~*~Prologue/Intro/Thingy~*~
Somewhere I can hear stupid carnival music. I was told that this is a gypsy-gathering-thing, not a carnival. I hate carnivals. Ever since the tender age of six, when I was scared out of my mind by a stupid clown. And er… that made me… react. The way I normally do when something shocks me. By way of… foot. Needless to say, while I could not inflict much pain due to the fact that I was, of course, only six, it still scarred me for life. I cannot look at one of those afro-haired, makeup-wearing, hugely-footed freaks without shuddering or at getting the insane urge to wipe that painted-on smile off its stupid face. And not with a tissue either.
Luckily, however, I don't see any clowns. Just a bunch of tents, gypsy wagons, and little kids running around with dreamcatchers. I can't believe they're making me wait. Geez. I was the only person there, hello! Noone else around. And then Madam Zara, who, it seems, remembers me, and also, it seems, sensed I was coming, kindly asked me if I would wait, just for another half hour or so, until she was done with everyone else. Normally, I would not stand for any of that – excuse the language – crap. But, Madam Zara, she's one of those people that well… you know, you can't really be mean to them. To they're face anyway.
So, there I am, sitting on the ground next to her tent. It's a really dry place for California… but maybe it's just because so many people have walked over the ground and so stuff can't grow there anymore. I'd tried walking around for the first 5 minutes, but immediately decided that most of the place, apart from my one interest there, was not my sort of thing. Plus, I think the appeal of it was to people between the ages of 6 and 10, or like, those new age people. It's not that I really have anything against that – mostly because, well, Madam Zara had proven she was for real – but then, who said Madam Zara wasn't an exception? You know, the rest could all be phonies. You never know.
Oh well. At least the dry ground doesn't look that bad anymore. It now has many little flowers, stars, hearts and circles drawn in the dust. Courtesy of yours truly.
Unfortunately, this is all at a price. I think my face is going to be pretty red tomorrow. I didn't really think that I was going to need some SPF-13 to go on a trip to the gypsies, for goodness sake. But oh well. Maybe I'll get lucky.
I sigh. I've been doing that a lot the past week. Unfortunately. You see, it's been two weeks. Two weeks, I'm talking. NOT two days, or whatever. That would be acceptable. But you see, it's not two days. It's two weeks. Two weeks since I said the L word, which I didn't think he minded (after all, he said it first). Now, I know you're all going 'Oh no. Not that avoiding thing again!' Don't worry. He's not avoiding me.
But I'm sort of thinking I'd prefer that.
You see, he's… well… we're exactly the same as we were before! Exactly. You know, me inwardly calling out for him, dreaming of him; him totally oblivious and telling me exactly how much I suck at being a mediator. I suppose I deserve that though, having not figured out the whole Carparci thing yet. Mr Carparci, bless him, has only been back twice to tell me why I'm not getting the necklace to his daughter. I'm working on it… I just haven't managed to yet.
Finally, finally, the last person walks out of Madam Z's tent, and she follows.
'Suze. You can come in now.'