What did Jettatura inspire?
noun; meaning "A curse of the evil eye”
The night. It breathes in us,
And lives around us,
And for one such as my self,
It's darkness is home
All the waking hours of the day.
I had once known the daylight,
Had once indulged
In the stunning dance of light
And color upon the world around me.
Yet now I only knew the daylight
In the warmth on my skin,
The chirp of birds,
And those intangible pleasures
Of a summer day.
It was the first time,
In what had been far too long a time,
That I had accepted an invitation.
Not for romance,
Or some proof of attraction,
But simply a break in the norm,
The company of another,
In the public sort of places
That had been left behind with my vision.
We met outside a small cafe,
Flowers in bloom,
Night air swirling
And cooling nerves and skin.
And then the spark
Of her touch upon my arm.
From the calm and into the fire,
The almost deafening chatter,
Of lovers, of friends,
Indulging in the nightlife.
And here, a companion,
To guide me through the darkness.
To spark conversation,
And to bring the tiniest bit of light
To an existence devoid of any.
The hours flew by
As she drew me out,
Little by little,
From the shadows in which I hid.
Laughter filled the air
As we shared stories
Of good times and bad times,
And the experiences one can only know
In the two different worlds we inhabited.
A realm of sight, and a realm of shadows.
How different we see things,
And yet share the same world.
With her as my guide,
We strolled back to my apartment,
That final place in the world
Where I was free to walk unaided.
We stopped short of the steps,
Her hand brushing my hair,
As I felt the pull upon my glasses.
Instinctively my eyes shut,
All too aware of the scars
That in the past had halted conversations,
And had born the silent glares,
Of those around me.
But this time was different.
There was no small gasp,
Nor pitiful sigh.
Just kindness.
Understanding.
Those things so long foreign,
forgotten, and feigned.
I was lost in the moment
When she brought me out of it.
The gentlest touch of her lips,
Warm upon my forehead.
"Open your eyes"
Came her voice in my mind,
Yet when I reached for her,
She was gone.
Vanished into the night,
And I was once more
Alone,
In my home,
In the darkness.
I sat upon the sofa
Thinking about all that the night had given.
Of the new lease on life
I had felt in those brief hours.
I traced the scars around my eyes
And then brushed back the hair
That once again covered
The oily traces of pigment
Now etched upon my brow.
And there, in that touch,
Came the most intense pain,
Splitting. Burning.
The world was dulled out
And there was only the ache,
In my skull, in that space,
Between the eyes that could not see,
Where her gentle kiss had left it's mark.
I was sure I had blacked out,
The hours flying by in a dizzying haze.
Of pain, and euphoria,
And unbelievable sensations.
But now it was morning
And there was warmth all around.
And something else,
Something lost to me.
But there in my eyes,
There it was.
Crimson.
The dappled red of sunlight,
Upon the lids of my closed eyes.
I opened them once more,
But there was no vision.
Still red.
All around.
A world of color, and passion,
And then the white shock
Of pain in my forehead.
My hands again
Tracing the shapes of my face.
Of my brow.
But stopping on the place,
Once a gentle kiss,
Now a vicious lump,
swollen and raised.
I dizzily stumbled
And heard the crack,
The sickening split of my skin
Upon the corner of a table.
I was lost,
Fumbling in the world I knew so well.
Through the kitchen,
Past the bed,
To the one room that held,
That most useless of items.
Lights were no use to me,
Yet I flailed my hands wildly,
Suddenly afraid.
Afraid to even touch
That darkness I called home.
Afraid of the shadows
That an unlit room now brought me.
The cold metal of the tap
Brought a shock of reality.
And deep breaths behind shaking hands
And splashes of icy water
Calmed my mind.
I pulled them down,
Slowly. Cautiously.
As though moving too fast would
Bring back every sensation
Of terror, and fear,
And confusion.
And hope.
That was the one thing that I feared the most.
The days of lost promises.
Of vision.
Of light.
Of a world I had not known
Since the days of childhood.
But there it was.
A singular gash,
No longer bleeding,
But raised and tense.
I opened my eyes once again,
But the world had not changed.
Just the red glow,
That scarlet hope.
And then I closed them,
"Open your eyes" her words echoing,
And tried again.
My eyes did not open,
But with a burst of light
A figure stood before me.
Stood within me.
Eyes closed,
Scarred by the flames of a childhood accident.
Face aged,
But still the face I had known all my life.
Had pictured with my hands,
In the corners of my mind.
I touched the glass,
Tracing in disbelief the vision before me.
Pressing fingers against the eye,
First in the mirror,
And then upon my own forehead.
A third eye.
Now seeing the world for the first time.
I could not know what she had done,
What sorcery she had sealed
That night with a kiss.
But I stood there,
In shock,
And wonder,
And horror,
Not sure if I was blessed
Or I was cursed,
With her name now lingering,
Upon my lips.
"Jettatura."
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