The Glass Secret (Chain of Secrets), page 22
“Yeah, I am turning eighteen in a few days. Anyway, Jordan, that’s his name, he’s the one I love now, and he was arrested on three accounts of rape—date rape—alleged—accused of rape, whatever it’s called. He’s not guilty. It’s all so crazy. Can you meet me now...please,” I begged.
“Yes, of course. This must be awful for you. How long have you been dating him?”
“Well, I haven’t—we haven’t dated officially yet. We just started talking, but he really likes me, you know, and I like him too. Gosh, actually—I’ve been in love with him forever. Do you know what I am saying?” My words waffled.
“Yes...I think so.” I sensed a hint of confusion in her voice.
“Amanda, he’s not a rapist. He’s innocent, and I’m a mess...I really need to talk to you in person. My parents, they don’t understand, and my friends are just kids. I need you...” I whined.
“Okay, okay calm down, I’ll meet today. Can you get to Central Park and 5 Avenue?”
“Yes...where?”
“There’s a cute diner a few doors down from the Ritz called, Sara Beth’s?”
“Yes, I know the place. I will take the subway to get there.”
“Oh gosh, okay, get off at 5 avenue and 59 okay?” Her voice filled with a hint of concern.
“Yes, can you come now?” I selfishly pressed her. Come to think of it, I never asked her how she had been doing. “Please this is really important me.”
“Sure. Give me at least forty-five minutes. I am driving back to the city as we speak. I have to make a quick stop at home, and then I will be straight over. Jot down my number, and call me if you are running late.”
“Good thinking. It came up unknown on my phone,” I huffed.
“Are you ready?
“Yes.”
“It’s 212-560-2105. Got it?”
“Yes, I got it. Thanks so much, Amanda. I can’t wait to see you. I knew you would understand,” I exclaimed and then quickly sniffled to add a bit of drama, so she wouldn’t lose sight of how important this was to me.
“Of course, I am excited to see you, too...whoa...the traffic is thick on the bridge getting into the city, so wait there for me...and don’t talk to strangers...be safe.”
“I will. See you soon.” I hung up and exhaled. Why is everyone warning me about talking to strangers? Do I come across as an idiot?
I waited for over three hours for Amanda to show up, and during that time, I called her over ten times. My calls went straight to her voice mail. Maybe I wrote the wrong number down. I could not believe she stood me up. No one ever does as they say. I never tried to reach her at a later date, I figured she had blown me off, she never called me back either. I guessed that bond we tied years before had been broken. Looking back I couldn’t understand why I had expected her to drop everything for me, after all we weren’t really close.
-33-
Judgment Day
Months later, headlines hit the newspaper. Jordan Ramsey was sentenced to fifteen years in prison. However, in my opinion, he deserved more than just time in prison. After the trial and once the dust settled, my thoughts were more rational than ever. Unfortunately, I was never woman enough to apologize to Storm for accusing him of framing Jordan. How could I have been so mean and selfish?
During the trial litigations, I reamed Storm up one side and down the other. I blamed him for Jordan’s troubles and for destroying my social life. Storm didn’t take my irrational behavior so well, but as the selfish teenager that I had become, I didn’t care how he felt.
As a child it was great to have him around, but as a young woman it was time to unleash the beast in my head. I couldn’t deal with him anymore. I wanted to have a normal life, to allow things to unfold according to my destiny. Even if that meant bad things might happen to me. I didn’t want Storm’s protection anymore.
I wanted friends that didn’t call me a freak behind my back because they had caught me talking to myself. I didn’t think that I physically looked like a freak, quite the contrary, but when you are caught talking to yourself—hey, if the shoe fits, wear it! Some kids called me Sybil while others referred to me as Shirley. Shirley Mason was who the fictional character Sybil was based upon. The best name the mean kids called me was Eve, from the famous movie, The Three Faces of Eve. I supposed this one was the most apropos because my last name was Eden. It was very hurtful growing up and being called names. I blamed Storm for this, too. Damn, I was awful toward him.
I needed to escape from Storm once and for all. Early in the spring, I had received a full scholarship to University of California, Los Angeles—so much for NYC. In the end, I was grateful I decided to attend UCLA. Getting out of New York City would be good for me. Being away from home would give me the flexibility to do what I wanted to, without my parents right around the corner.
However, the thought of taking Storm to college with me was out of the question. An angel simply would not fit into the weekend activities that I was planning on. It was time for Storm to let me grow up and move on.
I was certain there was some other more deserving little girl that needed a guardian angel. After having his voice living in my head for eighteen years, it was beyond time for him to go. I was tired of feeling like a freak in a carnival show.
A few years prior to my master plan, after my first fight with Storm, I had Googled, “Spirits 101” and read an article: How to get rid of spiritual deities—of any sort, evil or good. The best advice that I found was to simply rebuke it. Can it be as simple as this sounded? I wondered if rebuking him would turn my hair snow white? I decided it was only worth the risk as a last resort.
When the day came that I served Storm his eviction papers, he didn’t take getting kicked out of my life—or my head very well. He didn’t give in without a good fight either. At first he would appear out of nowhere—he stalked my brain like the wolf in the story, Little Red Riding Hood. He started out with the whispers, which added up into demands. I am sure if he had teeth, he would have gobbled me whole.
Storm must have sensed I was going to ask him to go, I remember it well. Moments before our last real conversation, he went as far as trying to melt me with his seductive voice.
Seductive voice?
Yikes, it came as a shock when I noticed his hypnotic smoky voice. He could definitely stop any woman dead in her tracks. Immediately, I spun around looking for the source. Then I realized it was Storm. Did he always sound as if he could ignite a fire with his low husky voice? I never gave it much thought before his voice paralyzed me.
The sounds of his voice almost prevented me from following through with my intentions. My femininity was captivated for a few hundred-milliseconds. It was the first and only time that I really wondered what he looked like in terms of a man.
My imagination stretched a bit too far. What if he was tall with dark hair, gorgeous features, and ripped with muscles? Eww, to think of him in this way made me shudder. He wasn’t even human. And, if he could be—forget about it—he was my guardian angel…I think.
“So, you are wondering what I look like again.”
Shit, I forgot he could hear my thoughts now. Lord, he heard that one, too. I am so screwed.
“No, not at all. I’ve never given a thought to what you look like. Seriously I could give a crap,” I said aloud, lying.
“Hold up Little Lady, you did once years ago. Remember when you ask me if I could see you, and if I thought you were pretty—you also asked me what I looked like, and I said what does it matter, and—”
“Yeah, yeah, I forgot. So what! That’s normal. I was a kid then. Kids are curious about things they can’t see,” I argued.
“It that so? So either you’re still a kid, or just a curious woman now.” Storm chuckled like an arrogant, self-assured jerk. “Because what you were just thinking was different than when you asked years ago. You’re thoughts gave it away. You’re very curious about my physical features. I can tell.”
I gaped in utter disbelief; he was putting me on the spot. I couldn’t stand that he could hear everyone of my thoughts. It was like nothing was private anymore. Nothing!
What should I say back?
“I heard that…say...what it is you want.”
“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. I think you probably look like a dwarf, or worse yet a leach with one eye...a beast of some sort. On the other hand, you behave like a disembodied devil without a soul. Why else have you been afraid to tell me the truth about who you really are? I mean there is no other explanation as to why you have been keeping everything a secret from me all these years. As a matter of fact, you told me years ago you kind of have a body? What the hell doesn’t that mean? How does someone kind of have a body...and where is it? I mean, it’s not in my fucking head, right? So what are you, a troll, an alien with big eyes and long fingers, or a bug, or a parasite stuck in my head?”
“No, you are so far off. As a matter of fact—I look like.” He paused. “I can’t tell you. I cannot cross that line.”
“I knew you wouldn’t tell me. More games. I am not a child anymore, so quit playing games with me.”
“God, Brielle, there are reasons for everything that I do,” he said. His voice was drenched in authority.
“Then, tell me. Tell me now!” I barked.
“Brielle, darling. I want to tell you so much. I just can’t,” Storm responded, his breath fell languid.
Then the moment came where I had finally had enough of his crap, and frankly, his reasons just didn’t make sense.
“Just forget it. I will rebuke you from my head forever. I rebuke the day you moved into my head. I rebuke knowing you.” I banished him in every way I thought possible, and then went the distance by completely ignoring him the entire summer.
He would call out to say: “Hello Brielle, thinking about you. Please, reconsider what you have done.” I didn’t even snap at him. I gave him no dominion over me, and he eventually got the message.
Then one day I recognized that he was gone, weeks passed by without even a hello. His breath vanished. My head was quiet for the first time in decades. Months and months rolled by, still not a word. Sometimes I ached for his return.
Eventually it seemed that his voice was the equivalency to a lingering pimple, it appeared out of nowhere and then one day you wake up and it’s gone. No scars or terrible photos to remind me that it had ever been here in the first place. It was sad that I didn’t have any evidence of his life with me. Nothing tangible. Most people had something—anything a photo, a card, a small token of something from someone they had spent most of their life with. I didn’t even have an image of him.
I assumed that Storm had gone back to wherever it was he had come from. Perhaps he retreated back into my imagination—just a figment of nothingness. Gone like the wind was my imaginary friend, turned angel then protective father, and finally behaving like a jealous boyfriend. He had vanished.
Sometimes when I was alone at night, I would reminisce about my time, and the years I had spent with Storm. I would go as far as calling out to him in the same way he did me, just to say, “Hello, I am thinking about you,” but he never answered.
I soon regretted my selfish and mean behavior towards Storm. I wanted to apologize for being so awful, but it was too late. Although I couldn’t blame him for disappearing, during our last days together my behavior was simply deplorable.
There was a tally of mistakes that I had committed. To err is human. If that was the case, I was beyond human with Storm during my adolescent years. Surely, he had enough of my shit. In the end Storm never returned. Over the years, my thoughts about Storm faded and became fewer and farther between until it seemed like I rarely thought about him at all.
-34-
Moving On...
It was near the end of my first year in college that I finally decided that my major would be journalism and creative writing. When I came to this conclusion, the first person I wanted to tell was Storm. After all, he had inspired me to write stories, much like the ones he used to tell me.
I had grown up so much by the time college ended. I started hanging out, dating, and even imagined that one day I would marry Spencer Reed. Remember him? Who would have thought I had fallen for the same four-eyed boy that Nuilley and I used to make fun of back in junior high school. Remember Storm thought he was great, too.
Spencer traded his glasses for contacts, and his bright orange hair chilled out to a nice shade of sexy brown curls, worn clean cut, framing his gorgeous face. He grew taller, broader, and his dark-green eyes sent warm waves rushing to my heart. He also traded his love of computers for me. It turned out that he wanted to pursue a career in acting, which was a far cry from the life of a computer techy.
Life was nearly perfect…nearly. I had attended UCLA for almost three and a half years when Spencer moved out to Los Angeles. It was almost love at first sight when we ran into each other at a local club called Zen.
We dated for six months while he attended acting classes and hustled tables and a few aspiring young actresses, too. Damn him! We had our ups and downs, but when I came to think of it they were mostly downs, because I refused to give him all of me, at least, the part of me he wanted the most, my virginity. If oral sex doesn’t count that is—going all the way was the one thing I managed not to do with Spencer.
As a matter of fact, the best dating advice that Storm gave me was, “to wait” until after I met the guy’s mother. Storm said, in most cases, how a man treats his mother is an indication of how he would treat you. Spencer didn’t speak too fondly of his mother, but despite this, he planned to introduce her to me after we graduated, although that never happened, because one night I caught him red-handed with a not-so-well-known actress in the backseat of a limo outside of the Rose Bowl. They were in the middle of the deed. Apparently, she thought he was a young movie producer. Dumb ass!
Nonetheless, my heart had been broken. I eventually moved from Los Angeles back to New York City, but unfortunately that was not before Spencer had crushed my spirit.
I remembered what Storm had said, “Love is amazing when the one you love, loves you back.” How true his words were—his words of wisdom. When you fall for someone, love can cut you wide open. But, your paths don’t always weave into parallel journeys. Instead, sometimes you reach a fork in the road, and it’s time to pick up and go, and that’s when I left my family, my few friends, a broken heart, and the city I adored. Paris was my destination...
-35-
Bonjour!
In the poorly lit stairwell of the old brownstone where I had recently moved, I paused for a moment, as I always did, gazing out of the expansive window that was aligned perfectly with the staircase.
Raindrops spun downward like tiny silver stars falling into the window before they melted away. The view from the large window framed the tall glass-and-metal apartment building on the opposite side of the narrow road.
My neighbor and career sponsor, Dr. Sidney Piccart, a retired Hollywood movie director, who mentored at the American Books and Film University of Paris, lived in the apartment two flights below me. He had told me that once upon a time our building’s view used to be the Eiffel Tower. How lovely the view must have been.
Dr. Piccart and I had become pretty close friends. He had trouble climbing stairs, so I usually went down to his apartment in the late mornings to share a café au lait, a delicious French cruller, and energetic discussions of old Hollywood and all of the glamorized scandals of that era!
On one of those mornings, he and I began talking about the real estate in Paris. Dr. Piccart voiced his opinion—he never had a problem speaking his mind.
“Brielle, it just makes me so angry that those damned developers moved in and built their modern monstrosities, destroying the classic view of the city for all of us.”
“Why did the city allow this?” I asked.
“Well, in its original state, it was actually a much shorter building—badly disfigured during the war—a lot of people lost their lives in that old building. Shortly, thereafter, Hitler turned it into a work shop for his cause.”
“Oh dear...you mean...no.” I frowned.
“Yes, but I don’t want to talk about it anymore. My family resided there for quite some time. Thank God, they escaped. Well, some of them anyway.” He took a long pause. The corner of his lips tilted downward, and his tone was laden. “It’s too painful,” he sighed.
“I understand. I am sorry.”
“It’s alright. Just a shame, a crying shame what happened in that building. Nobody will ever be able to restore the damage that was done there because too many lost souls would have been disturbed in the process of a resurrection. So, they laid a new foundation and just started fresh. I wish the council had voted for a park instead. You know—a monument of some kind would have been more appropriate.”
I could only imagine what Dr. Piccart didn’t want to share. I had never dealt with death in the magnitude that he had, impart of my grandmother passing away.
The closes act of war I’d ever seen was 911. Fortunately, at the time, we lived uptown. Although I was quite young at the time, I could still remember the devastation, the loss, and the grief in the faces of strangers. It really impacted our entire nation.
Whatever it was that Dr. Piccart had experienced, growing up in Europe during World War II, would have been beyond the average person’s comprehension. My parents did a great job sheltering us from harm. Unfortunately war, death, and good ole’ taxes are not prejudice to any of us. Life sure is fragile, more so than glass.
I am not sure if I would’ve wanted to hear first-hand details of what happened back in Dr. Piccart’s time, but I had to agree with him, it really was a shame to have lost the view of the Eiffel Tower. Of course, it was one I had never seen from my windows as Dr. Piccart once did; I am sure it was spectacular.
For a single girl, on my own in Paris, I had a pretty nice place—a one bedroom, with a living room big enough for a dining table, a modernized kitchen, and an extra-large bathroom in serious need of an update. In the back of the flat, there was a small den where I spent most of my time writing. Off the den was a quaint terrace where I’d sneak an occasional cigarette when my nerves got the most of me. It was a non-smoking building.
