It was surprisingly cool inside the tent. The air stank with the smell of incense, burning his nose with the sharp pungent twang of frankincense and myrrh intertwining with the cooling breath of white sage. The only light came from red candles scattered around the floor and crystals that hung from the ceiling. The boy couldn’t tell if the crystals were reflecting the light from the candles or glowing itself. The sounds of the carnival and children’s laughter faded with each step into the tent the boy took.
He slowly approached the table in the center of the tent, the carpet absorbing the sound of his footsteps. The velvet cloth brushed against his skin as he slid into one of two chairs seated at the table, and faced a small milky white orb resting atop a wooden block. He’d already been apprehensive about entering the tent. Gypsies. Goddesses of lost magic. Creatures of riddles, curses and mystery. His heart began to pound at the thought of meeting one. But as the silence thickened and there was no sign of anyone entering the tent, his heart began to pound for a different reason. Irritation.
This was a stupid idea the boy muttered himself as he tensed to stand up when he heard a noise from one of the dark corners of the tent. A fluttering of fabric on fabric on skin, and slowly a woman emerged. Shrouded in robes of deep maroon, the many gold bangles adorning her wrists clinked softly against each other, creating a soft melody that reminded the boy of autumn wind as she approached the table.
Her robes dragged on the ground hiding her feet. The only thing visible were her arms clasped in prayer in front of her and two large almond eyes that were currently closed. Thick lashes sealed tight. She sat across from the boy, alighting softly in the seat.
She didn’t speak to the boy. Simply sat with her eyes closed and hands folded in her lap. The weight of the silence in the room increased ten fold. Silence alone is one thing. Silence in company is a burden. The boys shoulders started to tremble with the weight of this burden. Just as he was about to stand to leave, thoughts of how foolish he’d been to ever think this could work racing through his mind, she spoke.
“What is your question?”
The boy blinked. Her voice was softer than a whisper, barely there.
”Um, wouldn’t you know? Hah…” His words were met with silence. Her eyes were still closed.
”What is your question?”
Her voice was smooth like molten gold dripping on burning metal.
“I don’t have one.”
The boys tone turned sharp with his nervousness. A frightened animal lashing out. The woman’s eyes remained closed. Slowly she lifted her hands, bangles softly clinking together, and placed them on the milky orb. They stayed there for the next few minutes but what felt like an eternity in the boys mind. Suddenly her eyes flashed open shocking the boy. One iris was a stark and shocking blue. The other a stormy gray. They were beautiful.
“You don’t have to lie to me. Or rather, it is of no use.” The boy blinked at the woman’s words.
“What do you mean?”
“You can either ask the question or I can take the question.” Something about the way her mouth said take unsettled the boy. Her lips peeled back in a snarl as she almost snapped out the word at him. He thought quickly.
“Will Rose ever love me?” The gypsy kept her eyes open but they began to glaze over as she stared at he milky white orb.
“The answer is yes.”
”Huh?”
The boy immediately blushed at his less than articulate response.
”But you’ll never be together.”
”Why?” He asked. He’s hands were sprawled against the table, his chest unconsciously leaning forward. For the first time his voice was firm.
”You won’t let it happen.”
“What does that mean?” The boy was almost in a panic.
The woman didn’t answer. Instead she suddenly reached for his wrist yanking it across the table towards her until his palm lay flat and open towards the sky. She rummaged in the folds of her cloak digging into what must’ve been a pocket and pulled out a small stone. The middle of the stone held a small clear crystal, not unlike the ones hanging from the ceiling.
She removed her grip and leaned back into her chair. The boy stared at the stone in cool confusion.
”What’s this?”
”When the crystal turns black, you’ll know the why to your question.”
With that last cryptic message the women stood up and retreated back through the shadowy corner of the tent, leaving the room as quiet as it had been when the boy entered.
——————
There is an old man sitting in a saggy recliner in his living room. The seat and armrests worn down from overuse. The mans face is illuminated by the soft glow from the TV. Yellow lights from advertisements shining on his many deep wrinkles. His eyes are sunken, the color of the irises faded. In his hand he’s running his thumb over the surface of something. A small stone. In the center of it lies a crystal. Completely black.