Old New Beginnings
Waking up in a new brand year gives me the same pleasure as starting writing on an immaculate page. It used to scare me when I was a teenager and I thought life offered a myriad possibilities and they would be all mine had I just reached for them. Then, as time passed and I started thinking jazz and its desperate notes would match my life much better than rock’n'roll or heavy metal, I gradually lost my faith in the possibility of change and felt very disillusioned about brand new years: I knew that they would be very much like the previous ones, that I would be very much like my previous year self.After my meeting with Gwendolyn, though, I started perceiving the unpredictability of life again. Changes may not happen on January the first, but no matter how comfortable in our daily life we are, they do happen and we have to deal with them. And more often than not, we will not know how to do it, but we’ll find out we possess qualities we never suspected. That’s the beauty of life, I guess. We are only half explored universes; hopefully something happens that makes us realise our full potential.That luckily happened to me. Gwendolyn Sourcil happened to me.
When Devi and I entered the diner, a fair-haired waitress wearing too much make up welcomed us and brought us coffee. We asked to meet uncle Ben. The man arrived bringing a smell of fried meat with him. I immediately liked him, he was very friendly and seemed keen to answer our questions about Jett and Gwendolyn. Granted, their works could probably attract customers, but the man probably genuinely enjoyed meeting new people like us. Besides, Devi was using all her charm which meant no man on earth would be unfriendly to her.
When we had finished our first cup of coffee (not the best one I had tasted in my life but coffee was not what had brought us there) uncle Ben took us to the small corner of the diner where Gwendolyn and Jett’s paintings were displayed. Jett’s works were quite varied, they ranged from fantasy landscapes to portraits of powerful warriors. The subject of his paintings were not that original, but the style was nonetheless remarkable. He was only fifteen after all. Gwendolyn’s works seemed to belong to two completely different phases. The older ones were very much like Jett’s, even though she recurred to much harsher brush strokes. Then something must have happened and she had dedicated her art to angels only. To one angel only I should say. As a matter of fact all the works represented a beautiful, sad angel whose vermilion lips were parted in disdain. I had the impression I had seen that angel face before but I couldn’t remember when.
Meanwhile, a skinny teenager had come to our side, Jett. He politely asked us how we were after introducing himself. I said I really liked his works, especially those representing medieval warriors. Devi told Ben the boy was adorably shy, then, with the apparently careless expression I had recently seen so many times, she asked if it was possible to meet Gwendolyn too.
Ben took us to the back-garden and there was Gwendolyn, practising free throw shooting. I was surprised not to be impressed by her appearance. While everything about Kinvarra was extraordinary, Gwendolyn seemed a perfectly normal twelve-year-old blondie wearing a baseball cap, a worn-out sweater and a pair of jeans. As she drew nearer she pulled her cap so down over her eyes one could barely catch a glimpse of them. Her forehead and eyebrows could not be seen. In spite of this, I noticed that she was very beautiful but she was doing whatever she could to look ordinary and unpleasant. It looked as if she had tried and only partially succeeded in rubbing off that special glow that distinguished indigo children and that Kinvarra so much emphasized.
Devi’s charm had no effect on Gwendolyn whatsoever and she barely took notice of my presence. I was very disappointed and I could feel my Indian friend’s frustration as well. As we were driving back, she would say Gwendolyn was the least cooperative child ever.
I thought that was the end of it and that I would never meet Gwendolyn again. But I was wrong, I was about to meet her very soon, in my sleep.
