Garnet
Gisselle's Story
Prologue
If it wasn't for the lies of my sister, I would not be forced to write this. My holier than thou twin sister who succeeded at art would like to believe that everything was my fault. But that's not the truth. I'm going to write, even though I hate to write, I always hated school work, but I have to tell you how it really happened.
I grew up with lies and deceit spoon-fed into my mouth. We strived on lies and deceit. I grew up with thousands of friends, went on hundreds of dates with countless boys I couldn't even name. We lived in a huge mansion. I had closets full of clothes I would probably never wear. Our home was an ivory white mansion, a two story with tall columns, the tops of which were shaped like inverted bells decorated with leaves. There were two galleries, an enormous on before the main entrance and one above it. Each had a different decorative cast iron railing, the one at the bottom showing flowers, the one above it showing fruits. Sometimes I would stroll along the walk, circling the house and the grounds. I would look at the pools and tennis courts and it seemed like a different world than the hustle and bustle of New Orleans, and especially Storyville. The air smelled like bamboo and gardenias. Blooming azaleas, yellow and red roses, violets and lilies were everywhere in view. My home was fit for kings and queens, and I, I was a princess.
Daddy's love never wavered, but I always felt as if he were hiding something, a secret that wouldn't be revealed to me for sixteen years, and a secret that both mother and daddy knew. For sixteen years I would live in ignorance, but I don't believe that ignorance was bliss. No ignorance was a horrid thing. Deception and lies were told to me so much that I began to doubt what my real name was, or if I was as old as I thought I was. Mother was always jealous of me, but she loved me in her own way I guess. There seemed to always be some horrid secret about me, that they knew and I didn't. Mother once told me, "Gisselle, we all live on little lies and as you get older you will realize that Creole women tell their husband little lies. And it doesn't hurt anyone. What's the harm in a little lie if it keeps the peace?" she asked me. So from early on, I learned to lie just a little.