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tropiqwonder-blog · 6 years ago

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The Mermaid and Poseidon

Chapter 1

Turmoil, to describe my life at this stage the only word that comes to mind is turmoil. I don’t know why I try anymore, but I was determined to try every night to catch some sleep, exhaustion caught up with me. Instead of being a vivacious 21 year old woman, I was a drained old lady, aged 21.

It’s been 3 years since my little sister Kate, and I lived with Mrs Flax, and about 2 years since we last saw her. Mrs Flax is my mother, it felt strange to call her Mom so I always called her Mrs Flax.

It all changed one fateful day with a crash while leaving Grove, a small town in the south of Boston.

Since we lived there close to three years, I thought we finally found our forever home there, and as usual that wasn’t meant to be. Lou her on and off boyfriend at the time finalised his divorce to his wife Sofia and bought her the biggest diamond ring I’ve ever seen and officially proposed. She got cold feet as always, it got too real.

“I am not going to spend the rest of my life listening to that man, drab on and on about astro turf,” was her excuse.

So for the 19th time in our lives, we had to pack our bags and hit the road. I was furious, I had finally decided on what I wanted to do with my life and Kate, adored Lou for he was the closest thing to a father we ever had. Our screaming match in the car distracted Mrs Flax, she didn’t realise she steered us all into the path of a truck on the wrong side of the road. The collision knocked us out, Mrs Flax had a broken arm and a broken knee, Kate suffered a concussion and a broken leg while I fractured my skull and broke some ribs, we were lucky we survived.

In our state the Police notified Mrs Flax’s family in Minerva, Ohio, who took us in to nurse us back to health. It took us about 8 weeks to heal from our critical conditions and it didn’t take long for Mrs Flax to get restless.

My grandparents and Aunt were wonderful, and for the life of me I didn’t understand why Mrs Flax left in the first place. I guess that was always the difference between us, I preferred to stay put while she preferred living life like a gypsy. Kate and I insisted on staying, we loved the stability around us and fed up with uprooting in our lives.

“Fine, I’ll leave and the two of you can stay,” she said in a huff and left never looking back. At first, I thought I could finally spread my wings, which I did, but at the same time we couldn’t believe she just left us like that. Reflecting back later, I understood that it was out of guilt. That she as a fully grown woman almost killed us with her decisions and actions, although she never purposely meant to, it frightened her to the core. Something I understood perfectly well, however I didn’t run away from my guilt, nor was I an adult and I tried very hard to make up for it ever since. You see while in Grove I fell in love, I was a 14 year old girl in love with a 29 year old man. As alarming as it sounds it was the best experience of my life, it shaped me up in unexpected ways. However, I let my hormones get the better of me. I was supposed to look after my baby sister, instead she almost drowned in a lake, while Joe and I were busy losing our virginity. Joe, just thinking of his name gets me in a knot, Joe Poseidon Peretti.

I toss and turn in my bed trying to wind down for the night, trying to keep my mind from racing which seemed impossible. I couldn’t watch the news or read a newspaper without having nightmares and the world around me was drastically changing. I once was obsessed with Christianity and planning on becoming a nun, I now find it hard to believe with all the chaos that there would be such a being would let it all happen. Oh god, that almost sounded like Mrs Flax and it repels me that I could sound like her.

I fight hard not to let the burning, stinging hot tears from falling onto my pillow, trying not to worry to death, as a terrifying thought crept through.

I immediately sit up in my bed, switched on the light by my bedside and open the top drawer. I reached in for the shoe box filled with letters and postcards, I’ve collected from him over 5 years. Waiting for one became excruciatingly difficult, not knowing if I was going to receive one or not and lately I haven’t received any from him for over 18 months.

I start with the postcards, which I received after he left Grove, where he was born. They were short and sweet, then progressed onwards to letters, since a post card was too small to write more words.

Dear Charlotte,

I read, starting with the first letter he wrote, after a couple of weeks Mrs Flax left.

I really hope you’re well, I’m glad you kept me posted about your move and I am very sorry to hear about your accident, I am so relieved to know that you are ok and had your grandparents to take you and Kate in.

As for me, I have some very big changes in my life and I would very much like to see you again.

My heart did somersaults in my chest reading those words, the same way it did when I first read it 4 years ago. Because that’s when I realised that he was the only man I truly loved, and his visits sealed it.

I let myself remember that day, it was a clear Friday afternoon in Minerva after school, working in my aunt’s bakery which I loved. I quickly made my way from the back to the cash register, as the store doorbell rang to warn us someone came in.

“Good afternoon sir, Can I hel…” God strike me down I stopped in my tracks, my mouth ajar when I realised who it was. I received the letter the week before and my reply couldn’t have reached him in time for him to be here, could it? Kate who followed me shrieked “Joe!!!”

Taking off his cap, he bowed his head.

“Hi” he said, looking straight at me flashing his shy smile that lit up the handsomest face.

‘God how I missed his perfect oboe toned voice and New England accent.’

“Hi,” I managed to say, still in shock I froze where I stood.

“You both look taller,” he remarked, “your hair is longer.”

I grew my hair longer then, nothing like the bob I had in Grove, instead it reached down past my shoulders, with a long fringe swept to the side. He noticed despite me having it in a ponytail that day.

“You look different too,” I mumbled, looking at him dressed in an army uniform, his flowing black hair was cut short in a crew cut and his moccasins were replaced with army boots. It was then I realised the big changes in his life wasn’t about finding a wife, as I feared, it was considerably worse, he was going to war.

“What is going on there??” my aunt questioned from the doorway that led to the back of the store.

“It’s Joe, aunt Maggie, from Grove,” Kate answered as our aunt walked in.

“Mam,” Joe nodded to greet her in his typical Joe way.

“Oh!!” my aunt replied looking surprised, “good afternoon.”

She and my grandparents had heard all about Grove, the people we met, the town, the convent and ‘Charlotte’s Boyfriend’ as Kate liked to tease, but what happened in the bell tower was never mentioned. If they knew the exact details, it would have been mortifying, besides Kate was much too young to know about such things.

“How did you get here??” asked Kate breaking the nervous silence in the air.

“I drove here from my base camp in Dahlonega, I thought I’d come to visit on my weekend off, after I’ve heard about the accident.”

“Oy vey, you must be tired and hungry to drive such a long way,” aunt Maggie looked at me with her green eyes, “you can take him out back to the house, matoq sheli (my sweet)” she chimed. Aunt Maggie was bubbly, optimistic, a hopeless romantic and slightly traditional, a total opposite of Mrs Flax. Sure, Mrs Flax loved being romanced, but she was more of a man eater and a cynic to the core portraying a cheerful demeanour for everyone.

“Um, I don’t mean to take too much of your time,” Joe replied shyly, I smiled to myself and was glad that part of him hadn’t changed.

“Oy vey!!! Don’t be silly, we’re going to close for the day in an hour, and we’re going to have supper afterwards, there’s enough for everyone.”

Joe’s face started to turn pink, he nodded “Thank-you.”

Awkwardly I led him to the back of the bakery, where the tantalising smell of fresh bread and delicious pastry lingered in the air, while Kate ran ahead with excitement.

I patted his arm whilst we walked through the French doors at the back towards the side of the house. The Bakery was located on the corner of the main street, and my grandparents three storey cream Victorian style house with black window shutters was located behind, surrounded by a European style garden. We stood there for a minute as I closed the doors behind me on cobblestone paving which covered most of the area connected to the store. Junipers shrubs, conifers and potted roses were elegantly placed to add colour and greenery to the surroundings. There was a long concrete bench strategically placed in the garden, it was my favourite place to sit when I wanted to read or study.

“Did you want to sit out here or go inside?” I croaked shakily.

“No!!!” Kate butted in “Come inside.”

“As persistent as ever,” he casually remarked looking at me with a smirk.

I dizzily smiled back, ‘Oy vey!! This is a lot to take in’.

“My Grandmother and Grandfather are in there,” I informed him.

“I would love to meet your Grandparents.”

“Ok,” anxious, I didn’t know what was worse, Mrs Flax teasing or the reactions of my grandparents to him.

“Busia, Zay-dee guest who came to visit us,” Kate announced as she ran through the kitchen.

“Oy vey!!! Who??” Zay-dee (my grandfather) asked in his strong Polish/Hebrew accent, sitting at the kitchen table watching my Busia (grandmother) cook a stew.

I never knew how she did it, like clock work after baking all day in the Bakery she’d be in the kitchen at the house cooking us a meal for dinner. No hors d'oeuvres like Mrs Flax, Busia cooked a proper main course often served with kosher bread Zay-dee freshly baked for the day.

“Joe from Grove,” Kate answered matter of fact.

Zay-dee and Busia looked at each other puzzled for a moment, then a light of realisation dawned as he gazed at me.

“Oy vey,” he said softly as he stood up to greet Joe extending his hand, “Shalom, I’m Aaron Flax and this is my wife Anita.”

Joe graciously shook his hand and nodded to Busia, “nice to meet you both, Joe Peretti.”

“Shalom, shalom. Please come in and have a seat,” Busia wiped her hands and ushered us into the living room.

I was amazed and taken aback that they didn’t get out the shot gun to shoot Joe yet.

“Italian?” asked Zay-dee.

“My father was from Naples, my mother was part Nepalese and Indian.”

“Indian??” asked Busia puzzled, examining Joe closely.

“American Indian, mam.”

“Oy vey!!!” Busia chuckled, “no calling me mam, you can call me Busia.” She patted his face.

“We have many good Italian customers who like to buy our bread,” Zay-dee went on, gesturing us to sit in one the leather sofa adorned with sheep skin.

I was about to sit on the sofa made for two, to comfortably sit next to Joe on my left, but Busia squeezed in on my right shoving me closer to Joe. Kate sat opposite on one of the accent chairs, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“I like him,” Busia whispered in my ear.

“You’re a soldier, have you come back from Vietnam or are you going there?”

“As a matter of fact, sir, I’m in my second week in training, I have about 6 more weeks to go before I’m deployed to Vietnam,” Joe replied. My head spun from hearing this, and felt his hand squeeze my trembling hand by his side, he always had a way to calm me. Sweet Joe going to fight in a war didn’t seam right, there wasn’t much aggression in his body even though he was shaped like the statue of David.

“Please, call me Zay-dee, it’s grandpa in Hebrew, no need for this sir business.”

Joe blushed again, cleared his throat and sheepishly agreed, “ok si-r, um, Zay-dee.”

“I have 2 grandsons, the eldest is in Vietnam, thankfully he will be back soon and the other is in University, studying to be a doctor.”

“War, it is such a terrible, terrible thing, we escaped many many years ago from Poland,” Busia recounted looking at the tapestry map of Poland hanging over the fireplace. “Such destruction, we left everything behind, everything to come here.”

“When I read what was happening to the Jews in Germany in 1933, I packed my wife and my 10 year old Margaretta to the United States as far away from Europe as possible. I didn’t believe the talk that they wouldn’t spread and I was right.” Watching my grandparents telling their story in unison for the millionth time, it resonated with me more than it ever did. Watching the war on the news was at a safe distance until now. My trembling hand still in his, I quietly watched him listen solemnly and I knew he must have been just as terrified.

“Did you come a long way?” asked Busia.

“Yes, mah, aah, busia,” he cleared his throat,” I drove from Dahlonega.”

“Oy vey!! That is a very long way, you must be hungry, I’ll get you some food.”

I tried to get up also to help.

“No no no! you stay,” she ordered “Kate and Aaron will help.”

I couldn’t believe it they left me alone with him.

“Are you okay?” he gently said, while tenderly stroking my hair.

I nodded, “are you?”

He nodded back, with his fingers still lingering in my hair.

My loose side ponytail purposely hid my bold spot, where the doctor partially shaved my hair to monitor my fractured skull from the accident. Despite my best efforts, he found it.

“Does it hurt?”

“No, not really, it was just a linear fracture with a small open wound which dried up quickly. I have to take some antibiotics for a while to prevent infections,” I blurted out, turning my head towards him and looked into his intense dark eyes. There was a sadness there I didn’t expect to see.

“Charlotte, I don’t know what I would have done if I lost you,” he admitted. The atmosphere between us intensified, just as everyone walked in.

Busia was carrying a tray with tea, hot chocolate and cups. Kate had a tray of chocolate toffee squares, pieces of pear pie and poppy seed cheese cake, while Zay-dee had a jug of warm milk.

I hadn’t lived with my Grandparents for very long but what I did learn was that they loved feeding people.

“Do you have somewhere to stay? It’s an awfully long way to drive back to your base tonight,” Zay-dee said with concern.

“Uh, I thought I’d sleep in my car for the night and drive back in the morning,” Joe replied.

“Oy vey!!! That won’t do,” Busia gasped, while pouring the tea and hot chocolate,” please stay the night, there is plenty of room.”

“I really don’t want to trouble you.”

“The decision has already been made, young man,” Zay-dee wisely informed, “pear pie or cheese cake?”

We chatted a little more, when aunt Maggie and her husband George walked in to announce that it was time to sit at the table. Again, I was placed to sit next to Joe and noticed how they warmed up to him. Could it be because they saw what I’ve always seen in him?

We ate and chatted, questions were asked of Joe which he politely answered. He told everyone about his small nursery business he opened with his brother in Law down in Florida where his sisters lived. His quiet life over there, all the things I knew about from his postcards over the years.

Then he mentioned the urge to serve his country, which was all knew to me and understood that despite all that I knew, there was a lot more to learn about Joe.

Later in the night it was my responsibility to show him the guest bedroom, located on the second floor, my grandparents private living quarters.

“It’s a big house,” he murmured, absorbing his surroundings.

“It’s huge,” I agreed.

“Where do you sleep?”

My heart beat faster at this stage, remembering our kisses, and that night. I wasn’t the hopeless girl, who on occasions made poor decisions, like I was in Grove at that stage. I was a girl who wanted to be a writer and a better life. That night and the accident made me grow faster than my peers. Yet right at this moment, I crazily wanted to be in his arms.

“On the third floor, the top floor,” I breathlessly mumbled, “Aunt Maggie’s quarters, Kate has one that used to belong to one of her sons and I have the spare one in the tower.”

“The tower?” his eyes darkened and there was an uneasy silence. He swallowed hard, then kissed me on the cheek, said Goodnight entered the room and closed the door. In a daze I went to bed in my bedroom tower longing for him all night, an ironic predicament.

In the morning I rushed out of bed not wanting to miss him before he went. Upon entering the kitchen, I saw him sitting there at the table waiting for me. Busia had packed a bag of bread with a flask of hot chocolate for him to take, he enjoyed it a lot the afternoon before.

Mornings was a busy time for the Flax family at the store, so seeing Joe off was left up to me.

We had breakfast and afterwards we walked up to his car, a mint coloured 1950 Ford Tudor.

“I didn’t want to tell you I was going to Vietnam in a letter,” he finally revealed, standing close to me on the side street, “it wouldn’t have been the right thing to do.”

I couldn’t find any words, crushed with emotions I nodded.

“Would you be ok if I came to see you again next weekend? Your grandfather said I could.”

“Yes,” I said as tears poured from my eyes, a small relief that this wasn’t going to be the last time I got to see him.

He squeezed me in his strong arms, pecked me longingly on the cheek and then he was gone.

I had six weeks of ups and downs then, waiting for the weekends for him and the crushing despair when we said goodbye.

My Busia gave me some wise word to help me at the time, how we need to hold on to what is dearest to us when we are faced with huge obstacles. She also told me of how she first met Zay-dee when she was 16 and he a 26 year old gentleman. They were matched by their parents back in Poland to marry, their mutual respect grew to love, and they’ve built a life together ever since.

“Your life is a bit different,” she went on, “you can choose who you let in your heart and who you want to marry, but make sure he is a very good man. Nothing good happens when they’re not.”

I guessed that’s the reason the shot gun wasn’t taken out, and it felt empowering to be trusted.

My heart shattered in little pieces when we said our final goodbye, he came once more at my grandparent’s house to spend time with me and my family. When I knew we were alone in the very early hours of the morning I snuck into his room.

He jumped when my touch woke him up.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, keeping an eye on the door.

I climbed upon his lap, ran my hand over his stomach under his white singlet, feeling his muscles stiffen under my touch.

“Make love to me,” I pleaded inches away from his lips.

I watched the struggle in his eyes. The passion between us was persistent as always and I knew it got only stronger.

He started to kiss me softly on the lips, his body relaxed for a moment as we cupped each other’s face. Our first real kiss in 3 years. I opened my mouth slightly to enjoy the taste of him, the familiar sweet tomato tastes and smell.

As our passion heated some more, he ripped his lips away and shook his head.

“I can’t,” he gently coaxed me off, stood up and looked down in my bewildered eyes.

“Don’t you want this?” I asked a little hurt by his rejection.

“I do,” he furiously whispered, “Charlotte please understand, I shouldn’t have given into my desires that night.”

“What do you mean?” I murmured back angrily, “You think that night was a mistake?”

He bowed his head, deflated, conflicted.

“I love you Charlotte, more than you’ll ever know,” I swore then I could hear his heart shatter too, “but I’m breaking the law and you deserve a lot better than that. When my parents died I was very broken, people I loved moved away. I was holding on to everything that wasn’t there anymore and out of the blue you came along, a young girl who awakened everything I thought was gone inside of me and I shouldn’t have let it go that far.”

He looked into my eyes and saw more of my confusion as he went on.

“I thought if I could wait a little longer just until you got a little older that it’d be ok, but you’re already so much more mature than women twice your age, I forgot everything and lost control. That’s why I had to move away, but I never stopped caring for you or wanting to be with you.”

He’s soothing voice calmed me, and I didn’t want to fight on our last day together. I moved closer to him and confessed. “We may never see each other again.”

Tears streamed out of his eyes, “I know, I just wanted to make sure you were ok and not leave you without saying a proper goodbye. I don’t want to taint what could be our last moment together by doing the wrong things. Look at what happened the last time we got reckless.”

I bowed my head, I knew he was right. He walked to the bedside table, took his car keys and handed them over to me.

“I won’t be needing this for a while, so I want you to have it. You can drop me off at the bus station, I’ll find my way back to the camp.”

“Thank-you,” I whispered, stunned beyond words.

I numbly went to my room, flowing through the motion not looking forward to the inevitable.

Later that morning, Zay-dee and Busia made an effort to come out to say their goodbyes and handed him a bag of bread and pastry.

“Shalom Joseph,” Zay-dee started. “May God bless you and keep you safe,” Busia continued.

“It was a pleasure for us to have known you, and we’ll pray you will come back to us safe.”

Joe drove all the way to the Bus station, as I lay my head on his lap the same way we used to.

As we walked towards the bus, the bus driver got out for a short break and I tried desperately to lighten the mood.

“Remember when you were the bus driver?”

He smiled a little, pulled me close into his arms and held me tight like a vice.

“I am very proud of you Charlotte. Taking care of your sister, standing up to your mother, continuing to senior year. Promise me you will never stop,” Joe said in my ear, bravely brushing away the fear that threatened to eat him away.

“I won’t stop, I promise,” I replied into his ear, not wanting to let go.

We could hear the driver’s footstep approaching and it was almost time for him to leave.

He lifted his head to kiss my lips, his tongue desperately tasted my mouth for what seemed a long time. The bus driver tooted, prompting Joe to leave me there with the taste of sweet tomatoes and the heaviest heart.

The Mermaid and Poseidon (on Wattpad) https://my.w.tt/QIeQJwp2nV

#Mermaids #fanfic #winona ryder #cher #christina ricci #michael schoeffling #jake ryan

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