care,
Simone

19 comments:

  1. Oh no where did my comment go? is it here?

    Anyway I commented on the story and how I wished to know more

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  2. Wow, do we get to know what happens next?

    Your writing, as always, held me captive and pulled me.

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  3. you really manage to capture the enchanting things in life.

    love you,

    xxoo

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  4. What happens in Argentina??? Good scene!

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  5. I wandered into your page quite by accident, but am glad I did! I am a historical romance novelist and understand your passions and woes. I have enjoyed reading your work and spending time on your blog. I hope you'll check out my blog and drop me a line. I would love to chat writing with you!

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  6. Simone,

    It seems as though no matter the genre and time span of your writings, you seem to capture the reader and hold them listening intently and eagerly to your words. A very lovely story sweet lady, I look forward to more delights from you.

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  7. Simone, you astound me. You can write just about anything, right? I mean, how you can so easily jump from the historical romance to this modern-day tale with "cum" being one of the words in the story... You are talented. I think I've told you that so many times. But I mean it, every single time. This story was very cool and laid back with that slight twist of the intangible that it needed to make it "dabbly", if you know what I mean.

    Nevine

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  8. I am always in favor of gypsies in stories and poems, as you may have noticed! Also, there is a poem on my blog somewhere in the archives called "Watching Saint Anne", about a female woodworker, who "gives birth" to her creations. Great minds think alike? ;-)

    Your story left me wanting to know more!

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  9. You are the beautifulest swan!

    http://www.lakhsmitaindira.com/2010/02/to-some-beautiful-irish-faeries.html

    xxoo

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  10. Ah yes, the Seer that puts the hero(ine) into the Path of Adventure. Very interesting stuff. At least she appreciated his effort in bed (the investment banker's that is).

    ;)

    Excellent!

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  11. This was so different from what I've come to expect from you, but every bit as well done.

    I hope you keep going forward with this piece, I really want to know what happens to Evie next!

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  12. Spooky. We MUST have the follow-up. Now where's that gypsy?

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  13. A wise person once told me that to write well about something, you must at least know the taste of it. Well, judging from the way you write, I have a feeling that you're either very experienced or very perceptive, or maybe both?? I love the wits you put into this! (*_^)

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  14. Yep - I too want to hear the rest, once it exists. The girl in the photo who looks a bit like a young Mia Farrow - is it you?

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  15. Simone, you can't just end the story there. We need to know about what happened in Argentina!

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  16. I loved this story and I really do hope there are further chapters?! It sounds like the start of a fantastic book.

    I would also like the contact info for this gypsy, please, heh!

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  17. I have nothing, I'm completely without more on this story by now I'll absolute make an attempt.
    Thanks for the push and the encouraging comments.
    Warm regards my dears,
    Simone.

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    ReplyDelete