Darlin' Gypsy - Introduction and Parts 1 & 2

An Introduction by Roderick Bertram1

She had long, dark hair–which I particularly enjoy.  She had no name, so I called her Darlin’.  I was in love.2

“Darlin’,” I would say, “I do so love you.”3

“I know,” she would reply.  A gypsy was she, and a gypsy I wanted to be.  I followed her and she led.  I reached and she backed away.  I was in love.  Darlin’ was a spectacularly built woman with eyes of the deepest cave.  If darker eyes existed, they were those of Lucifer himself–if, in fact, he existed and/or still exists.4

My Darlin’ gypsy would wander far and away, returning after months only to remind me that the one thing for which I longed was still alive, beautiful, and out of reach.  I would sit at home, nights and days, tears constantly welling, lumps in-throat constantly lumping, singing sad songs of old and new.  I do not believe that she was aware of my given name either–that is if she was aware of my existence at all.  Do not we all get these feelings from time to time?  Feelings that the one for which we have so much affection is ignorant of our presence and wishes not to notice.  I believe we do.  I know I do. 5

My point, good reader, as you may have gathered by now, is that I loved a woman who did not love me, and it made me sad.  It still does oft’.  I try not to think about it unless her ever-haunting spirit–dead or alive–pries its way into my head for a late-evening visit.6

Mardi7

I first recall one fine darkness, interrupted by my Darlin’ of Darlings–a Tuesday.  This Tuesday was unlike others from its beginning rays.  I woke upon the right side of my bed and sprang to my feet with delight.  I usually wake upon the left, and one might assume that waking upon the “wrong” side of the bed would signify a bad day.  This, my friends, is a falsity.  For, most a’ brightness I would wake feeling sour–in need of shower.  But this fine day was different.  The right side of my cot painted upon my scarred visage a smile ever so bright.8

This day was scheduled to be a rendez-vous with a sweet young girl from the other side of the mountain.  She was simple to the eye, but complex to the ear and soul.  Not the most attractive of woman, but indeed a delight to converse with.  Her voice made me smile, as did her opinions.  She had a strange system of rules for everything she did–all of which made a fair amount of sense.  I simply enjoyed her company.9

I was to meet her at twelve thirty-three in the p. m.  This was part of an interesting superstition she possessed.  She believed that completely random numbers, times, and situations were good for one’s “health.”  I never really understood it.  But it fascinated me.  And so I agreed.  10

When my time came I parted with my home and strolled delightfully down the street.  That morning I got no strange looks from passers-by.  It was the right side of the bed, you see–forgive my superstitions.  I suppose we all need some sort of belief.  Anywho and by the by...I strolled smilingly toward my destination.  When the coffee shop was in sight, my heart raced.  My pace quickened and my humming ceased.  11

I entered the coffee shop, suitably named “The Coffee Shop” and seated myself at a small two-person table in the rear left corner of the room.  This seemed to be her favorite seat.  I had met her there after contemplating my opening statement for a while.  She evidently enjoyed my sense of humor and perhaps my appearance–I do not put much stock in the latter.  I was reading the menu out of boredom when I heard a jingle and glanced up.  There entering the café, was my ‘cross-mountain conversationalist. The sun shined through her blonde hair with much beauty.  I quickly put down the menu, standing to pull out her chair.  12

“Oh, thank you!” said she with delight.  She was enthusiastic only when she was awake...and she seldom slept.  “Well, how was your rising?” she queried.  13

“It was simply marvelous.  I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, you know.  That’s always nice,” I answered with the same enthusiasm that she possessed.  She brought that out in people.  14

“Well that’s just dandy,”15

“How was yours?” I asked–not out of polite disinterest, but out of honest curiosity.16

“It was just fine.  I woke looking forward to now, actually.”17

“Good...good,” I said, pleased.  18

The rest of the afternoon consisted of what most people would consider “small talk.”  This was in fact very “large talk” to me.  I was infatuated with everything she had to say.  Such an interesting creature she was.  We eventually made it back to her living quarters on the far side of the large hill known to the town as Stalwart Mountain.  She lived in a relatively large house with a brick path and maroon shutters.  The house was made of rock from a portion of the mountain that had been blasted with dynamite to create roads.  We went inside.19

Inside to the right of the door, I hung my coat and hat.  After leaving the front hallway, we entered the living room.  With a high ceiling, stone walls, and a large fireplace, this was what one might call a comfortable room.  Her kitchen consisted of more cabinets than one human could possibly use.  But she used them all–for one thing or another.  Inside her bedroom, I found a large bed draped with shear fabric, barely revealing what lie within the cozy sheets–which was nothing as of then.  20

We plopped down on an uncomfortable bench at the foot of the large bough and began the “small talk” again.  That lasted for hours upon hours.  She told me of her childhood, her adolescence, her adulthood, and her dreams.  She told me of her travels and her beliefs and her wishes.  21

After hours of sitting uncomfortably gazing into her soul and she into mine, she decided that she’d had enough talking.  She climbed inside the separate room that was her bed and beckoned with her finger.  I responded by following her inside the canopy.  At that point I was certain that she enjoyed my company.  22

When the naked fun ceased and clothing jumped back onto both our bodies, I started for the other side of Stalwart.  I rode with several different people.  I was not one for purchasing vehicles.  It seems that they cost money.  That’s just not something that I had.  So I would hitch-hike.  I was never killed or raped or even spooked by my drivers, nor were they by me.  There was always a good driver-to-rider relationship.  23

“Thank’s so much.  Here’s a bit of change for your trouble,” I told the driver as I closed the door.  24

I stepped inside my house and sighed with happiness.  As I kicked my shoes off, I removed my wallet from my pocket and placed it upon my dresser.  After removing my clothes...again...I slid into my sheets and settled my eyelids upon each other.25

I enjoyed what seemed to be about 4.854 seconds of sweet unconsciousness when tapped upon my glass a shadow.   I rose quickly and yanked the string that raised my blinds.  There was nothing.  26

Again the tapping.  This time my reaction was much more swift than before, and there in my sights was a beautiful dark-haired gypsy.27

“Darlin’!  What the hell are you doin’ here?!” I asked with surprise and anger intertwined.  “Shouldn’t you be off wandering with your “friends,” as you so often do?”  She did not reply.  She only looked at me with sad eyes.  After several moments of intense staring, she backed away from the window and out of sight.  For quite some time I lay there in fear.  I wasn’t used to people tapping upon my glass at this hour.  It was quite a frightening experience.  28

I fell asleep again for a total of six minutes and twenty-seven seconds when again my rest was interrupted.29

“Hello,” spake a voice from inside my room.  I reached down and grabbed the hammer from underneath my bed and leaped to my feet.30

“Who the hell–“ I started in anger.  “Darlin’!  How did you get in here?!  What do you want?  You know, I have moved on.  Why can’t you?  Before I stopped showing any interest in you, you failed to recognize me as a human being.  Now, you want to see me?  No.  That cannot happen.”31

“I just wanted to hear your voice,” she said eerily.  “You’re a handsome man.  I think you should be with a beautiful woman instead of some ‘cross mountain hippie.”32

“I’m not with her––why am I discussing this with you?  Get out!”  And she did.  She looked at me once again with the sad, dark eyes and made her way onto the lawn and then out of sight.33

Mercredi34

The first of my encounters with my late-visiting gypsy was mild compared to what would follow.  The next appearance she made in this chronology of events happened on a Wednesday.  ‘Twas not the day after the first Tuesday–but a different week entirely.35

This Wednesday there was no right-side rising as had been.  I woke normally somber–so shaded as to be dark and/or gloomy.  I had no date this day.  No date had me.  My breakfast was cold.  It was not really breakfast.  More like Monday’s supper–spaghetti from a can with potato chips.  As I sat in my nook, I began recalling the last Tuesday.  I also recalled years before and days after, moments during and seconds before.  I reminisced.  I thought about times that I and my Darlin’ had spent–so few there were.  36

Startled by a knock at the door, I bit the end of my tongue, which immediately resulted in anger toward myself.  I swallowed my bite of spaghetti and part of the inner workings of my mouth and answered the door.  There in the brightness stood a tall man in a suit.  37

“Paul!” said I in surprise.  “Friend! How are you?  It has been so long!”38

“Oh!  Naught but a few weeks!  I am fine.  I am well.  How have you been?” Paul Wellington asked.  39

“I cannot say that I am as well.  I have no serious illness, though.  I breathe.”40

“Well, that’s nice.  What–“41

”Oh look at me! So rude!  Come in and sit down,” and he sat.  “What were you asking?”42

“ What happened with you and that dark-haired beast of an angel?” he asked.43

“Well, Paul.  She had to part...Again.  And during her last period of rambling across the land, I decided that I would have no more of it.  I forgot about her.”44

“Great for you...Great.  Well what are you up to this day?  I thought we could go out and do a bit of rambling ourselves.  Perhaps become a bit “happy,” if you will.”45

“That’s a fabulous idea!  We could start now and make a whole day of it.  What do you say?”46

“That’s exactly what I had in mind.  Get your hat and shoes,” he finished, and I went to put my shoes on.  I got my wallet from my dresser and slipped on my shoes, and we left.  47

“Where are we off to first, old friend?” I asked.48

“I was thinking about The Coffee Shop–get a slow start.  That suit your interest?”49

“Anything to that affect shall be fine,” I replied.  We strolled happily to The Coffee Shop as I had some Tuesday ago.  I was pleased to be in the company of such an old and dear friend.  I assume the feeling was mutual.  We had been friends since childhood, when he punched a young bastard in the nose for stealing my glasses.  I thanked him and replaced my glasses upon my face and there it started.  50

We reached The Coffee Shop with much less excitement than had occurred the Tuesday.  Excitement and happiness was present–but of a different kind.  We entered with the sound of a Christmas bell upon a glass door and sat in the back right corner.  A short, stocky waitress approached and requested that we have a drink.  We complied and both ordered a coffee.  Neither of us ate.  I with my spaghetti and he with his assumably wealthy breakfast were both full.                   We sat and discussed the happenings of the past few weeks.  He had recently divorced his wife and she gained custody of the children.  I had awakened in various locations upon my bed, eaten cold breakfast, and gone on one date.  He had purchased a new car and a new wardrobe and had moved into a fancy apartment on the North side of town.  I had spent hours on the sofa watching daytime television and remembering things with my manhood in my hand.51

Paul finished his coffee shortly after I had finished mine, and we stood.  After several moments of arguing over who should take responsibility of the bill, I agreed with Paul and let him pay for the coffee.  He thanked the short girl for his change, left her with three dollars for herself, and took a toothpick.  52

Once out into the street, we looked left and right in search of activity.  It was still early and no one dwelled yet.  53

“I have a ridiculously fantastic idea!” said he.54

“What is that, Paul?”55

“Let us run across the county line and purchase some liquid happiness eh?”56

“Spectacular idea indeed.”  We caught one of the two taxies in the town and directed the stereotypically-foreign man toward the East.  When we saw a small green sign that said “NOW ENTERING THORSENE COUNTY,” the driver slowed to a stop and informed us that this was as far as he could take us.  We paid our fare and exited the car.  Paul immediately revealed his thumb to the noon air.57

“No need for that, pal.  The liquor store’s just over there,” I told him.58

“I do believe that you’re correct.  What was I thinking?” he answered.  We walked into the wind-blown dust to the liquor store.  59

I let Paul pick out the beverages and I paid for them.  We left the store with the same jingle that we’d heard at the coffee shop and upon entering the liquor store.  The dust had settled and moisture fell.  60

“I do so love the rain,” I said.  Paul concurred.  We caught a ride with a sweet old lady who did not question our choice of beverage.  She was kind enough to drive us all the way to my house.  We gave her some gas money and stepped onto my porch.  I held some of the alcohol under my arm as I unlocked the door, and then we went inside.  As soon as I could put the bottles down, Paul had one opened.  61

We drank and drank and drank after drinking.  Toward the end of the evening, bottles lay strewn across the living room, and we laughed on my couch.  We talked more, and I heard the same two stories four times a-piece.  I probably told some stories more than once myself, though.62

The clock struck eleven forty-two(yes struck eleven forty-two), and Paul got up.  He slipped on his shoes and went out into the darkness without a word.  I sat so content that I spake not a word to him either.  He left and I sat.  63

I decided to go to my sleeping quarters after a few moments, and I also decided to ram my foot into everything at foot level on the way.  When my feet had had enough abuse, I flopped down onto the floor in the hall.  I could smell my own breath.  The breath of a drunk man–the breath of depression.  There on my floor I slept undisturbed until I was...disturbed.64

My eyes opened, but I was still not completely conscious.  Consciousness found me, though, when a voice spoke.65

“Hello,” said a beautiful voice.  Dark hair and eyes fit my mood.  66

“You again?!  Why do you taunt me so?!  Why cannot you leave me be?!”67

“I told you.  You need me, and I need you.”68

“I need no such thing!” I said in fear and anger.  The gypsy looked at me sternly and then jerked me from my position on the floor.  I stood shaking.  69

“ I will not let you forget about me!” said my Darlin’ with uncharacteristic anger.  70

“I see not how you plan to stop me,” I said nervously and quite obviously falsely.71

“I just want you to know...While you’re out having your fun and being your ‘own man,’ I am near.  And I am sad...”  Again she left, fading into the night.72