Gypsy Soul

You've got a gypsy soul to blame and you were born for leaving.

He’d been too many places to count.

He’d started out in Arden. On Emasis. Later he’d return, and he didn’t know why. But that’s another story for another time.

At the age of fourteen he stuffed everything he owned into a leatherskin knapsack, slung it over his shoulder, and never looked back. Or so he thought. He looked back many times over the years, wondering if he could have done something better. Something right.

The first thing he did was catch a ride on a space shuttle. They went between the planets, a taxi of sorts. It was then that he cried. The starlight reflected in his tears. Why had he left? He honestly had no idea. But it was too late to go back now.

He landed on a planet severely different from his home climate. Arden was a forest-land, filled with trees and country songs. This was a veritable desert, with a beating sun and choking desert sand. He nearly dissolved into a coughing fit as soon as his feet hit the ground.

And then he found the city. It was a haven in the midst of the hot, dusty ground. And somehow, it somewhat reminded him of home. He settled in and started looking for a job. At first he wondered what the heck he was going to do. He didn’t have any talent… or did he?

And then he found the violin.

He was engaging in the highly amazing pastime of searching through dumpsters for his next meal. And then he saw it. A dusty violin, sitting against the wall. Waiting for him.

Normally he was horribly against being sentimental. No feelings. Things were things. That was that.
And then he remembered the paperclip. The way his father made ordinary things extraordinary.

And somehow, even though it reeked of everything his father had done, Ryan wanted to do the same thing, too.

So he picked up the violin. And tucked it in the crook of his arm.

And took it home.

He cleaned it that night with a semi-clean cotton cloth. When he was done, the cloth was coated in dirt and dust. But when he was done, the violin was clean. In the tiny light in his cramped cave-like quarters, the wood almost seemed to shine.

He didn’t know how to play of course, but he was determined to learn. He was walking against the cobblestone streets, choking in the summer heat and watching the heat waves reflect off the pavement. The violin was tucked into the deepest recesses of his oilcloth knapsack. He didn’t want to risk losing it. Not now.

He wasn’t looking where he was going, and he almost tripped over a bundle sitting in the street. On second glance, the bundle proved to be a man.

“Oh… I’m…I’m sorry.” He stammered, taking two steps backward. The man was rancid, with yellow teeth. Gray hair rested in two long braids on his shoulders, and wisped out everywhere else. A knit cap covered what was left of his shrunken, wrinkled forehead. His legs were covered in rags and dirt and who knows what else. Unless he was mistaken, Ryan heard flies. Or fleas. Either way, the man was bound to be crawling with disease and plague and—

“Watch where you’re goin’, boy.” The voice eked out.

“Right. Sorry.” But Ryan didn’t watch where he was going. His foot caught on the nearest cobblestone and he fell forward, face first. He caught himself with his hands, narrowly avoiding a faceplant. The old man continued to watch him with wide blue eyes. Somehow, even in the rancid environment, the man’s eyes held a spark of life. And if the eyes were the window to the soul, then this man’s soul was alive. Very alive. Despite what outward appearances seemed to suggest.

Unfortunately, Ryan had completely lost his hold on his knapsack. Therefore, it spilled its contents everywhere, which included Ryan’s only other pair of clothes (including his underclothes, which were now spread all over the street), a granola meal bar… and his violin.

“Do you play?” the man’s voice was barely audible, even though the street was dead quiet, unusual for the time of day.

“What?”

He gestured to the violin, lying face down in the grimy street crevice. “That. Do you play?”

“Uh… no,” Ryan said with a fair amount of embarrassment as he snatched his violin and brushed it off possessively. “No. I don’t.” Once he was satisfied that every speck of dirt had been cleared off, he snapped back to reality. “Do you?”

“Used to. A very long time ago. In another life.”

“Oh.”

“You’ve got a broken string.”

“Yes.” Ryan fiddled with the frayed end. “I need to get it fixed. Do you know how?”

“I did. Once.”

“Would you now?”

“For a fair price.”

“I don’t have any money.”

“Can you work, boy?”

“What?”

“I said, can you work?”

“…Yeah. My da’ taught me lots of things. We lived in the country. I can do most anything, and if I don’t know how, I can learn.”

“I’ll take it.”

“…Excuse me?”

“You work for me. I’ll fix your violin string. Good? Or will you just trip off over the cobblestone the way you came?”

“No… no, I guess that would be fine.” Ryan blinked.

“Fine, fine. The name’s Ebenezer.” He stuck out his hand and took Ryan’s in an iron-hard grip. Despite the appearance of disease and grime, Ebenezer seemed fairly clean, a shocking realization on Ryan’s part.

The days ticked by. Ebenezer, despite the appearance of a beggar, led a fairly decent life in a shack on the outskirts of town. Ryan spent his time there, hauling sacks of flour into storage, sweeping the front porch, and nailing back loose boards. Ebenezer put him to work doing most everything.

The violin string was fixed in no time.

Before the Beginning // Sawyer, the Boy with the Dreams

When he was little, he wanted to fly. I didn’t know this at the time, but we had more in common than I thought.

He’d stand in the middle of the field, green with grass up to his chest. He’d stare at the sky with wonder-filled eyes, wondering what was beyond the clouds. Was it everything it had cracked up to be? Everything he’d hoped for?

When he got old enough he became a studious scholar. The reason? He wanted to fly. Well, it was more than that. He was a dreamer at heart, and it showed. It wasn’t just flying. He’d stare at ships in bottles and wonder… where did they go? Could he captain one of those ships? Better yet, could he captain one of those ships in the sky?

He followed in his father’s footsteps. Only science. But somewhere along the way, he’d gotten so much logic engrained into his boyish head that he lost the dreamer. No, that isn’t correct. He didn’t lose the dreamy part of him. It just got buried under equations and numbers and logical statements.

Pretty soon, the dreamer boy gave up on flying altogether. And yet… he didn’t. Somewhere, buried beneath the unkempt hair, the black plastic glasses, and the trendy plaid shirt, the dreams were still there.
He just needed to find them.

Catalyst :: Ryan

Ryan's father had dirt-stained hands, and his eyes crinkled and lit up when he smiled. His father was the strongest man he knew. The ferocity with which his axe splintered wood; the way his jaw clenched in the midst of deep thought -- this was the meaning of strength. Ryan beheld his strength with wide-eyed wonder, a small boy idolizing his father. His father was his hero, his idol. The way it should be.

And then the dark days came, the ones that almost stole his light.

It was defiantly sunny that day in spite of the tragedy that would befall them. It disgusted him, the way the weather shone in the face of adversity. He was mourning that day, shouldn't the whole world too?

He raced home after his daily ritual of sipping down a Coke after school. He'd found a paperclip on the road. Simple pleasures. His dad had a knack for taking ordinary things and making them extraordinary, and paperclips were one such ordinary thing. Ryan couldn't wait to see the treasure his father would create next.

But his father was gone.

He'd left during school, his mother said. Her nose was red, her eyes tear-stained. Ryan couldn't understand.

"Why are you crying, Mama? Daddy will come back."


Silence.

"He's coming back, isn't he?"


The silence rang in his ears.

It wouldn't sink in. Couldn't sink in. He was positive that his dad would come home. Soon. Every day he'd run out to the mailbox, taking up his perch once more. His ears would perk up every time he heard the rattle of wagon wheels or the hiss of an incoming train. The train rumbled by on the tracks right behind his house, and Ryan was convinced that one day, his dad would be on it.

The days turned into weeks.

The weeks turned into months.

The months turned into years.

The gaping hole left in Ryan's heart would never heal.

Before the Beginning // Avary

She didn't know her mother, and she desperately wished she did. A few memories would surface, like stagnant dirt being stirred up in the middle of a lake. A yellow dress. A primrose. Tea. A faded photograph. Red curls. Ducks. The last one was completely random and still remained a mystery to her, and yet she knew it had some significance in the mysterious history of her maternal unit.

Her father rarely spoke of it. Young children often perceive deep things, and such was the case with Avary -- she knew it was painful to speak of. Somehow, somewhere, a deep secret was buried deep beneath layers and layers of sand. She knew the old fables and sayings: "X" marks the spot. But no matter how hard she tried to look, X was nowhere to be found. She knew someday she'd find the button that would unravel her father's tragic history. She only hoped it wouldn't unravel his life as well.

Despite the fact that her father was reluctant to speak of his true love, he and Avary had an extremely close relationship. She called him Daddy, and he called her Ava Bean. He worked assorted hours -- long days and long nights, flying among the stars. Avary couldn't wait to fly with him; until then, she was content to greet him when he came home. Her strawberry blonde ringlets would bounce through the air as she ran through the dusty sunlight, feet pounding on weathered wood as they ran: straight into his arms.

The days were long then. Summer days, stretching on and on. Twilight blended into midnight and midnight blended into dawn. Day by day flew by, turning into red check marks on a calendar. In that idyllic place just outside of reality, time decided to stand still. The sunlight filtered through the trees, and that was when Avary discovered the forest.

Her house, with clapboard shutters and a magnificent front porch, had many assets, the most remarkable being the one that it stood in the center of a giant forest. She hid in the woods more often than not. The trees guarded her with a strange solemnity, whimsical and resolute all at the same time. She felt comforted there. Safe. It was the only refuge for a dreamer in a world that was set to destroy everything pure.

Before the Beginning // Ryan

When he was young he'd take the bus into town and sit at a giant counter. The man would throw him a Coke and he'd slip a straw through the neck of the cool glass bottle.

The rain was soft against his skin as he exited the restaurant, feeling the dirt crunch under his feet. A million tear drops, a million memories. His life was so young then. A blank canvas.

He had two younger siblings. They adored him. Revered him. Ryan was the bread to their butter, the sugar to their tea. He had to admit this gave him a bit of pride, but what did he know. All he knew at the ripe age of six was that being a big brother made his chest burst with pride.

His mother was gentle. Strong. Beautiful. He thought she was the loveliest woman in the world.

He didn't see much of his father, who worked hard to provide for their family and had no energy to do anything else. His father would come home from his alternating jobs, field work and mining. On Tuesdays his hands were streaked with dirt and blood. On Thursdays his eyelashes were laden with coal dust. That was just the way it went.

The smells of Ryan's childhood consisted of peppermint and butter and the earth after it rained. Deep brown dirt colored most of his life as he learned and grew. His roots went deep in those years. Maybe too deep. If not for the memories pulling on his heartstrings, he'd have no regrets about leaving home all those years ago.