Sanctuary

I've been staying in New Orleans for the past week, staying with John at his place, to be exact. I'll come back to that, but first, let's play a little catch-up.

The poor murdered girl I found in that old abandoned house? Well turns out, she was a distant cousin of mine. Talk about a blow. My family is very upset, as am I; I was not expecting that...

I never knew her that well; we had only met maybe twice when we were kids, but she seemed like a sweet girl. She was a little wild, the black sheep of the family, you could say. Like many of the women in my family, she had a touch of psychic ability; lucky at buying lottery tickets, knowing family secrets, that sort of thing. She drank and dabbled in drugs, probably to quiet her brain and deal with something totally beyond her control.

The frequency of my dreams is wearing on me: dead relatives invading my sleep, doom predictions, warnings, foreboding messages. The other night, my great grandmother appeared to me, young and pretty, bewitching in a long white gown, admonishing me for not calling on my gifts and using the spells that could help me and the other women. Other women?

Like all ghosts, she vanished before revealing the important details. The crazy dead: loving to haunt you, but so unreliable sometimes.

One night, I awoke to find myself in the attic. I had sleepwalked into the hight dusty attic, sweating and sticky from the heat and the layers of dust coating my slick skin. I looked down to see I was holding the old leathery bound book of spells; my family's Book of Shadows. The pages were so delicate and old with age, pages and pages of stiff parchment filled with ancient incantations and various grimoires. I carried it begrudgingly back down to my bedroom, stowing it under my bed.

Soon after, I told John I was thinking about staying in a nice hotel in New Orleans for a few days, just to get away from the locals' stares and questions and bad dreams. The next day, he came to my house, told me to pack a bag, and whisked me away to an opulent French Quarter hotel for two days and nights! There was a huge tub in the Parisian bathroom, with its beautiful gold and red wallpaper and decor, and a massive sturdy bed with a thick down comforter and soft sheets. It was so exquisite to do it in a new bed, in a new place. (Details in the next post, I promise!)

After we left the hotel, he coaxed me into staying with him for a few days, but I didn't need much convincing. It's been so much fun with him; I feel safe. It's kinda like playing house, cooking and picking out movies to watch, walking together through the shops in the French Quarter holding hands, and not being able to wait until we both slip into bed together each night. That first touch in the dark, the weight of him on top of me, making my skin burn so hot; sometimes rough and fast and hard, yet always ending in soft embraces. Like a raging fire, slowly fading to coals of glowing embers.

Night Mares

I spent the day soaking up some much needed alone and quiet time. Lately, so much has been happening, there's been too much noise and activity. I feel like I've been swooped up inside of a cyclone, spinning and whirling out of my control. I need things to be still and silent.

So today I spent a leisurely day off. First, I got up at the crack of noon, made myself a huge bowl of sugary cereal, which I ate with gluttonous abandon, and washed it down with a big glass of Pepsi. I fixed a cup of coffee--with lots of sugar and big globs of flavored creamer--and took it out on our wide and deep front porch. I relished the quiet, and it wasn't too hot under the shaded porch, plus there are many big ancient trees that provide a leafy shade from the blazing sun. It was nice to sit and smoke, and sip the hot coffee, absorbing the serene noises of nature.

Later this afternoon, I gathered up a thick book and lay under the trees reading; lulled by the warm sunlight and the soft grass, I fell into a Rip Van Winkle-esque asleep. After my nap, I spent the rest of tonight watching TV: I needed the mindless white noise of the television wasteland. So, before I plop into bed and fall asleep, I'll fill you in on the events of the past few days.

After that memorable steamy night at John's apartment, I didn't see him for almost a whole week. We were working almost opposite schedules. He had left a message on my cell phone, telling me he had broken things off with his girlfriend. He also added after a pause "I had a lot of fun the other night, with you...I can't stop thinking about you."

Oh, Lord. when I heard that, I felt my heart do a somersault, and I swear I could feel a million butterfly wings beating and fluttering in my stomach.

Unfortunately, I felt his absence from work acutely, and this made me feel many conflicting emotions: fear, disgust with myself, hopelessness, and events unfolding that are out of my control.

Anyway, yesterday I worked a rare day shift, which left me with a whole night off. I was mopey when I thought of not being able to see John, and then got very angry with myself for becoming so dependent on a man so quickly. So I decided to see if my brothers wanted to go out to dinner and then to the little rustic bar a few miles from our house. Just as I was going to look for them, our phone rang. I tried not to notice how I sprang for it after the first ring. I calmly said "Hello?" after two rings, and John's voice greeted me on the other end of the line.

He explained he was back in town, and wanted to know if I wanted to perhaps go to dinner and maybe a movie (the traditional American first date). " Oh, I'd love to, but I sort of already made plans tonight," I said.

What the hell was I doing! But I knew. I really liked him, and that scared me more than any stranger lurking in the dark for me.

He was silent for a few seconds, then in an unconvincing casual tone, asked me with whom I was going out. I told him my brothers and I hadn't seen each other in a while, and needed to spend some quality sibling time together. He was obviously relieved by this new information, but I felt terrible, but it was kind of the truth.

"Well, would you mind if I came along? I'd like to meet your brothers."

"Listen, why don't you come over for dinner tonight, that way you could meet my whole family." I groaned inwardly; what the hell was I doing? But he sounded so happy and thrilled at my invitation. I told him what time to be here, and we hung up. I raced to tell my mother and father and two brothers that I was having a guest for supper, and I begged my two big brothers to go along if my "friend" asked about any prior plans we had. They shrugged and said sure, no problem. My Mom was looking at me, and I didn't like that knowing smile she threw me, not one bit. I could feel my face turn a violent shade of red!


I took a shower, making sure to shave my legs, and toweled off as fast as possible. I dried my hair, applying some gel and anti-frizz serum to my curls. My hair is naturally curly, and the Louisiana humidity wreaks havoc on my hair.

But tonight, my hair actually looked pretty, hanging around my head in full ringlets and curls. It's a dark brown, and in the sun it has dark-red tints to it. I applied some blush and lip gloss, and carefully brushed a thin layer of mascara on my eyelashes. It took me a long time to decide what to wear: finally I decided to wear a dress, since we were having a guest to supper.

I selected this really cute bohemian sun dress; it's a sheer black number with a Moroccan-type print. The front dips kinda low, but just showing a hint of decollatage, and the short sleeves lightly flow from the shoulders, and the length hits a little below my knees. It's very pretty, and it has a gypsy feel to it that I love. I paired it with some delicate gold sandals, and a dangling pair of earrings.

I made a final inspection in the mirror: the clothes were good, and the dress hugged my waist before flaring out, making it look tiny and feminine. I guess my figure is okay, but I'm never really happy with my physical appearance. My curly hair is a bit unruly, not blond and straight; my skin is very pale, and I tend to burn in the sun. My eyes are too large for my face, and they're a dark brown, not a clear sky-blue, like my Dad's eyes, although people always complement me on their color and shape.

I walked down to help my mother with dinner, setting the table and making the salad. I love dinner at my house, it's always been a big deal. We all try to dress up for Sunday dinner, or when we have company, and we always sit together in the spacious dimly-lit dining room when everyone is home for holidays or summers. For special occasions, my mother will use the best china, and the silver candlesticks, the cut-glass crystal glassware, and the silver that's been in my father's family for over one-hundred years.

I sat in the parlor to wait for John, opening a book my mother was reading, careful not to lose her bookmarked page. When the doorbell rang, my father answered the door. He was polite, introducing John to my mother, then to Kevin and Paul, my brothers, but he would be watching every gesture, listening carefully to his words, sizing up and evaluating before rendering a verdict.

John and I sat in the parlor, drinking iced tea; it was all so southern, but that's how we do things in my family. I smiled at the thought of sitting in the parlor with my gentleman caller; at that moment I wished I could wear a long belle gown, with a wide full petticoat underneath.

Supper went well; my brothers liked John a lot, and so did my parents. I could tell my Dad and brothers approved that he was no stranger to manual labor, as he grew up on his parents' working farm. Also, the two guys my age I had brought home during my teenage years had been sensitive and what they would call "artsy-fartsy" types, and of course I never have mentioned my trysts with older men, for my brothers would hunt them down and mash them into hamburger meat. My Mom was happy to find out that he was a southerner, and was obviously well mannered. I was relieved!

After supper, I gave him a tour of our big old house, and then we took a walk around the property. He explained how he had talked to his ex-girlfriend in person when she came in for a visit, and broken it off with her. He said she was pretty upset, and she had yelled and thrown a lamp at his head when he tried to tell her it was for the best.

I told him I had broken up with my boyfriend via e-mail, and he looked a little horrified. "I know, that's not very good break-up etiquette, but I just don't want to see him in person," I said. I felt awful; I never have gotten around to ending things with Brad. Look, I'll get around to it, but I have a lot going on, and I do so hate confrontations of that sort.
We ended up in one my favorite spots: under the giant oak tree, next to the swamp. "You look really pretty tonight," he said.

"Thanks," I said uncomfortably.

He narrowed his eyes at me, "What, don't you believe me?"

"I just don't take complements well, I...they make me uncomfortable." I felt like an idiot, and I could feel my face turn red. Good thing it was dark.

"I don't think you realize how beautiful you are, 'Seph," he said. He cupped my chin, gently turning me to face him. "You're like a beautiful night flower. With your pale skin, and your long dark hair. Your eyes are so big and dark, they seem to glow with their own light. "You're... luminous."

I cupped his face with my hands, and kissed him. The kisses were long and deep and sugary-sweet; I felt my lips might dissolve and melt, like cotton candy when it hits your tongue.

We only kissed, and after an hour or so, he said he should walk me back to my house. I sighed. I remembered sleeping with James under this same tree, and winced. What better way to blot out that memory than to have Jason in this same spot?

Instead I let him walk me to the front door, and stood on tiptoe to kiss him goodnight. We both worked tomorrow night, but he said on Saturday he was taking me out, and wouldn't take no for an answer.

I watched his car pull away until I couldn't see the red glow of his brake lights, then slipped inside.

I padded upstairs, washed my face and brushed my teeth, and crawled into bed. I was still smiling when I fell asleep.

It was a horrible dream. I was back at the abandoned Cajun cabin, and someone grabbed me and threw me to the floor. He had a huge hand wrapped around my throat, choking off my air so I couldn't scream. It was too dark to see his face, but the outline of his head was big, and he had massive shoulders. A sliver of moonlight glinted off the large knife as it cut open my flimsy nightgown. I lay there naked and terrified. I knew he was going to rape me and then kill me, and I struggled as hard as I could to get away, but I was pinned down, unable to escape. I reached out with my mind to do...something. I looked up and saw the dead woman wearing my grandmother's shawl, sitting in a dusty old rocking chair, knitting and rocking back and forth. She looked at me, just as the knife's blade slid between my ribcage, like a searing hot poker slicing through butter, and I screamed...

I woke up choking back the scream. I was shaking and crying. I ran into the bathroom and splashed some water on my face.

Back in my bedroom, I opened the gallery window and stepped out, lighting a cigarette with shaky hands, letting the cool night air wash over me. Eventually, I began to calm down.

It was a while before I could fall asleep, because the girl in my dream was haunting me. There was something familiar about her, and I knew I had seen her somewhere before.

I switched off the light and pulled the covers up to my chin. I thought about the word nightmares. Night Mares: dreadful grave-black demonic horses that gallop into your dream mind, carrying fearsome images and unearthing you worst buried memories. They have blazing red eyes, snarling mouths, and their nostrils snort and steam...

That was my last thought before sleep took me again that night.