Fable

I think the scent of a person can really describe them. Sometimes it’s hard to decipher, but mostly it’s pretty obvious who they are according to their scent.

Take Calyx for example. If you walk by her, you’ll get a whiff of fresh, running water and peppermint. She’s clean, fresh, smart…

It makes sense.

And then there’s Bia. No matter what you spray on her, she always smells like bleach. She says it’s because she’s always cleaning her house, or trying to, at least. But I think it’s because she’s trying to clean away her past.

I wish I knew what I smelled like and what people thought about me. Normally I’d go explore their minds, but I don’t feel I can with these two. I… respect them.

“Fable, does your mother know you’re gone?” Calyx asked me, a suspicious tone in her voice.

I gave her the evil eye.

“No, she doesn’t. I would’ve left a note but she can’t read,” I said bluntly.
“She can’t read?” Bia repeated.
“Didn’t she just say that?” Calyx retorted.
Bia blushed. “Well...”

I let out a sigh. Talking with these two teenage girls was not an easy task.

“Momma never went to school. A lot of gypsies don’t go to school. I didn’t, but I taught myself to read and write,” I explained.
Bia let out a low whistle. “Wow. It took three years of teachers to teach me how to write.”
“I learned in kindergarten,” Calyx smiled.
“I was in grade two,” Bia said sadly.
I looked back and forth between both of them. “I was four.”

Their heads snapped towards me and I wondered if I’d said something wrong.

“I think we have a genius on our hands,” Bia frowned.
Calyx sputtered, “don’t be silly! She doesn’t even wear shoes.”

I looked down at my bare feet and wondered what was so wrong with not wearing shoes. It was much better for your feet to be free, not trapped in boxy shoes. Momma taught me that.

“What do you think about square sunflowers?” I asked suddenly.
Bia glared at me. “Square?”
“Yeah,” I replied. “Wouldn’t they be awesome?”
Calyx gave me an honest smile. “They would.”

Of course they would. I’d never personally seen a square sunflower, but anything that’s different than what it’s supposed to be has to be awesome.

“I can’t make plants,” Bia sighed.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
She stared at the scars on her arms. “I can only make animals. But sometimes I make mistakes and they come out with extra heads, or feet, or horns in strange places.”
“I don’t think those are called horns,” Calyx muttered.
Bia shot her a look.
“I’m just saying,” Calyx giggled.

I laughed too, not sure what the joke was.

“Shut up,” Bia mumbled, but she was laughing as well. “It’s not funny.”
“It so is,” Calyx chuckled softly.
I nodded. “What are we laughing about?”

This caused both of them to laugh harder, forcing me to laugh harder as well as I can’t seem to stop laughing when everyone around me is laughing.

Laughter bubbled up in my throat, spilling out of my mouth and echoing in the big, empty kitchen. I clamped a hand over my mouth but the laughter kept coming. Nothing could stop it from filling the air.

After awhile the laughter died down and we were left with a strange, sad silence. We snuck glances at each other, not sure what to say. Then I remembered something.

“Calyx, where’s your dad?” I asked her.
She stared at the small puddle of condensation on the counter. “Working. He… had to work.”
“This early in the morning?” Bia prodded.
“Or late,” Calyx frowned.

I knew I’d hit something touchy. A button.

“Maybe he’ll bring you a teddy bear when he comes back,” I offered. “That’s what Momma did for me when she left with our king for a couple days.”
“Your king?” Bia stared at me.
I nodded. “He’s my dad. He’s a lot of the dads in our troupe. But we just call him King, because he runs everything. So I only really have one parent. Well, now I have none.”

Calyx put her arm around my shoulders.
“It’ll be alright,” she said softly.