Neilsinhaur held a small wastebasket aloft for me to retch in once I opened my eyes from the mindfuck. The wisdom of having a puke receptacle handy must have been learned from hard experience.
The good doctor's voice broke through my dry heaves. "I know you saw a lot in your past life, but without thinking of certain incidents, can you liken any of the emotions felt with what you experienced with either Mike or Dmitri?" He set the wastebasket down once my stomach settled from the synaptic roller coaster.
My mind still swirled at the glimpse of another life, a lifetime away.
"Yeah. A couple of instances." All the eyes on Ona when she lay atop the table... that's the way I felt in the restaurant, all those patrons looking at the show Dmitri and I put on as engagement dinner theatre. Like a thousand percent dead on, no doubt in my mind that those sensations don't differ.
I didn't want to close my eyes nor look at the mural on the wall before me. So I stared at my jeans, noting the weft and warp of indigo-dyed cotton threads as my mind tried finding its figurative landlegs after that rough voyage in the mental sea.
"Okay, that's a good start. Please explore these instances with a focus on your emotions, especially the anxiety. Let's see if you can link emotions to the people in that past life that gave you trauma. See if you can reconcile the past life people to those who are important to you in this life. Here," Neilsinhaur reached out to hand me a composition book. "Use this to journal. I don't know if you free write, but if you do, get it out."
Gee, thanks. I love to write, but not of horror or terror or rapine so potent that I feel gnarly to my toes. I held the little notebook on my lap and asked, "So... I delve into a traumatic past life and relive the experience, journal about it and then I'm magically healed? I just want to be on the same page with you."
Neilsinhaur slowly shook his head. "Not quite. The journaling is intended to give you an opportunity to work things through. Find the parallels from that life and this, common threads that still weave around you and yours. For example, was Dmitri or Mike a part of your past life? Or your mother? Did you recognize personalities in that life you know in this one? The type of trauma itself, have you experienced a variation of it in this life? Things like that. See what echos in this life than that. After you process your trauma, address it, then you will be on your way to healing. There is no magical button that instantly fixes everything. It's a process that differs for every person."
"That's kinda fucked up, ya know? Because what I just experienced in my mind was really not cool. I don't watch movies with a quarter of the crap I just 'relived' or whatever it was in it because I really fucking hate that sort of violence and shit. It was so horror show, I don't even know if it could be real." And if it wasn't real and I imagined it all... then I've got some fucked up nooks and crannies lurking in the folds of my brain.
Neilsinhaur smiled slightly. "Are you familiar with the medical term debridement?" At my nod, he continued. "Look at this experience like that. You are addressing the rot, you are working to remove the rot. It hurts like a sumbitch, but that is life and its experiences for you. If one lives in an ivory tower, away from all pain, they are depriving themselves of the Human Experience. You have been hurt, you will continue to be hurt. But it's how we deal with such things that help to define who we are as people." After a moment, he spoke again. "Do you think your avoidance of such movies and the like could be the result of experiencing a similar situation in a past life?" He raised his eyebrow high at the end of his question. "I'm just throwing that out there as food for thought."
Yeah, well I gorged at the all you can eat trauma buffet, thank you very much. I don't really need seconds of Food for Thought.
"Maybe I don't watch them because I find violence in general, distasteful."
"That's a possibility, too." Neilsinhaur leaned forward with his elbows propped on knees and hands clasped together. "It is up to you to decide whether what you experienced in that chair to be real or not. I did not guide you on that journey. I led you to the door, but you went through portal by yourself with nothing more than instinctual guidance. I want you to keep this in mind: are you a student of the time period you were in? If not, then go and do some research. See if what you saw is factual for that time period. It's easy to sort out whether outside stimuli helped form your journey or whether it was completely internal."
I considered myself more a student of anthropology than history. I'd have to ask Jet-- she knows the most random things when it comes to knowledge of that sort. Perhaps she could shed some light. My mind tingled in a new, slightly zen-like way. This was a lot to process and the person who annihilates bullshit like it ain't no thang would have a grasp of whether I'm beyond messed up in the head or whether what I pictured in my mind was a falsehood or truth... perhaps she could shed some light on the subject.
This new pathway towards clarification managed to lift my spirits a bit. The tangent brought on by what Jet's take on it had me distracted enough so that I agreed to see Neilsinhaur in a week's time, journal in hand.
As I wandered out to my Jeep, I dug deep for my cell to give Le Book Wench a call.
Like a firecracker, Jet's voice echoed through the ear piece after half a ring. "Ooh, Kimosabe! I was about to call you. We have business to discuss."
Really? Ok. "What business would that be?"
"My Maid of Honor obligations. I'm not like Wiley, thus my title cannot be in name only. I gotta do something or I'll go old cat lady batshit mad. If you saw the stack of bridal magazines on my coffee table, you'd think I was the one polishing my diamond solitaire and getting hitched."
I smiled at the picture Jet painted representing her indoctrination toward domesticity. "Is Hell having a snowball fight today?"
"No, not quite. But I do like looking at fashion and imagining myself sporting a dazzling sequined nightmare in the wonderful shade of puce. I love saying that word. Puce. Sounds much better than 'goose shit'."
"No puce, I promise. Just purple for you. I'm even going so far as to say, if you want to streak your hair purple, provided it's not overwhelming, go for it. I'm in Chico right now, can I head to your place when I get back into town? I've got something I want to talk to you about. Not wedding related." Felt conflicted about the mindfuck, need another opinion.
"Oh really, now? What's up?"
"I think I just experienced ocular fornication."
"You've been skull-fucked and are still fit to drive? My, Kaylis... you never do cease to amaze. Dmitri getting extra kinky these days, huh?"
"Not quite, although I'm open to taking him out to dinner so he can pay me back in sexual favors. I'm a modern woman and all." I would be lost without sarcasm's constant presence in my life. "Side note, I just got out of the past life mindfuck thingie."
"Oooh, that kind of penetration. How was it?" Interest obvious in her voice.
"Bizarre. Terrifying. I think I'm mental, because it was a lot like Hostel but without the tourists."
"I thought you didn't see Hostel. Refused to see it, if I remember correctly."
"IMDB has its uses." After I got into my car and buckled up, I turned on the bluetooth speaker on my visor so I could talk with my hands freed.
"So it was that bad? Really?"
Turned the car on and made sure to turn the stereo off before Nine Inch Nails blared through the phone. "Yeah. You were there, too."
"Really? Oh, do tell."
"Ireland during the English invasion. We were family. You were my cousin, a widow. Dmitri was there. And my grandfather. Nita. Willow. You were all there and Oh My God, I sound like Dorothy from Wizard of Oz when she woke up and didn't realize flying debris gave her head trauma."
Jet's voice glazed with a tinge of compassion. "Just a little, but I'm still intrigued. No talking scarecrows anyhow. So, Tudor Reformation... Which monarch?"
"Henry the Eighth."
"Ooh, getting better. So were we English or Irish?"
"Irish. And to quote you, we got 'bent over a log without the benefit of lube.' Just so much happened in a short period of time. So much nasty crap." Bleach for the mind, table one.
"So we were on the receiving end of the English converting Celtic heathens from the Catholic church to the Anglican church all Spanish Inquisition style?"
"Kinda sorta but not really. Our uncle was a bishop. We were his wards. He arranged my marriage to Padraic-- err, Dmitri, who was another one of his wards. We were going to flee before the English came. We left too late and got trapped. Examples were made of people. Family died and stuff." And stuff. Pfft. How else can we trivialize rape while we're at it?
"Padraic is Gaelic for Patrick. What was my name? Can you even pronounce it?"
"You were Mara. My name was Ona, and I had two little sisters, Moire and Bride."
"Oh. No terrible tongue twisting there."
"Nice alliteration."
"Only someone who reads or writes a lot would call someone on that. Thank you for noticing my mere homage to our monstrous language. English, the biggest bastard of all the tongues."
"You're so very welcome. Mara had a collection of books, by the way." It was the books and saucy attitude that betrayed Jet's personality in my mindfuck. If it were real, if those people did exist and die under those circumstances, then absolutely, I believed Jet to be Mara's newest incarnation.
But do I believe in reincarnation? I don't know. I thought I did know, but as these visits to Neilsinhaur show me, what I think to be tends not to be. I felt confused, because the thought of what Ona experienced was completely repugnant to me. In effect, did I want to be a rape victim again? Unlike her, I survived. Starved to death in a stinking room with nothing but the body of her beloved... did I want to own that?
"Oh, she could read? I'm liking this more."
"What do you know of wolfbane?"
"What, did you never read Harry Potter?"
Oh, the scorn dripping from her voice almost made me feel bad for not indulging in British whimsy.
"Didn't read past book three. My bad. And no, I didn't see the movies. Again, my bad." But I'm more of a Tom Cruise in sequins or Val Kilmer chillin' with transmogrifying-talking-animals kind of person. And yes, Warwick Davies as Willow Ufgood was saucy. I mean, just look at those hands...
Err.
Back to reality.
"It's a poisonous herb with a pretty purple flower. Touching it with bare skin is toxic. The root is very poisonous."
"So you learned about it by Harry Potter?"
"Well, no. But most everybody else did. I have an herbal first published in the 1600's that talks about wolfbane also known as monkshood. And an encyclopedia on poisonous plants. And an encyclopedia set." If she went on, I bet she would have mentioned Wikipedia, too.
"Good to know." I should have known.
Jet acted like a cat batting around the ball of curiosity. "Why do you ask about things you don't know about?"
"To learn, silly." I navigated through traffic to reach the highway junction.
"No shit, Sherlock. But why did you ask about wolfbane? What relevance does it hold? That's a pretty random thing to mention."
"Mara wanted to use it to poison the garrison holding us hostage.'
"Listen to yourself. 'Us.' You are buying into this hook, line and sinker, aren't you?"
"I don't know any more. It felt real. Very real. Every detail, thought, and sensation. I don't know what to think any more. Did that really happen or am I just mental?"
"I vote mental, but I've suspected it for years. So how much longer until you show up?"
"About thirty minutes, give or take red lights in Hamilton City."
"Okay, we'll continue this conversation when you get here. I've got some things to do in the meanwhile. Just come inside when you arrive."
"Aye aye, Cap'n."
Click. The severing of contact seemed like a rock's plunge into a cold stream representing the dark recesses of the human mind and the depravity that comes with being an animal at heart.
And back to the world of pondering my version of reality. Tune in next week as Kaylis reveals she's ready for Bedlam because her mother's insanity genes go too deep! All this and more on As The Dye Gets Tied... Sponsored by Mecha-Duty Mindfuck Condoms. When a ten foot pole won't do.. Mindfuck Condoms to the rescue!
I needed to switch mental gears. Shut up the 50's television announcer that lurked in my mind with a ball gag and get away from the Irish Incident to meander toward Jet's insistence that I start planning my wedding. I must be odd, in that planning the shindig was kinda the last thing on my mind. It was good enough for me that he wanted to marry me, that makes me content. When the thought of wedding chimes enters the picture, I get all deer in headlights. A remnant of Ona's legacy? Or am I just a chickenshit due to my front seat view of the matrimonial noose Willow wore four times now?
Excuses.
Dmitri wants to marry me. I do want to marry him. And I don't-- well, not the wedding part. I'm down for the marriage part like white on rice though. That I was all drag-ass about planning the nuptial festivities started to irk me. I should be neck deep in fabric swatches and cake samples. At the bare minimum, possess a wedding planning book by now. Three weeks is sufficient for bathing in the glow of engagement, right?
As I drove toward Jet's cave of wonders, I pondered what exactly I wanted for the Big Day. Very little white, lots of jewel tones, friends, family, Dmitri and myself. Anything beyond having the bride and groom along with family seemed extraneous, really. And that thought began to bother me. I've been told time and time again, that my wedding/pretend to be a princess day was to be one of the most important in my life. And right now, I don't think I could care less about the wedding itself.
Before I knew it, I found myself in the parking lot belonging to the complex Jet lived. Her apartment was a townhouse, decorated as flamboyantly as she herself dressed.
When one entered the dwelling, the first thing to catch the eye is a large silk-painting Jet labored upon for a week, facing the doorway in an alcove. The painting, a starry sky with tiny gold stars. A lake glistened with moonlight below, highlighted by backlit hills bedecked in trees. The blending of blues and purple into black combined with the silvery-blue of water always took my breath away. Jet has a great talent with the sumi brush, undoubtedly due to her focus and perfectionism.
Below the framed painting, a sideboard beset with cut flowers and books. From the door's alcove, the living room opened up to a cozy space bedecked with wing-back chairs and a loveseat. The chairs faced an electric fireplace. The mantle of said fireplace held a single book, The Complete Folios of William Shakespeare As Of Belonging to The Globe Theatre. On either side of the book, wrought iron sconces with hot pink taper candles. Walls painted in a heavy cream color set off the dark wood of the furniture nicely.
Near the dining room, a massive bookcase which included a World Book collection, Encyclopedia Britannica and eight-- I kid you not-- eight dictionaries. The rest of the books were split into two categories. The first category: Research. Everything from Stephan Hawking to Sir David Attenbourgh. That took up a sold two-thirds of the shelving. The remainder was fiction, the vast majority being classic literature.
Jet sat cross-legged upon her arch-backed couch, smiling like a lunatic as she gestured towards the coffee table which looked to be nearly capsizing from the volume of wedding crapola piled haphazardly atop.
I had to stop, look down and take it all in, before I could sit down for the meeting of minds. "Wow. When did you become a wedding-guide hoarder?"
"When Dmitri told me he wanted to pop the question to you. Figured what the hell... might as well embrace the opportunity to live vicariously through you because I sure as fuck am never getting married." Jet paused at my expression. "Okay, here's an exercise. Picture me married. Can you do it?" A pause. "Yeah, me neither."
"You never know, Jet. Maybe there's a guy as freaky as you who'd make your head spin and loins quiver." It would take a special guy to keep up with The Jetnia Phenomenon. That is a fact.
She laughed. "I doubt it. No matter who I get involved with, it always ends up flushed down the toilet. Some people are destined to live alone, and I am a part of the elite. I'm content with that. But since I'll never get to experience smashing cake into someone's face while in formal wear, in a non-fight setting, I'm going to make the most of this. So sit your ass down and let's get this clown show on the road."
Oh holy shit, I think my Maid of Honor could have potential Bridezilla tendencies. Is this a good or bad thing?
"So are you set on The Aquarium?"
"Not really." I mean, yeah, cool idea, but reality check: probably won't happen. I don't feel right charging something like that to my future in-laws, even though they may think it's a drop in the bucket, finance-wise. Aww shit. I don't know what I want other than a long-lasting marriage to Dmitri. Weddings seem inconsequential compared to that.
"Where's your enthusiasm?" Accented with Jazz Hands. "You've been living in sin with him for over three years. Time to tag him as being off bounds to other women."
"I don't know. I have no enthusiasm when it comes to wedding planning. I dread the wedding. Seriously dread it. Like, from when we hung up earlier until I got here, I was trying to think what I want and other than what I outlined before... I'm at a loss."
The Cheshire Cat smile emerged. "Ooh, but that's where I come in and line your ducks in a row."
"Jet, will you be my wedding planner?" I hope that wasn't too much to ask. But her organizational skills and eye for detail would be beneficial. And if she really wants to live vicariously through my wedding, she can have the Full On Wedding Planning experience. In fact, she's welcome to it.
Green eyes widened like Ralphie's when he got his Red Rider BB Gun that Christmas morn long ago. "Yes, but only if you agree not to argue. I have a list prepared of topics we need to settle."
Okay. She made lists already. Sigh. Bring it on. "Alrighty... let's cover the topics." Like 'therapy', the sooner I can get it over and done with, the faster I can move on.
"First off, location. If you aren't set on The Aquarium, what do you want? I don't see you having a church wedding. Outdoors? The beach?"
I closed my eyes. Where to have it? I don't know. "I like the idea of outdoors, but not the beach. Need shade if it's daytime and no tripping hazards at night."
From under a stack of bridal mags, Jet pulled out a notebook with a pen clipped to the cover. With a flip of her wrist, paper got exposed to receive her ink. "Okay... so woodsy. I can find woodsy."
"Next topic."
"Invitations. I took the liberty of ordering some samples," and with that, a padded envelope stuffed to the point of distortion made its grand appearance. Putting the notebook on her lap, she began pulling out handfuls of vellum, parchment and ribbon.
"Some?" I reached out and nabbed several to look at. "Did you hold a printer up at gunpoint?"
"No, I just requested samples from a lot of online shops. Oooh, here, look at this one. You said Moroccan Nights... check it. Awesome, huh?"
I don't think I've ever seen Jet this giddy. Kid on Christmas morning. The invitation she held consisted of a black heavy parchment folded in thirds, with the two outer flaps folding over to cover the center panel, held closed place with a gold-edged cobalt blue ribbon that wrapped around the paper bundle. When opened, vellum printed in raised silver ink spelled out the details, with a crescent moon cradling a star taking center stage at the top. The inside of black parchment possessed a blue liner that matched the ribbon, speckled with golden stars.
The texture of the paper, the glitter of metallic embossing, perfection for a nighttime festivity.
"I don't think I want to see any others. This one is awesome." Seriously fucking awesome.
"Well, look at this one. Pick another couple as backup then ask Dmitri which he likes most."
"This one is so Count of Monte Cristo. Seriously, his gothy heart will adore it, but okay, show me another you think I'll like."
So she did. A solid hour of groping paper textures and touching raised ink. Of rubbing across metallic embellishments to make sure they didn't transfer off-- a mark of poor heat setting. I found my backup, a more traditional invitation with a black filigree border on cream colored linen.
I looked over at Jet, who kept taking notes about things I commented on and such. This side of her eagerly embracing matrimony for someone else, really took me by surprise. My voice shone with admiration. "I think you missed your calling as a wedding planner."
"Maybe I did, and then again, maybe when this is all over and done with, you will think differently. Guess we'll have to see, eh?" Jet smirked.
"Okay, we got invitations. What's next?" I was starting to get into the groove of nailing out a plan. With Jet taking the helm, a lot of the anxiety lifted from my shoulders.
"Attire." To punctuate that statement, she pulled out the big gun. Her laptop, went unnoticed propped up against the side of the couch closest to Jet until she hauled it up to place on her lap. As she opened it and got the browser running, she said, "You mentioned what colors and non-traditional and whatnot. I found the coolest site ever. Custom made clothing. Here, take a look."
Curiosity wandered in my mind as I took in the images Jet displayed for my delectation. The model wore a navy blue gown, a one-shouldered creation with a sweetheart neckline and shoulder straps-- three straps total. One actually held the gown up, while the other two slid down the arm in artful disarray. Where the straps met the bodice, a sparkling star brooch shimmered. The skirt wasn't poofy, but fell to the ground in gentle folds. A pretty clean silhouette, but decidedly feminine. I suppose a petticoat would make the skirt more formal looking with a little extra volume, but it wasn't needed.
Yes, I could picture myself getting married in such attire. "I like that. A lot. What about you? What have you picked out on here for yourself?"
Jet smiled and with a click of a button, showed me a similar dress, with the strap on the opposite side of the gown she shown me moments before. Knee length chiffon, with a tiny Watteau cape cascading from the shoulder towards the hem. "That is pretty. I like. And again, I think you have a potential career in planning weddings, because so far you've been spot on."
"High praise, indeed. Especially coming from one who I could easily mistake for being allergic to the state of marriage. Besides, I've known you for ages. It's easy to gauge what you'd like. That, and I have exquisite taste."
"I'm not allergic to marriage. Just weddings."
"Your own as well?"
Maybe. I don't think I could admit it though. "I want to marry him."
"Who you trying to convince... me or you? And why the wishy-washy act? Like two days ago you were all mermaids and sharks. Now, might as well get a Justice of the Peace and head to the courthouse."
You know, that does have its appeal, but his family expected to partake of the festivities. The thought of eloping to Croatia so the Branimirs could be in on the wedding passed as a glancing thought-- my research showed Croatians celebrate big. Which is the opposite of what I want. Back to square one.
"If I say something Willow-like, will you not mock me?"
"Depends if you have a joint hanging off your lips. Because if you did, then yes, I would mock you. Incessantly. For years."
Deep breath. "What if my past life thing is what's making me drag my feet? Because I can't help but to feel they overlap." And so I laid it out. All of Ona's story. My childhood nightmares-- of the pillar into the depths of my mind and of the people who leaned over me with terror and hate and the similarities of dread of being center of attention, especially in a large room. Everything.
An hour later, the first things out Jet's mouth were, "I hate to break it to you, but I'm the last person who'd be objective about reincarnation. Balinese believe in it. I just love to give you hell about things I know you dread doing. You're fun like that."
Well, shit. There goes the one person I thought I could count on for a lesson on why my skull fucking can't be real. "So you're telling me that they are connected?"
"Why not? There are things in this world that make less sense than reincarnation."
Oh, such as? "It seems a cop out." Step right up! Blame your woes in this life one something that (may or may not have) happened to you in a previous life! You too can blame other trauma for the trauma in this incarnation! My inner Carnival Barker couldn't be quelled.
When my grandfather received a broken neck in a car accident, he was positive he saw the Pearly Gates. According to the doctors, it was a hallucination brought on by oxygen deprivation to the brain. But the vision of those pearly gates was no less real to my grandfather. And now I have my own twisted version of that. I wasn't in Ireland this afternoon, but I was. Logic and emotion, the oil and water combo of life.
"In one way it is. But it's not up to me to believe. It's up to you. What does your gut say?"
"My gut says I'm one step away from being a loony toon fit for an asylum." And that it was real. A thousand percent real.
"Your gut is a retard."
"Just don't tell my gut that to it's face or it may want a dunce cap so it can cry in the corner properly."
"Your gut is a pussy, too." After a piercing look and a frown on her face, the Great Jetnia once again shared her wisdom. "He's nothing like Mike. He won't hurt you like Mike."
"I know that already. Him hurting me has never been an issue."
"Then what is the issue? At the bottom of it all, under all those excuses, what is it that makes you freak out like a hippie on bad acid when weddings are mentioned?"
"I don't want to get married to have it end before it should."
"Do you think that'll happen?"
"Well, I almost married Mike... so stranger things are possible. I sat through a couple of my mother's failed marriages. How many people of our generation are divorced? It's not unheard of for marriages to end only a couple years after the wedding. It's almost like a ticking clock, and the wedding is the starting line for an invisible race toward the end of happiness as I know it. "
"What, do you think he's going to cheat on you?"
"No."
"Ah-ah-ahhh!" Jet waved a finger in the air. "You forget the glorious factor of unwanted exes trying to find a position in his life and yours."
Yeah, I could go a very long time without thinking about Lorryn. And I know deep down we haven't heard the last from her. And Mike, well, I don't want to think about him at all.
"I saw Mike earlier. He was walking out of the Bottle Shop on Wood street." Jet's voice hammered in the sensation of unease I have when the subject of Moobs arises.
"Are you sure?" Wish Mike would disappear beneath the rock he calls home.
"One cannot mistake his ass for anything other than his ass. Trust me, I saw him. "
"I think I saw his car a couple times this weekend when we were at Farmer's Market. Blew it off as being a college kid's ride."
"I don't like him in town. Keep an eye out for his shit-- he's dumb enough to try and approach when you're alone. Got some mace or a taser?"
The thought of Mike taking advantage of me being without company brought shivers to my spine. "Not yet." But now it's on my to-get list. Desperate to change the subject from what I brought up, I tried bringing a lighter humor to the situation. "And I forget nothing. Speaking of things that irk us, I promised Wiley you'd behave until after the wedding."
"I know. It was a part of the white flag he flew when he apologized." Jet moved her face closer to the laptop monitor.
Doth mine eyes deceive me or is that a faint blush gracing Jet's cheekbones?
"Well, I'm glad you guys aren't at each others throats. Thank you, by the way. For everything."
"Don't thank me until this is over."
No, my eyes do not lie. A definite crimson shade tinted Miss Akbari's face. "So, aside from being an asshole when drunk, what do you think of Wiley?"
Plop. There's my bobber out in the lake, waiting for a nibble of my bait.
"He's a jerkoff when drunk. But he sincerely apologized for being an assjacket and I, the gracious soul I am, forgave him. Wiley isn't that bad... just an authority figure. I automatically hate authority figures. But he's not a bad guy. Cute, even." No comparison to Ted Bundy yet? Something is afoot.
"Cute? How cute are we talking, because he's not Dmitri cute."
"No, thank the gods for that. I know your sight is off, because there's no other way you could miss that guy's schnozz."
"The term is 'aquiline'."
"No, it's fucking huge. At least his mammoth jaw balances it out."
"Now you're just being mean again."
"True. I can say that Dmitri gives Bruce Campbell a run for his money in the chin department. And no, Dmitri is not a troll. But he's not Wiley, either. All angles and hard lines."
"I still want clarification about how cute exactly you find the Best Man." Because her admitting someone is attractive happens very rarely. Jet is the sort who indulges in TMI with no care, and it hardly ever relates to males.
Something's up, and I want to know what.
Long pause from my Maid of Honor. "Kissably cute."
Uh uh. Stop the car. "You kissed him?" Jet was going to rip his head off, possibly defecate down the stump of his neck. They sucked face? This does not compute.
With precision of movement, Jet closed the laptop and looked at me. "Um, yes, you could say I kissed him. And stuff."
Oh. Em. Gee.
"But you hated him... Screamed at him! Explain this to me because I am so totally not understanding this wishy-washy attitude from you concerning Wiley. His apology couldn't have been that good."
"How generous of you to plagiarize my own words."
"It's apt."
"Look, I fucked the guy, okay? We ran away from your engagement party to bone each other like mad. It was awesome, and not going to happen again. He and I have an understanding. That's all you need to know."
I couldn't resist making Jet a little more flustered. Sometimes, I swear she rubs off on me. "So are you sure you weren't picking those wedding magazines up with Wiley in mind? You make a striking couple. All handcuffs and tattoos."
Jet went full on body flush. "Grow up a little, Kaylis. We talked and bonded."
"Bonded at the hip and lip." It took much effort not to smile.
"Fuck you, Kaykay. Whoop-dee-doo, Jet got some. Now the peasants can fucking rejoice, yea, oh merrily, yea."
I couldn't resist laughing. "It's not often that I can get you worked up. Forgive me for enjoying this minor victory."
"Seriously Kaylis, I would appreciate you not mentioning this to Dmitri. Or anyone. It was a one-time thing with him." Jet's massive feline, Humperdink, made his appearance. The cat worked himself up onto the top of a wing-back chair and began his purring.
"What did Master Humperdink think of Wiley?" This infamous cat happened to be protective of his human counterpart. Once, defecating in the shoe of one ex, pissing on the leather jacket of another. Half-Manx, half skunk, Humperdink came equipped with his own brand of Mustard Gas, which has been deployed twice on Dmitri, when he stroked the cat's fur in the wrong direction. According to Dmitri, the resting cat got up, turned around so his ass was in my hunny's face and then deployed the stink bomb with a twitch of his bunny butt.
That cat is Jet's baby, her one and only, and any man interested in her best make friends with the kitty. They are a package deal, no exceptions.
"At least he didn't blow a scented kiss in Wiley's face. But Humphrey-Sweetie-Kins was all loving on him. Had to kick the cat out of the bedroom because he'd snuggle between us."
"Wow." My perception in reality took a drastic beating between brain rape and Jet revealing she a) hooked up with Wiley, when I was almost positive her anger and dislike of him shone like a star going supernova in the night sky and b) her cat who hates men tolerated the man who probably smelled like his dog. And that thought had me on a tangent. "Wiley came back for his truck and dog. Did he go home after that?"
"Nope."
My jaw dropped.
"Shut your mouth, Kaylis. You look like a nimrod."
"My mind is just dancing in wonderment at the thought of his dog and your cat being cozy with one another, in the same way you two were."
"The dog chilled on the floor and my sweetie-beetie-keettykins was atop his throne, like he is now. No blood or flying fur." Every time Jet referenced her cat, her tone would revert to one reserved for infants. It's kinda funny, in a way, especially coming from her.
"Why only once? You let Wiley grudge-fuck you?"
"No. I felt bad for him."
Again with the cold water shock of how she operates. "Oh, so it was a pity fuck."
"Can we change the topic from my bedroom adventure back to your wedding? By the way, we left because we didn't want to screw in your house and have someone walk in on us."
"I want to know this, why?"
"It wasn't planned. We messed up the party already. Last thing your engagement party needed was a big reveal behind door number two."
Oh. Okay then.
"So thank you for not having a sex show at my house. Much appreciated. Glad you guys 'made up' from your prior argument. Yay team estrogen. Back to non-sex adventures. Attire and invites done. What else?" Oh, we won't talk about it now, but it'll be fodder in the future.
After picking up the notebook, Jet said, "What about the reception?"
"If it's on Halloween, I'm loving the idea of Venetian Carnival Masques. Kinda like a freaky Halloween Ball, give or take the dancing."
"That sounds interesting. What kind of grubbage?"
"Wine and cheese. Nothing heavy if it's after midnight."
"And if it's not a Halloween festivity? What's your contingency plan?"
"I'm down for a backyard barbeque."
"All or nothing, then?"
"Not really. To be honest, I'm looking forward to the marriage, not the wedding. The more I think about it, the less important the wedding seems-- it's only one day in a lifetime together with someone. I'd give up that expectation of a grand white wedding that society says I need to fixate on and just relish the marriage itself. I'd trade in the fancy wedding if it were a guarantee of a long life of contentment with him."
"That's not an option. You've put me in charge of your wedding, and by the Honor of Greyskull, you will be married amid festivity. After your wedding night, you can go ahead and revel in your new status of wifey and hubby. But there will be festivities, oh yes." Green eyes gleamed with scheming.
"Is that a threat?"
"Fuck no. It's a promise."
I smiled. "I really appreciate you taking over the planning of such things. It's like I have two constant thoughts in my mind... the past life thing and how thinking about it makes me not want to have a wedding."
"Don't phrase it to Dmitri like that, he may think you're against marriage with him in general."
"I don't like this mixed feeling. Yay, he and I together. Boo, wedding day trepidation." Maybe a couple days of mellowing out will remove the permanent yucky feeling stewing in my brain.
"Yeah, well, do what you have to in order to process that shit. Then have your wedding. It's just a day to celebrate your mutual affection, publicly. Not like you're going to be flogged or hung from a gallows."
No. But it feels like it. The more I think about Ona's marriage, the more I am hesitant about my own nuptials. Not even married one day before her world fell apart. In one regard, it's profound. On the other hand, it's upsetting.
And then the more worked up I get because I shouldn't feel this way because I'm not living Ona's life, her fate isn't mine.... I should be all giggly and trying on dresses by now. More resolute about what it is I want. Instead, I wished it was already over and done with and things go back to normal – aka not wedding related. I am perfectly comfortable with how things are between Dmitri and I, domestically. What if getting married changes that dynamic? I mean, it shouldn't... but what if?
Deep breath. "Okay, Jet. I've come to a huge decision. Since you know how my tastes run, I'm leaving you full on Charles in Charge of this all. Tell me what you need from me, and make it so. Your hands are much more capable than mine of planning this out." Without inciting panic attacks, that is. "Get what info you need from Dmitri. And provided it doesn't involve Star Trek extras, I'm down for it. Do what you will. Please keep in mind that his parents will be there and they have not met me yet... so nothing mortifying."
"I'm appalled you think I'd stoop to such antics on one of the most important days of your life where cameras will be present to document my awesome taste in planning the aesthetics of said day."
"You are fond of saying you are mean. Generally, I take what you say at face value because of that personality perk. However, you are also known to take things past an acceptable line when the mood strikes, thus I'm asking for a full-on brake check before you get all mad scientist with the wedding."
"Can I borrow your elbow length black rubber gloves for this?"
"You plan on digging that deep?"
"Not really. But knowing you and how stubborn you get, there'll be plenty of mud to be avoided from those heels of yours digging in. I have a manicure to protect, after all."
"If you really need the gloves, they are yours. But you have to use protective eye wear with them. It's the rules."
"Rules, schmooles. I'll give you a badass wedding. You just get over your aversion to reciting vows, and it'll all be kosher. So, this Halloween, or next? Because we've got enough time to make it this year."
My heart began to beat fast. This year or next? Might as well treat it like ripping a band-aid off a wound. Just get it over and done with. "This year." It's the middle of July right now. That's a little over three months. Could it be done? If anyone could pull off an awesome miracle, it'd be the Great Jetnia.
"This year. Okay. I need measurements. Yours and your cousin's. I need to order the dresses a-sap. And you are seriously okay with whatever venue I choose?"
"Provided it isn't open to the public for gawking, is safe for walking in heels and can be decorated tastefully, then yes. I will be fine with what you choose. If in doubt, hound Dmitri about it." He's more into wedding planning than I am, anyhow.
"Full disclosure time, I'm going to rope your mom into helping."
"Please make sure nothing reeks of pot."
"Very well. Hey, wait a minute, I'm going to go grab something." Jet handed me the laptop and skipped up the staircase across the room. I could hear her footfalls above me, then the slam of a door or drawer. Then the pitter-patter of her feet coming back down the stairs. She stopped at the bottom step and held a tape measure in her hand as a prize. "Stand up. Let's measure you now. Then measure me. Oh! Before that, text Nita, have her get measured, and tell her not to measure herself. It won't be accurate if she does."
I whipped out my cell to pass on Jet's message, then stood up so my Maid of Honor could wrap her tape around me.
"Okay, your basics are 38-30-43. Let's see what specific measurements we need for that dress." She went back to the laptop and pulled up the website again. After a moment, she came back, measured my height and added two inches to account for the heels I'd wear. Then another measurement, this one from the hollow of my throat to the floor. Easy peasy.
We switched places, and I took Jet's measurements. "32-26-32. That's a legitimate hourglass figure, isn't it?"
"Damn skippy, it is. If I thought I could pull off a more hoochie dress, I would. So I'll settle for showing off my legs. I may order the hem an inch or three too short, though."
"Nothing mortifying, please." My cell phone chimed with a message from Nita. "Okay, have her measurements now." I forwarded the text to Jet's phone.
"It's already eight o'clock... any other topics we need to cover before I head home?" I have a journal I need to taint with things I'd rather not think about.
"I need to work on the venue, but once I get that figured out, I will order whatever invites you guys choose. Actually, I'll do both the invites and just remove the one you don't want from the shopping cart. It'll be faster that way." Jet tucked the pen she held behind her ear. "Ummmm... no I don't think there's any other things to discuss, aside from guest list. You will do that much, else I go by who your mother invites."
"Now that's a dire threat. Aye aye, captain." I saluted her. "I will obey."
"So... you are totally okay with that dress?"
"Yep. Love it."
"Okay. Now go home and flash your man some tits. And by tits, I mean invitations. After he picks one, I want to know as soon as possible. Then the rest of the evening is yours to do what you crazy kids will do."
"Kicking me out already? Gonna give Wiley a booty call as soon as I drive off?" I teased.
"I won't say you are a bitch, Kaylis... but your catty claws do make an appearance from time to time."
"Just messin' with you. So rarely do I get to make you all fidgety."
"I know. I deserve it too. Means my corruption of your once pure soul is complete. Muh hahahaha! This is so 'Luke, you are my son,' ya know."
Humperdink raised his head and meowed in reply.
"That's kinda neat and creepy at the same time." I gestured to the cat. "I realize you have long, drawn out conversations with Mr. McFuzzlekins when no one is around, but does he reply all the time like that?"
"My sweetie-mister-Humperdinky-doodles and I understand each other, don't we, honey-cat?"
Again, the twenty-something pound feline trilled a reply that sounded like it could almost be a sentence.
"I'll take that as a yes." I reached over and petted the tailless wonder. "He's a super soft kit-cat for certain."
"And he loves his mommy." I could feel the cat's rumbling purr intensify beneath my hand.
"This proves you aren't evil. A witch, perhaps, complete with her familiar to help craft spells. You don't have a cast iron cauldron by chance, do you?"
"No, but I could get one fairly easily."
I reached for the doorknob to head towards my Jeep, purse in hand. "I'll get cracking on the guest list. Will email it to you."
"You do that."
I opened the door and bid her goodbye. Jet's voice slunk over my shoulder to reverberate through my head and fill the parking lot with her reminder.
"Don't forget to flash Dmitri your tits!"