2

Interruption

I watched Charles and his mother walk swiftly in the opposite direction from where I stood. The boy periodically turned his head to gaze longingly and sympathetically at me, ignoring the downpour of harsh comments his mother threw at him as she scolded him for getting away from her.

"Charles? Have you been listening to a single word I've said?" his furious mother asked as she halted in front of what I presumed was their cabin door. The boy was still staring at me and had obviously not been listening to his mother. She followed his gaze back to me.

I was lost in little Charles' eyes, completely mesmerized by those pools of blue. Neither the young boy nor myself dared to blink. I stood with one hand rested upon the cold wood railing of the deck, while my other hung limp at my side. The cool sea breeze rustled my dress and hair as I stood, waiting for something to happen.

I only moved when he was pulled from my sight. His mother scowled at me and gave an obnoxious "Hmph!" as she stuck her long nose in the air and threw open the door.

And Charles was lost.

The shoreline was drifting closer as I started my return to my cabin. The moon still glistened upon the waters of the English Channel. I caught a glimpse of a small school of fish scattering about the ship's wake as I strode along the deck.

I could not count how many times I wished to join them.

I had always walked with my head held high. Not because I was proud of who I was or what I was about, but because I refused to let others think I was weak in any way.

So that night I stalked the deck, staring down those who dared stare at me. Most avoided my gaze altogether, and preferred to crawl along the railing to prevent even the slightest interaction with me—a mesh of clothing or hair, or the ultimate accidental brush with my contaminated skin.

I finally made it—untouched—to my room, after staring down two middle-aged women and one arrogant teenage boy. Before entering,I turned and yelled at the top of my lungs:

"You cowards!"

I didn't pause long enough to see the sea of faces turn to stare at me.

I was infuriated. Stomping about the chamber, I threw my journal upon my divan, muttering curses under my breath. Then I proceeded to pace about the room, waving my hands in violent strangling and pounding motions, imaging Charles' mother within my grasp.

I was just about to slit her throat with my imaginary dagger when I tripped over my journal. It had fallen off of the sofa when I banged against it. The book felt heavy in my hands—heavy with my burdens, my pain. I drew my arm back, ready to fire it at the nearest object...but stopped. The nearest target was a mirror directly in front of me.

I was never a big fan of mirrors, but this one intrigued me. My reflection was dark and menacing, like a shadow. As I slowly walked toward the mirror, my journal fell from my hands; I did not bother to pick it up.

Stumbling into the vanity, my hands flew to the glass and I traced my reflection. I was lost then, and do not remember turning on the lamp…but it happened nonetheless. The bright light cast numerous shadows upon my reflection.

I will never understand why people acted the way they did toward me. There were worse looking people out in the world...I had yet to see them, but surely they existed? No, it wasn't that...they just needed someone...someone like me...to divert attention from their wretched souls.

My hand left the glass to remove a strand of hair from my face. Black as midnight itself, I inherited my dark locks from my mother. But like her, I always had the most difficult of times trying to keep the curls in place, for our did not take to curls very well.

By this time, late at night, the amount of curls sitting atop my head had rapidly diminished in number. I rubbed my one good eye, which I suppose was another attribute of mine that could have made others jealous. But I loathed the color of that eye...that deep navy tint that I inherited from my father. I shuddered at the thought of him as I dug my nails into the crevice of my eye, longing to change the sickening tint...even to red.

But then I thought to myself—that wouldn't be wise, old girl...then you would be completely blind.

I steadied myself on the vanity, avoiding having to look at my bad eye. But it was inevitable. Raising my head, my gaze fell upon the black patch that covered my right eye.

When I was a girl, I was often referred to as a pirate or "Ainoa Katsella", or a combination of both.

"Pirate One-Eye." I'll never forget that. My peers had made sure of that.

My finger traced the silver studs outlining the dark covering. This patch was one of the first that I bought with my own money. I would have it for many years after this particular one, a reminder ofa faded--but not forgotten--memory. I traced the thin string of fabric that held the covering in place and then back to my starting point. Here, above and below the patch, the ends of a long and ghastly scar could be seen.

I prodded and pulled at that scar for hours at a time, pressing it harder and harder into my skin, trying to rid my face of it.

But my efforts were always in vain.

I swayed to the gentle rhythmof the ship rocking beneath me, and I could feel the heat of the lamp as I slowly lifted my patch.

It was halfway off when the door swung open behind me.

The cover slid back into place as I spun around and fell back into the dresser. My heart was beating in my throat as a young cabin boy stuck his blonde head into my room.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph...haven't you never heard of knocking!?" I yelled between spurts of breath. I could tell from the boy's expression that I looked very angry.

"I'm s-sorry, ma'am. I just...we're supposed to..."

"What is it?" I asked impatiently as I sauntered toward the boy. He drew back as I approached.

"We'll be docking s-soon." I folded my arms and raised one eyebrow at him.

"Is that all?"

"Yes...s-sorry to disturb you, ma'am." I smiled inwardly as he trembled before me. Relaxing a bit, I placed one hand on the door and the other on his shoulder.

"Thank you. But you should learn to knock before entering a lady's chambers."

"Yes, of course," he stammered as I pushed him out the door.

"After all, I could have been in the middle of undressing." I could hardly contain my laughter at the sight of his face as I slammed the door shut. I was still snickering as I picked up my journal and placed it in my small suitcase.

Outside, a whistle blew, signaling the end of my short voyage from England to France.

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