USED

When I was six I had a pair of kittens. I'm not sure what the appropriate politically correct term is, Siamese, or conjoined. The point is, they were stuck together. The problem with these kittens was that neither of them had an ass. They were built: head, body, head and six legs between the two of them. These twin kittens were always trying to walk in different directions. One was always trying to walk right and the other one wanted to go left. I now realize this is a metaphor for my whole life. I am a two headed cat trying to take my life in two separate directions. In order for me to be happy I need to find my ass. If I had an ass I could walk in one deliberate direction in my life. My ass will propel me forward.

***
So there I was, standing in the same place where all of this started so many months ago. I was looking for some kind of clue that would make all of this seem necessary. Something that could make me believe that I was doing the right thing. This enormous mistake I have found myself in is hard to explain. For a very long time I have been waiting for something special to happen, something that would make my life exciting and worth living. I have to believe that my life is meant for something more fascinating, otherwise I don’t see the point. Currently I find my life to be very un-fascinating and stereotypical for a girl in her early 20’s. I have recently found myself at the tail end of many bad relationship mistakes and a misguided educational career. Maybe some people aren’t meant for college or boyfriends. This particular bookstore was where I met my most recent ex, and I felt like this store owed me something for my pain and suffering. If nothing else, it owed me a good book.
As I looked through the aisles I mostly found myself staring at a shelf of books that I did not want to read. Books about some new detective trying make a difference in the world, books that would soon become Lifetime movies, books with a wind-blown Fabio on the cover, books that would try to teach me something about life. Personally I don’t want anyone I don’t know teaching me anything, especially life lessons. I prefer to learn about life my own way, by making endless drunken mistakes and then remembering a blurry memory of shame the next morning; like normal people. And this is why I chose to silently loathe all of these books. They all could have been very lovely books, and I might have really liked them if I gave them a chance, but because of my spite I will never know.
As I was standing in this bookstore feeling like the world’s authors just do not understand me something to my left caught my eye. I looked over and saw it, the book that would change my life. It was a small black paperback book with white writing on the front and down the side, and right under the title was a bright green sticker that said USED. There is an old saying that ugly people use that goes, never judge a book my its cover. I find this to be terribly inaccurate; all of my favorite books have great cover art. I also think it is safe to say that any romance novel that has a man in a silk unbuttoned shirt and long hair is going to be nothing if not a big piece of fluffy dramatic shit; Judge everything by its cover. This philosophy is exactly how I found this book. The way the green sticker looked against the black cover and the bold white writing reminding me that there are still things that were good and right in the world. It was simple and beautiful and at a discounted price because it was used. It had to be mine.
I grabbed the small paperback book from the slightly dusty shelf and opened the cover. In pretty penmanship written in black ink was a single sentence. It said, “When you were younger, whoever told you that you were capable of anything was an asshole.” I have to admit that as soon as I was finished reading that small quote I had fallen in love. I also knew that the pain that would come from being in love with a stranger was just something I would have to endure. There was no turning back now. And since there was no turning back I flirted with the idea of stealing the book. It was obviously fate that brought me to this particular bookshelf, and I think when fate intervenes He should pick up the tab. Unfortunately for me the owner of the store had been eyeballing me for quite some time and I could tell by the way he was looking at me he felt that nothing in his store should ever be for free. So I paid the $6.50 for the book, went back to my apartment, and silently forgave the bookstore for our previous discrepancies.

***
I was currently sitting inside of a shop that smelled like patchouli that was located in a part of town that I was not familiar with. I was sitting across a strange looking table from a one eyed gypsy fortune teller. The gypsy stared at me with her good eye while the other cloudy looking eye went googley and to the left. I imagine that if you were to pour milk into a snow globe and shook it up, it would look very similar to the eye that was staring at my shoulder. I couldn't look away. You have to be a strong person to look at a googley snow globe eye. The harder you try to look away the more you become obsessed with it, and then the worse you feel for being weird for obsessing over someone else's handicap. But as much as the gypsy's bad eye made me uncomfortable, the good one scared me even more. The good one was staring at me with judgment and pity. There are many things that have happened in my life that have brought me to the incense and oil filled business of a gypsy fortune teller. There comes a time in everyone’s life when they seek life advice from a judgmental one eyed woman. When that time comes, and it will, it is time to get your shit together and sort your life out.
“What brings you here”? She asked me in a much deeper voice than I was expecting. Now instead of looking at her milky eye I was searching for an Adams apple. I wasn’t sure how to sum it all up, so I just let it all out at once. Quick, like at home wax strips. “My name is Mali. A year ago my boyfriend dumped me, and then I met a married man in a book store. Two weeks ago I was sitting at a table in a restaurant with my married boyfriend who I do not love, and on the other side of the restaurant I saw my ex boyfriend, who I do still love, with his new fiancée. Last week I went back into the bookstore where I had met my married boyfriend hoping to find something that would make sense to me, and while I was there I became obsessed with a stranger. Someone who used to own a paperback book I bought.” This was the first time I had ever heard any of this out loud and I now realized how weird I had truly become. I took a deep breath and cleared my throat to try and regain some dignity. “What brings me here is this: When you know that you have ruined your life and let it spiral completely out of control, how long is it acceptable to close your eyes and pretend that everything is okay?”
****

I don’t have a job, at least not in the traditional sense. Do you know those ads in the newspaper for clinical trials for experimental drugs? That’s how I make a living. You may be asking yourself, how does one get involved with the lucrative world of experimental pharmaceuticals? Well it’s actually much simpler than you think. I use to be an art major. I was a painter in fact. When you’re an art major it becomes common practice to stare at naked people. People come into the classroom, they take off their clothes, they stand there emotionless, they put their clothes back on, and then they leave and go about with their days. When these men and women disrobe you stop seeing their bodies as perverse and after a few months you quit giggling.
One day that seemed no different than any other naked man drawing day, a man who was probably of retirement age came in and took off his robe and on this man’s left leg was a giant mole. I couldn’t stop staring at it. I kept trying to draw, but every time I just drew the mole. I left that class completely drained of any artistic talent that I once had. I tried drawing again. I would go the park and watch people, bugs, flowers, but all I could see was the mole. After that I quit school. I bought a news paper and answered an ad that promised quick cash. I showed up at the interview and they told me that if I take a handful of pills for a week they would give me a couple hundred dollars. As long as I remember which pills to take on what days this work pays my rent. I know it sounds strange but that god dammed mole plucked out my creative eye. I’m hoping that creative eyes are like star fish legs and some day it will grow back, but in the mean time, while I wait, I take experimental drugs for money.
One of the many good things about not having a traditional job is that I am afforded many, many hours of down time. My days as well as my nights are free. I like to spend much of this time reading. That day when I left the book store with my beautiful used book I felt the first sense of hope in a long time. I felt fine with being alone, I was fine that the man I loved was going to marry someone else, I was fine with the fact that my most recent ex was married to someone other woman. I was fine, I wasn’t great, but I was fine, and this book was the reason for all of that. I started reading the book as soon as I got home, and the premise shocked the hell out of me. I was so caught up with the quote on the inside and the paperback’s aesthetic appeal that I hadn’t even read what the book was about. It was about a gypsy. The book was called, The Hungary Girl and it was about an Eastern European woman named Kamla Tantra. Kamla lived in poverty with her family in Budapest until she saved up enough money and came to America. Kamla used her knowledge of her gypsy ancestry to make a living and eventually a name for herself. Today she lives in Los Angeles and is the personal psychic and life coach of many of Hollywood’s top actors and musicians. In the book she refers to herself as a mystical problem solver. After I was finished reading the book I realized this was exactly what I needed to help me put my life back on track. I needed a mystical problem solver; I needed a gypsy.

****
The gypsy was staring at me from the other side of the table with amusement. She told me to keep talking because she couldn’t answer any of my questions until I was sure of what I was asking.
“My problem is that I’ve spent so much of my life pretending to be someone else, someone I thought other people would like. Now I’m completely alone and I have no idea how to act. After I peeled away all of the fake layers I don’t know how to be or what to do. How do I find myself?”
“Mali, give me your hand.” I handed her my least sweaty hand palm up thinking she was going to read the line on my palm or something. Instead the one eyed gypsy tranny slowly brought my palm up to her mouth and planted a kiss. At first I thought maybe this was the gypsy equivalent to the mafia’s kiss of death. Maybe she pitied me enough that she was just going to put me out of my misery. I have often wondered how I would die; never once had I considered a gypsy’s curse.
I held my breath waiting for my heart to stop beating and my hand to start to show signs of the curse, but nothing happened. Instead she put my hand back on the table and told me keep talking. I looked at the part of my hand that had just been kissed and thought about what else I wanted to say. “I thought I was in love once, but now I’m not so sure. I have this nagging feeling that at one time I was very much in love with someone, but I can’t remember it. It’s like I have amnesia, like all the details are right on the tip of my tongue but I just can’t spit it out. Do you think we only live one life?”
“Like reincarnation?”
“Maybe. I feel like I haven’t always been me. I don’t know who I am. I’m not sure if I have ever known. Do you ever wonder about that stuff? ” The gypsy placed her hand on top of mine and looked me in the eyes.
“Do you want to know what I think?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t think you need a fortune teller.”
“Why not?”
“I think you need a therapist.”
“You’re cheaper.”
“Maybe, but you’re asking questions only you can answer.”
“What if I ask a different question?”
“Ok. Ask.”
“What do I do now?”
With that she smiled at me with only her eyes before getting up and walking into a room in the back of her shop. I was expecting her to return with tarot cards, a Ouija board, crystals that were blessed by a shaman; something that seemed promising and mystical. What she came back with mostly just confused me. When the gypsy returned she placed an old beat up cardboard box on the table in front of me. Inside the box was an assortment of different colored plastic dinosaurs. “Pick.” She told me.
“What?”
“Five. Pick five.”
“Of these?”
“Yes.
“Pick any of these?”
“Any five.”
“OK.” I wasn’t sure how this was supposed to work and I found myself starting to feel self conscious. Was I supposed to let my inner psyche out to help me pick which plastic toys I was suppose to choose? Did my fate depend on whether I picked a blue or yellow triceratops? I started to panic, and the gypsy noticed.
“Take a deep breath, and close your eyes.” I did. I willed myself to relax, I just hope I didn’t pick the wrong dinosaur.
“Now, keep your eyes closed and pick five.” I took one more deep breath for good measure, and then I picked five plastic objects from the box. As I grabbed them I placed them on the table in front of the gypsy, and then when I was done I opened my eyes. I looked at the objects in front of me hoping that they meant something to her because I didn’t think they meant anything to me. The gypsy cleared the box of unused toys from the table and spread the ones I had picked out on the in front of us.
“Interesting.”
“Really?” I’m not sure if it was meant to be, but I took it as a compliment.
“Very interesting. Hold on a minute, stay here.” She got up from the table and walked over to the front door. At first I got nervous and thought she was leaving, but then I saw that she was locking the door and removing the open sign. I suddenly became very scared and claustrophobic. This woman had been nice to me, she listened to my problems and offered to help me, but being locked in a room with a gypsy sparked some kind of primal survivalist feeling inside of me and I considered running away. I wondered if I was quicker that her, and if I had to I would use her one eye to my advantage. I could duck and weave until I found her blind spot and then I would attack and then run away through the back door.

The gypsy began walking back to the table slower than when she left. “ I didn’t mean to startle you, I just don’t want anyone else coming in today.”
“Oh. Ok.” I tried to make my voice sound steady and confident, but it didn’t work. She saw right through me.
“Mali, you have nothing to worry about. I think we have some things to talk about and I don’t want to be disturbed.” She took a seat back at the table and my attention was brought back to my five dinosaurs.
“So, these things actually mean something to you?”
“Oh yes. For instance, this one here,” She was pointing to a yellow brontosaurus. “tells me that you have strayed from your intended career path. You went to college, but your job has nothing to do with what you were studying.” As she spoke she watched me carefully looking for a sign of being mistaken. I couldn’t give her one.
“This one,” Now she pointed to a blue pterodactyl, “Next to the yellow brontosaurus, says you’re creative and have a strong passion and need for art.” After that she pointed to two dinosaurs at the edge of the table. One was a triceratops, the other was a T-Rex, both of them purple.
“These two together mean that in the future you will find love, but not for awhile. I would guess maybe a year. You’re not ready to meet him yet. You both will be hard headed and strong, and right now you’re too weak for this love.” After that she focused all of her attention on the last dinosaur. “These are all fascinating to me, but this one in between the brontosaurus and the pterodactyl is what really interest me.” This time she was referring to a black velociraptor.
“Why does that interest you? What does it mean?”
“It means that you’re blocked. Your creative eye won’t open. You cannot create anything which is causing your soul to feel like its dying.”
If I didn’t know exactly was she as talking about I would have thought that sounded stupid. The truth was I was blocked.
“Can you help me?” My request came out more like a plea than anything else. I desperately needed her to help me.
“I think I can.” She said with a confident smirk. “Draw me.”
For the first time I looked at her with confidence and without fear. I noticed how her milky eye caught the rays of sun coming in from the window. When she turned her head it appeared to glitter. The skin of her neck was smooth and feminine. I noticed the lines the muscles in her neck made and the movement her Adam’s apple made when she swallowed. I looked into her good eye and for the first time I noticed that it was bright green. It was defiantly unconventional but her beauty was overwhelming.
“Ok, I’ll draw you.” And with that I could feel my creative eye starting to grow back. This was the first step I needed to take to find my ass.