The Gypsy's Last Dance

The broken glass glinted in the sunlight filtering in from broken window overhead. It sat among its many counterparts, all winking each time a golden ray fell upon them. Like diamonds, they sparkled a thousand smiles and threw splatters of dancing colors onto the nearest surface.

They almost succeeded in bringing a smile to her face. Almost. But not near enough. The shadow of a smile creeping across her delicate features vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

A single drop of blood dripped onto the very piece she had been watching.

Her head cocked slightly at the sight of it. Her eyes followed the claret, as it seemed to weep along the glass, leaving in its wake a trail of clouded crimson. Her lips quivered. Despite the warmth of the April sun, a shiver ran down her back.

It was the cold that pained her more; the wound on her wrist was but a distant woe. A sob escaped her lips, choked and suppressed. The wound on her wrist was a mere caress compared to the pain she felt inside. A mother’s touch to the hopelessness in her hidden core. She keeled to her knees as the jagged glass slipped from her fingers and plummeted downwards; as the tears fell from her eyes down her ashen cheeks.

She watched; watched as the glass shattered into a million more pieces among those on the floor.

-----------

Kay was a buoyant child, with a mouth that was forever ready to smile and eyes that never ceased to twinkle. At least until before Nanna passed away. Nanna had been the mother she never had, her shepherd, her best friend. Nanna taught her things she could never learn at school and told tales of gypsies and dancing and oddly, a pink moon. As a seven-year-old, Kay had wondered whether Nanna was a gypsy herself.

Nanna had long silver hair and peculiar yet mesmeric violet eyes. She always smelled of peppermint. Oh how Kay missed falling asleep on Nanna’s lap, taking in the sweet scent of peppermint in the robes and long shawls Nanna always seemed to be in. Kay couldn’t picture her in anything but.

Two days short of her tenth birthday Kay had walked in on Nanna dancing to the song she put Kay to sleep in every night. The Gypsy’s Last Dance. It was the song that had drawn Kay to the living room in the first place. Her bare feet made no noise on the thick carpet as she made her way to the music. What greeted her made her jaw drop.

Silhouetted in the dying ambers from the fireplace, Nanna’s figure moved its way across the floor as graceful as a swan on water. Her arms came and went with the music, bathed in the lambent light, and her feet pranced with the weight of feathers. She had her eyes closed and a smile was upon her face.

“Nanna…” Kay unconsciously whispered.

Soft as it was, it woke Nanna from her reverie.

Yet, instead of being irate, as Kay had expected her to be, Nanna broke into a smile. It was magic.

“Oh! Did I wake you up, darling?” She beckoned for Kay to come closer.

“You were beautiful, Nanna,” Kay said, moving into Nanna’s open arms.

Nanna chuckled. “Why, thank you, darling.” She held the young girl close to her bosom, gently stroking her hair. She gave a small sigh of contentment. And then she thought of it.

“Have I ever told you about Nicollette DeLavue?”

Kay pushed herself up to look into Nanna’s eyes. The spark of curiosity burned bright.

“I take that I have not.” Daintily she positioned Kay into a more comfortable position on her lap.

Kay wondered what fascinating tale she would be told this time as she watched Nanna pull back the sleeve of her robes on her left arm. What she saw made her gasp.

Etched upon Nanna’s otherwise milky white skin on her inner arm was the tattoo of a serpent, coiled around what was undoubtedly the moon.

“Nanna! You – a tattoo…”

Nanna gently pulled the sleeve back over the grotesque scar. The snake sneered up at Kay before disappearing beneath the cloth. “Hush, child.” She stroked the hair of the alarmed girl.

“Her story is yet to be told to anyone. You’re going to be the very first.”

-----------

Kay’s eyes snapped open. For a moment she wondered where she was. And then she remembered. The darkness was deceitful.

She hurried to hoist herself into a sitting position. An unexpected sharp pain shot up her arm and reflexively, she withdrew. She had forgotten about the glass.

Drawing her arm into the moonlight to inspect the damage, she heard a familiar song play in the deep labyrinth of her mind. The Gypsy’s Last Dance. Ignoring it, she focused instead on the newest wound.

The glass had pierced her skin deep, enough to draw blood. But it was mild compared to the gash on her left wrist. Where she had dragged the sharpest blade of glass across. It surprised her that it wasn’t sufficient to do the job.

A drop of blood from the fresh wound escaped to trickle down her palm, over the one on her wrist. As if going over. Rewriting a script gone wrong. Burying the skeleton that had made residence too long in the closet of her heart.

Nicollette DeLavue had a tattoo just like this, at this very spot.
But why, Nanna? Only bad people have tattoos.
Oh, child… The tattoo symbolizes darkness. Evil. It exists to remind her how far off the right path she once went. It exists to remind her how easy it was to succumb to temptations and take the very first wrong step.
But what did she do?
Hush, child. It shall not be spoken of anymore. Just remember Nicollette. Take after her. Most people rather rewrite their past than to live upon it. But she chose to face it and learn from her past mistakes. Learn that and you will do well.

And Nanna had planted a kiss upon her forehead, sealing the conversation.

Kay looked up, out of the window. The moon above reminded her painfully of Nanna’s tattoo, around it which coiled the sly serpent. Its jaundiced and leprous face leered down on her as if reminding her of her own shameful deed.

Most people rather rewrite their past than to live upon it.

Kay’s cheeks scorched with shame.

Suicide was a coward’s way out of confrontation. Nanna brought up a stronger girl than that. Nanna herself had been a woman of fierce passion and enthusiasm, one who saw life as a challenge. One who saw the world as her playground. She would only expect the same of Kay and none less.

The gash on her wrist seared with forbidden wantonness.

But it was so hard. So painful. Nanna didn’t know what it was like to try and try and try; and fail each and everytime. To work so hard for something, only to have it slip away just as it was within your grasp. To blunder doing the easiest tasks. And watch as somebody else came and claim the prize. Your prize.

Kay felt the planted knife dig deeper into her soul. She swallowed hard, feeling her heart bleed in time to the tears running down her face.

Nanna didn’t know but she knew. She had seen the pale face of failure. Heard its rattling breath reeking of disappointment. Shook its cold hands of defeat. Bow to its spouse of mistakes who sang to her all day. Nanna never met inadequacy.

Chewing on her lower lip, Kay ran her fingers lightly over the cut she had inflicted upon her own wrist. It had long stopped bleeding and dried blood caked the mouth of it. She didn’t know why but she applied pressure onto it, opening the wound again. Fresh blood awoke from its slumber.

It was like ecstasy, comforting inside but only so because of the danger to her life it yield.

Hush, child…

Peppermint. It was undoubtedly peppermint that she smelled; its unmistakable sweetness laced with somewhat fiery spice.

Oh, Nanna…

The drifting breeze chose that very moment to play with her hair. The way its delicate fingers run through her long tresses was not unlike how Nanna used to stroke them. A crystal tear escaped down her tear-stained cheek.

But she chose to face it and learn from her past mistakes.

Taking a deep breath, Kay made up her mind. Shredding a strip of linen from her dress, she wound them around her injured wrist and bound them tight. It was going to leave a scar. A vivid reminder of tonight. But she will remember Nicolette DeLavue. The scar would stay to remind her how far off the right path she once went and how easy it is to take the first wrong step.

I will remember Nicollette. She who came to be my Nanna. The mother I never had. My shepherd. My best friend.

Many choose to rewrite their past than to live upon it. But I choose to face it and learn from my past mistakes.