Prologue: The Day I Found Fate.

On the day I met him, it was raining. And not just the namby-pamby sort of rain, I’m talking drenching-sheets-like-god-is-pissed-off-to-no-end-signature-Seattle-rain. I was young then, young on the outside- but I had grown up an incredible amount on the inside. I had to grow up fast- I didn’t really have a choice.

You see, you’re kind of forced to learn to fend for yourself when you live in the slums of Washington, in a crummy old apartment that has sketchy electricity and even sketchier hot water. When your dad is in jail for drug trafficking and your mom is always hazy eyed and doped up, there but never really there. When your older brother dropped out of high school his freshman year and nobody really seemed to care what you did, or where you went, or if you followed in his footsteps. Nobody cared at all. Nobody ever cared about me.

I was seven. Seven years, three hours, twelve minutes, and forty-two seconds old. Which means, yes. That day was my birthday. It was a Wednesday, November seventeenth of 2004. It was a little girl’s birthday and- can you believe it? Not a soul in the world cared.

I shouldn’t remember that day as well as I do, I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up so much, I was used to disappointment by that age- I shouldn’t have dared to hope at all.

And yet, some part of me did. Some vague part of my little heart dared to hope, dared to think that when we woke up Dad would be home, and Mom would have made us those birthday pancakes she had been promising for years on end, that Mom would have listened to us for once and gotten us that warm coat we wanted that year. But when I woke up that morning, as you can probably imagine, things weren’t like that at all.

I watched a roach scurry across the dingy carpet, the room reeking of booze, and I sat up from my spot on the couch. There was no savior, no light, no hope, not birthday pancakes or a soft and warm coat. That was my reality. My reality was cruel and harsh- the harsh truth that nobody cared, and there was no such thing as fairy tales, and that I was probably going to die on the side of the street in a drive-by shooting.

The couch wasn’t very comfortable, and in fact was rather lumpy and covered in odd stains. I wiggled my butt into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt that hung off of my very nearly malnourished looking frame like the skin off an elephant. Who wears shorts in November, you ask? A girl with nothing else to wear, that’s who. I’d learned to stop believing in God and “guardian angels” a long time before that day, Mom said church was just useless fiction anyway. She refused to take me after I turned four, maybe I wouldn’t have turned out so messed up if she had taken me just a few more Sundays….

I went into the kitchen, that faint little part of me still daring to hope, daring to imagine that upon my entering there would be a big loud “Surprise!” of a shout, and Mom would have those long awaited birthday pancakes on the table, and my older brother, Davon, would be carrying a nice pretty box, wrapped up with shiny paper and a pretty red bow. A red one, only a red one, because red was my favorite color. Not that anybody ever listened to me long enough to find that out. And inside that pretty box there would be the nice warm peacoat that I had begged and pleaded for when mother took me to J.C Penny two months ago, red as poppy flowers, I can still remember, with black buttons that gleamed like the brand new eyes of a teddy bear. It would have been the prettiest, and warmest thing, I’d ever owned. But of course- I didn’t get it. I didn’t get anything I asked for, hoped for, or pictured.

I shouldn’t have been surprised to see beer bottles scattered on the floor and sticky stains all over the place, shouldn’t have been surprised to see Mom, or “Lauren” as she had me call her when she was really confused, leaned back in the sturdiest of our creaky kitchen chairs, her eyes open but distant, empty syringes with used needles littered the table like snow on a perfect christmas morning.

She must have had friends over that morning, if you count the morning as two am. I had probably slept right through it, I learned quite quickly to be a heavy sleeper, you avoid a lot of the nastier parts of life if you are.

“Mom…” I shook her shoulder softly, she lolled her head over to look at me, her eyes still glassy and unseeing. There- but never really there. That’s how my life always was- people would say they were there….but a body doesn’t make a person, does it?

“Mom, guess what day it is…?” I hinted, though I knew she was probably too doped up to even realize her daughter was speaking to her, let alone realize what day it was.

“Isha Tuesday…?” Her words slurred badly, probably the worst I had ever heard since the incident two years ago, around the fourth of July. I was five, and she nearly rammed us into a tree on the way home, driving us back from a fireworks show down at the bridge.

“No, Mom. It’s Wednesday, November 17th. Remember?” I tugged her arm softly, but she didn’t budge.

“Feelsh likea Tuesday….” she drawls languidly.

“Do you remember anything about November 17th?” I ask, the last of my hope forcing its way into this simple question.

“Nerrrrrrp.” She smiles, a dopey smile, one that sends her into a fit of inebriated and drugged giggles.

“Nothing….nothing at all….?” I choke on the words ever so slightly.

“Ner….Nope-dy dope….Should Ih?” She looks at me, her silky brown hair tumbling down her shoulders. She was a beautiful woman, my mother. She had the sort of eyes that could silence you with a curt stare, or at least, they could have before they became so glazed over and distant. She had fair skin, beautiful flawless skin, and the most beautiful sleek chocolate brown hair. Mother was beautiful- but that was also her greatest flaw.

I could tell from the accumulated mass of needles and cheap beer bottles that there wouldn’t be a present this year, as usual, since she had squandered all the money. But I mustered up the courage to prompt anyway.

“Do you maybe….have anything for me…?”

“Why should Ih? Ungrateful little kid….yer killin mah vibe….go and play outzide er sumfin.”

“It’s raining outside.” I stated, letting the heavy weight of disappointment sink into me like a large stone.

“Doez it look like I cer? Go play outzide. Get out er my ‘air.” She just waved me off flimsily and leaned back in her chair again with a satisfied sigh.

So I did. I slipped into my icky faded green flip-flops and went outside, despite the rain coming down in pounding torrents. All I ever really wanted from my mother was her approval, but as you can probably tell, her approval was something I would never win.

It was a Wednesday, nine o'clock in the morning, a seven year old girl like myself should have been in school- but clearly, nobody really cared what I did. I went outside when I felt like it, I went wherever I wanted to go whenever I wanted to go there, and I went to school whenever I felt the inclination, which wasn’t very often. I didn’t like it there, and I knew the kids there didn’t like me either. I “smelled funny”, my hair was always a wild and untamed mess, I didn’t carry a nice pretty backpack like all of them (I simply showed up as I was), and I was quite a little terror, to be honest, I hadn’t learned that “biting isn’t nice” or “we shouldn’t hit others” or “you can’t just take things from others”. Needless to say, if I went to school, I wound up spending more time in time-out than I actually spent learning. So I really saw no point in it. Everybody there hated me anyway.

But today, the park, where I would have usually gone instead of school, even when it was raining, was blocked off by crime scene tape. Some guy had been shot there last night, some guy I had seen around a few times but never really known,  and I had simply slept through it. Like I said, you can sleep through a lot of the worse aspects of life and you won’t really miss any of it.

So I sat across the street, my back pushed against the brick wall of the local drug store (which had been held up more times than I could count), the torn awning giving little to no protection from the icy torrents of rain. I was drenched to the bone, but I just continued to stare at that crime scene tape as though I could will it away. I wanted to will a lot of my problems away, and at that time the crime scene tape seemed easiest to deal with.

I was so angry. Angry with everything. So angry I wanted to scream until I ran out of air. It wasn’t fair, not at all. It wasn’t fair that mom sent me out in the rain on my birthday. It wasn’t fair that she was so selfish she did drugs to escape me. It wasn’t fair that she didn’t get me the warm coat that I had asked for, or even that she didn’t listen to me at all. It wasn’t fair that some selfish guy went and got himself shot in my park. It wasn’t fair that my dad was stupid enough to get himself locked up. It wasn’t fair that these people just walked right by me like I wasn’t even there!

With each person trudging past, I got splashed with cold muddy water, but I didn’t move. Moving wouldn’t have made a difference. No matter where I went, I would always be trampled on. Power is reserved for those with money and strength. I had neither. I was a little girl from a broken family, in a world that didn’t even want her. I just glared even harder at the crime scene tape, wishing with all my heart that it would go away so I could play on the tire swing beneath the oak tree and at least have a bit more protection from the rain while still having fun. That was my tire swing, I played on it every day. Nobody else could ever touch it. I would rather die before I let them. I could even see it from my vantage point across the street; I could see it in the distance, dangling in the wind as though it were waiting for me. And yet, even as I was staring at the bright yellow tape, everything was colorless. My entire life was faded, devoid of life, devoid of color. Not even the biggest box of Crayola crayons could color my life again.

And it made me so mad.

The longer I sat there, the madder I got.

And I just glared,

And glared,

And glared,

Until, my vision turned red, this really weird shade of red. I could feel the scream building up in my chest, and suddenly, almost like a trick of the eye, the police tape snapped and was torn away on the wind.

For a moment, I didn’t believe it. True, the tape being gone didn’t exactly mean it was okay for me to go play, but it sure seemed to scream a welcoming invitation to me. I got up, grinning ear to ear, and took one step towards the now open park. Maybe this was my birthday present, my birthday present from God.

That was when the hand landed on my shoulder, I stifled a surprised outburst, but still jumped a good few inches.

“Good heavens child, shouldn’t you be in school?” An old man wearing a grey trenchcoat asked. He had a warped sort of cane with a withered crook on the end that matched his knobby gnarled fingers, he wore sunglasses even though there was no sun visible at all, and he wore a black beanie like an old dude that was trying way too hard to be “hip” (and he probably was). His hair was snowy white, and he had facial hair that resembled a long white stubble rather than an actual beard. Like he had gotten a clean shave a while ago and was now trying to grow it back out again. One thing I knew for sure- I had never seen this man before in my life.

“I don’t know you.”  I snapped at him. I wasn’t friendly in general, and I certainly wasn’t going to be friendly with an old geezer who was standing between me and my tire swing.

“Haven’t you heard of respecting your elders? Come on now girl, shouldn’t you be in school? Don’t you know what time it is?”

“Course I do, I’m not stupid.” I sneered. “But I do what I want, and go where I want, when I want to. I don’t have to listen to an old guy like you.”

“You’re drenched to the bone, girlie. Where’s your mother?”

“At home…” I mumbled. For some reason I couldn’t look up into this guy’s eyes, even though they were covered by sunglasses.

“Won’t she be worried that you’re out here? You aren’t even wearing a coat.”

“I don’t have a coat. And she’s the one that sent me outside anyhow.” I growled, as if that was that and it would make him go away. Of course it didn’t.

“You don’t have a coat? Would you like to borrow mine?” He made a motion to remove his coat.

“No, I don’t. I don’t want some weird old guy’s coat.”

“What’s your name, sweetie?” He was looking at me as though he didn’t really know what to make of me. “Look me in the eyes when I talk to you.”

Reluctantly, I looked up. “Gwendolyn. Gwendolyn Faire.”

“Well, Gweneth-”

“Gwendolyn.”

“Gweneth. Would you like to go shopping with me? I have a granddaughter. And I believe you might just be her size.”

I looked longingly at my tire swing just across the street. “I don’t wanna…..”

“I could treat you to a nice meal afterwards, for your much appreciated assistance.” He had me there, and he knew it. Mom didn’t really buy groceries, any money she got was quickly squandered, leaving nothing for me.

“Fine.” I lifted my head, and for a moment the thought crossed my mind of the peculiar vanishing of the police tape. There was almost no trace of it now. I looked back over, and he seemed to notice and followed my gaze.

“Thinking about the crime scene tape?” I jumped slightly.

“N-No….”

“Lying isn’t a good habit, girlie.” He chuckled slightly and pulled out an umbrella, had there been an umbrella there before? I didn’t think so, but my mind was hazy. “And messing with police tape is a serious crime.”

My heart stopped for a moment.

“I didn’t mess with it. The wind tore it away.” I insisted.

“Of course you did.” He opened the umbrella. “It was brand new tape, new tape doesn’t just snap like that.”

“I was all the way over here. I didn’t touch it.”

“I’m not saying you physically touched it.”

“Then how can you say I messed with it?”

“I’m saying you touched it without your hands, with your mind.”

“And how would I do that?”

“Magic, dearie.” He held the umbrella over me, and as I looked down I noticed his cane was gone. He had a cane before, I can distinctly remember….

“You’re a crazy old man.” My voice shook.

“What is wrong with the world today? When our young children cannot even believe in magic….” He sighed, he sounded genuinely disappointed, which surprised me. We walked over to JC Penny, the only actual store on this side of town. The same one mother had taken me to two months prior.

“Hmmmm, now what do you think my little Granddaughter would like?”

“Something red.” I blurted out, without really thinking.

“Why red?” He asked quizzically.

Why red? I couldn’t really give a good reason, you know. I just always liked red. In a world so bland and devoid of color, a world where nobody seemed to see or hear you, I guess the idea of a loud and bold color was really appealing. I liked anything red, to be honest. Maybe the reason I liked red so much was because the last thing my father gave me before he got carted away to jail was a popsicle. A bright red one. It was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted. Some days I can still remember that one moment of happiness.

“It’s just... I like red. It’s my favorite color.” I stumbled, my cheeks becoming flushed embarrassedly and as I shuffled my feet, the soaked foam of my icky-green flip flops squelched disgustingly.

“Hm. You know what? Now that I think of it, I do believe she likes the color red.” He walked over to a rack of clothing and began rifling through them. “Look around, see if there’s anything you think she’d like.”

I shuffled through racks for about five minutes, just to be courteous and not completely rude, before I pulled out the pea coat I had begged mother for those months ago.

“This is nice.” I held it out to him, letting him inspect it.

“Hmmmm…..Let me have a look…” He took the coat from me and removed the hanger, holding it up against my frame in a way that wasn’t dirty or rude, it was very gentle. He put his hands on my shoulders and tilted his head, seeming to size up how I looked in it. For some reason, I didn’t feel threatened by this man. He just gave off an air of intelligence and serenity. Plus- he smelled like cinnamon. How many bad dudes do you know that smell like cinnamon?

He felt like how I imagined a grandpa would feel, and for a moment, I could picture a perfect universe in which he was my grandpa. A universe where he would take me away from this whole life I had now, and he would do things with me my mother never would, like take me to the beach for the first time ever, or go on a trip to the lake and teach me how to fish, despite my impatience, or teach me how to swim, for reals and not just that doggy paddle stuff, or read me bedtime stories like nobody ever did before, or build a snowman with me when it snowed instead of pushing me out in it, or coloring with me inside when it rained and not getting mad if I colored outside the lines, or playing hide and seek with me, or taking me to the library and helping me read, or driving me to school and making sure I did well, or…...just….any of the things nobody ever did for me before…..

“I do think I rather like this coat. You choose well.” He smiled and put it back on the hanger. I caught a glimpse at the price tag, it’s $50. It was only twenty-five when mother took me earlier, but I guess it must have been on sale then. Whatever her name is, his granddaughter is really lucky….

“What’s your name?” I asked, skipping after him and expecting to go to the registers, but he veered off and went to the shoe aisles.

“Name? Names are a fickle thing really. One can go by many names. I used to be called Merlin, but nowadays people call me Marty.” He mused absentmindedly.

“Merlin? Like the wizard?”

“Just like the wizard, actually.”

“Why are we going down the shoe aisles?”

“Well, I can’t give my granddaughter a nice pretty coat without some good rain boots, can I? Try these on.” He pulled a box off of the shelf and pushed it towards me, helping me tug on a pair of slick black galoshes that shined like a brand new car. They had fit perfectly, like how Cinderella’s slipper must have fit.

“There we go. Perfect fit. Now we can go check out.”

“Why were you named after a wizard?” I tugged the boots off and put them back in the box.

“Who says I was named after the wizard? What if I am the wizard?”

“You can’t be. That would make you like, a bajillion years old.” I rolled my eyes.

“Ah, child logic. So naive.” He smiled, shaking his cane - when did he get his cane back…?

He paid for the nice coat and boots at the register before he paused.

“You know what? I think my granddaughter’s birthday is actually in APRIL, silly me. Old mind is always forgetting things. Why don’t you keep those? I wouldn’t want them to go to waste.”

I very nearly dropped everything right there. I was holding, in my hands, a total of $67 dollars worth of clothing- that was almost more money than I could count, and it was certainly more money than anyone had ever spent on me before.

“I- I can’t take these….” Unfortunately, that stupid little voice called a conscience piped in and told me that I couldn’t take $67 dollars worth of stuff from an old man, because it wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t right. I wasn’t going to be all crook-y towards a man who had been so nice to me.

“Of course you can. Think of it as an investment.”

“An investment?”

“Of course. One day I might need your help.”

“I don’t see how you could ever need my help….” I mumble.

“Oh, but I need your help now, Gweneth.” He tilts my chin up, and I don’t even bother trying to correct him on my name again. “I need you to believe.”

“Believe in what?”
“Believe in yourself. Believe in magic. It’s all the same thing for you.”

“I can’t believe in magic. It’s stupid. Why are you so insistent on that? It isn’t real.” I state with finality. And then he does something completely unexpected- he removes his sunglasses and kneels down, placing a hand on my shoulder.

“Look into my eyes, and tell yourself magic isn’t real.”

I would have wittily retorted back, but all the air was sucked up and out of my lungs. His eyes were blue, blue like a sky hovering between dusk and dawn and the color caught in between- that would be the color of his eyes. If you were staring openly, as I was, you could even see the infinite stars sparkling and revolving in their depths. They seemed to whisper, and I could feel the wispy voices brushing up against the edges of my mind- a sort of white noise that would not be silenced, and I had to come to the realization…..magic was absolutely real. I could see it in his eyes, those eyes that took my breath away, in the rage that broke that police tape, in my mind full of all those strange whispers.

And now? Now it was a part of me. Now that I believed in it.

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[Jared Grace]

A very good beginning to a very possibly great story