Paldimori Gods Rising Box Set

by T. L. Callahan

  The art classes she was letting me set up was a great example of this. Ms. Myrtle had liked my idea of offering art classes on the weekends. The idea had come from my need for extra cash and to alleviate the boredom of selling art rather than creating it. I missed working with kids and having the freedom to create. My hopes were high for this first class. A small crowd had gathered around the area where I had arranged a U-shaped section of tables. Drop cloths covered the floor. Easels with blank canvases sat on the tables along with brushes and paper plates.

  A group of children were gathered around the cat carrier that sat on the ledge of the fireplace where Mr. Skittles was finishing his nap. He had been a bit grumpy since we had moved into Lia’s condo and was no longer allowed to roam wherever he wanted. I kept telling him we would find our own place any day now, but I could tell not even he was convinced by my lies. The truth was there wasn’t enough money left over every month to afford the payments on the few rentals that were available in town. Lia had refused to take any of my money, but it felt wrong. These classes had to be a success.

  Missy, an English teacher I had once joked about lesson plans with, broke up an argument between her two middle girls. Her oldest daughter, a teen with her face glued to her cell phone, nodded absently at whatever her mother was saying. While Missy was distracted, the youngest toddled straight for a shelf of blown-glass animals. I rushed forward to scoop her up just before her sticky fingers landed on all of that colorful glass.

  “Birdy! Want birdy!” the squirming little girl squealed, reaching toward the cabinet.

  “Look, we’re flying. Let’s fly to mommy,” I coaxed.

  We zoomed around making airplane noises. The little girl giggled, successfully distracted from the breakables as I flew her into her mother’s arms. Missy thanked me with a weary smile. Her wiry brown hair was a frizzy mess and she only had eye liner around one eye. I patted her arm in sympathy, and decided I was going to find a way to keep those girls’ attention no matter what. My own problems were on the back burner at least for the next hour. I was going to prove to everyone, including myself, that I still knew how to have fun.

  “Hi, everyone! Thanks for joining Mr. Skittles and me today. I’m so glad you saw my flyers and decided to give ‘Painting with Kitty Picasso’ a try! If you could take a seat, we’ll get started.”

  “Like anyone could’ve missed your flyers. It looks like a rainbow threw up all over town.” A black-haired boy who looked to be about eight rolled his eyes as he dropped into a chair. His mother elbowed him. He flopped back in his seat and crossed his arms. “What? You said I had to come to this lame painting thing as my punishment. I’m missing gaming with Ty to listen to the crazy gypsy lady talk about her cat. This blows.”

  The mother blushed and whispered furiously to her son.

  I smiled brighter and fanned out my green tie-dyed skirt as I dropped into a curtsy.

  “You’ve found me out, sir. We prefer the name Romani rather than gypsy, though.” I glanced at the boy to see I had caught his attention. “Did you know that a long time ago my people weren’t welcome in parts of Europe? They had to move around a lot to stay safe. Most never had a country, a religion, or a home like we do. But do you know what all Romani do have?”

  The boy was frowning now, but he shook his head.

  “Love of family,” I said proudly. “Just like you, coming here with your mother. That was a very nice thing for you to do.”

  The boy grumbled, but he watched his mom out of the corner of his eye. She patted him on the shoulder and a small smile tugged at his lips. Ah ha, not such a tough egg after all.

  “Did you know that some Romani never attend school? Everything they learn comes from their large family groups. Things like nature, music, art, and dance.” My arms lifted in a complicated series of twists as my slippered feet tapped out a quick beat. Then my skirt flared as I twirled around and dipped into a low spin. It had been years since I had practiced, but some things you never forgot. “My people gave us the Flamenco dance.”

  My audience applauded. I straightened up looking at the boy to see his reaction. He was sitting forward in his seat a look of awe on his face. “They don’t have to go to school? Mom, I wanna be a gypsy.”

  His mother shot me a dirty look.

  Uh oh, my first attempt at entertainment and I accidentally start anarchy. This isn’t off to a great start.

  “Um, time to paint!” I called out cheerfully. “You all have your canvases in front of you. I’m going to come around and put some paint on your paper plates. This is water-based paint, so it’s non-toxic for Mr. Skittles and for all of you.”

  Making my way around the room, I handed out smocks and helped them get their palettes ready. Then I moved to the cat carrier. “Now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for. Let’s bring out our artist.”

  Gently, I pulled the languid ball of fur from the carrier. Mr. Skittles opened one bright blue eye and yawned. I sat him on the table beside his canvas as the kids squealed in delight. Realizing that he had an audience, he lazily flopped onto his back waiting for the petting to begin. His purr vibrated against my hands as I picked him up and walked him around so the kids could stroke his soft fur.

  Mr. Skittles puffed out his chest when I set him back on the table. I could practically feel how pleased he was to be the center of attention. I nudged the palette toward him and placed his paw in the blue paint. Unfortunately, the first thing he did was try to lick the paint off. “Mr. Skittles, don’t eat that!” I scooped him up and turned in time to see half of the kids trying to do the same thing. “Um, let’s maybe not follow exactly what Mr. Skittles does.”

  The boy from earlier snorted. “She doesn’t know what she’s doing.”

  “Mr. Skittles is feeling a little shy,” I hastily explained while wiping his paw. “Maybe you can give him some encouragement?”

  “Kitty, paint!” yelled Missy’s youngest. “Kitty, paint, paint!”

  Others joined in clapping and shouting for Mr. Skittles. I rubbed his head silently pleading with him to be feeling artistic today. The pressure was on. After all, this was a little different than when he puked up a rainbow on T-shirts after sneaking into my stash of Skittles. Like any artist, he could be really moody about his art. I’d learned the hard way, after he left a surprise in my shoe, not to push him when he wasn’t into creating.

  Come on, buddy, time to make the kids happy. We need these classes.

  Suddenly something brushed up against my mind like the smooth, flexible surface of a balloon. The presence vibrated in tune with the purring beneath my palm. What in the name of the Mother was happening? Sure, my head was busy with noises and voices, but I’d never felt this before. It had been so quiet lately in my mind that I jumped when the sensation came again and random thoughts flooded in. Fishes. Nice lady. Pet more. Sticky paw. Water. Fishes swim. Nice lady.

  I jerked my hand away from Mr. Skittles and the voice stopped. Surely that couldn’t be—? I had always had an affinity with animals, but that was mostly a general sense of how they were feeling. Had I been able to hear an animal’s thoughts all along but never noticed because my mind had never been this quiet? I put my hand on his head again. Nice lady. Pet more. He bumped my hand with his head. Good. Pet. Feed soon. His rough tongue licked my finger. Oh wow, this was amazing. I pushed the palette toward him again careful to keep my other hand on his head. Sticky paw. Water. Fishes swim.

  One of the parents cleared their throat and asked if I was ok. I beamed at my restless audience thrilled with my new discovery. “Mr. Skittles has decided we should draw fish swimming in the water. Let’s start with the blue paint.”

  5

  Today was my day off. It should have been easy enough to relax—I at least had a job now. But a weird dream had woken me up in the early hours of the morning. All I could remember was blue eyes and darkness. I’d felt unsettled ever since. The other news I’d heard yesterday hadn’t helped either. I kneeled on the floor of Lia’s con
do having a staring contest with Mr. Skittles. He batted my nose with his paw, and I blinked.

  “Hey, no cheating.”

  He meowed. Then dislodged my hand as he turned in a circle before flopping down on the couch. I propped my chin on the edge of the gray leather cushion and sighed. We had been at this off and on all day. Why couldn’t I hear his thoughts now?

  The class yesterday hadn’t gone like I had pictured. The painting had just started to come together when a brown-and-white basset hound had barreled through the door. He knocked over the customer coming in and headed straight for Mr. Skittles. My cat had nearly jumped out of his skin trying to run away, but his paint-covered paws slowed him down.

  Mr. Skittles jumped on me as if looking for a savior and wrapped himself around my head. I couldn’t see a thing as the dog barked and ran circles around me. My skirts had become tangled up with his leash and we had gone crashing into the table. It gave an ominous creak before collapsing, sending supplies flying everywhere. Paint splattered the whole area, including my class. Kids cried. Adults shouted. The dog’s owner had finally untangled us, calling out apologies as he dragged his pet toward the door. But the gallery and my class were ruined.

  After Ms. Myrtle had wiped away her tears of laughter and bandaged the claw marks on my forehead, she had declared that the classes weren’t going to work. Wearily, I’d dragged myself and my paint-covered cat back to the condo. Hours of scrubbing later, I’d dropped into exhausted sleep. Only to be woken up by a text from Lia telling me she was coming for a visit. It had been a long time before I was able to get back to sleep.

  A chill skated down my arms, and I rubbed them trying to stay warm. The thermostat was cranked up to eighty degrees. I was dressed in a soft pair of knit leggings and a long-sleeved sweater, but still couldn’t get warm. Maybe I was sick. Maybe I had a fever that was making me imagine hearing Mr. Skittles’ voice yesterday. Never mind that I had taken my temperature a dozen times.

  “What are you thinking, boy?” I asked for the millionth time.

  Mr. Skittles rolled onto his back purring and twisting about until he could rub his head against my cheek. “If this is your way of apologizing for scratching me ... it’s working.” I rubbed his belly until he yawned and curled up for a nap.

  Sinking back onto my butt, I pulled my knees to my chest. My toes wiggled into the plush cream carpet as I wondered what to do next. I’d killed time by turning a couple of old shirts into scarves and painting flowers on a pair of jeans. I couldn’t avoid thinking about it forever, but I needed at least today.

  I’d woken feeling like I had barely slept and forced myself to go to yoga class. After we were done, I had felt more centered and found the courage to ask my instructor if I could teach a couple of classes. Her eyes were as big and round as saucers as she hastily assured me that she didn’t have anything available. I had thanked her and crossed yoga classes off my list as another source of income. Only later in the locker room, I had overheard her telling another student she was terrified that I would turn her class into a circus like what had happened at the gallery. I’d gotten the same response from my self-defense instructor, although he had at least told me to my face that my ability to cause pandemonium wasn’t a good fit for people trying not to injure each other.

  I rubbed my eyes and pushed to my feet. My usual energy was nonexistent, and it would be too easy to sleep the rest of the day away. I walked to the large bay window at the back of the condo’s living room. Ocean waves crashed against the grassy green shoreline. Seagulls dipped with the breeze and, for a moment, I wished I could be as free. I shook my head and tried to dislodge the dreary thoughts. This wasn’t like me. I had determined long ago that I would make my own happiness no matter what, but I had been struggling to keep that promise to myself lately.

  A knock at the front door interrupted my thoughts. I walked across the living room and past the kitchen to open the door.

  “Sorry I’m late.” Lia gripped me in a hug as soon as the door swung open. The air rippled in that weird way it had been doing whenever she was around lately. “It seems like it’s been ages since I saw you.” She stepped back to look me over. “Why do you look like Eeyore? The woman who glued glitter thongs on Dan’s pants after he dumped you and told off a rich bully should not be looking like the sky is falling.”

  I was barely able to close the door as she grabbed my hand and hauled me to the couch.

  “Eeyore is cute,” I said as I tried to smooth down my hair. “He just needs a hug,”

  Had I combed my hair today? Oh, well, it was only Lia.

  “Is that what you need, a hug?” She eyed me with a look of pity that made me feel like a failure. Not that I needed her confirmation, when I already felt that way. “You’ve lost weight, and you’re wearing all gray, for fuck’s sake. I didn’t know you even owned neutral colors.”

  “I’m trying something new.”

  “Uh huh. Why is it so hot in here?” She fanned herself, then crossed to adjust the thermostat. “You shouldn’t try hot yoga by yourself. I’m about ready to pass out from the heat, and I’ve only been here a minute.”

  She was allergic to all forms of exercise, so it made sense.

  “Is hiding something new you’re trying too?” Lia continued. “Take it from someone who knows: it doesn’t help.” She dropped onto the couch, still fanning herself. “You had to have heard that Ronnie and his mom moved out. I thought you would feel better about the whole school incident after that.”

  “Yeah, his mom stopped by the gallery. She thanked me for standing up to her husband. And said what I did gave her the courage to leave him. Ronnie apologized to me, too.” It still amazed me the good that had come from that day. I still missed teaching like crazy, but the guilt over not helping Ronnie had lessened.

  “If it’s not that, you must have heard the other news going around town.” Lia shifted on the couch to wrap her arm around me. “I’m sorry, Dia. I know how much you wanted a family.”

  I flinched as she managed to rip open the wound I had been trying so hard to avoid acknowledging. I had cried for an hour in the gallery bathroom after a customer had told me that Dan and his new wife were expecting. For some reason, that had felt more like a betrayal than the Dear John letter. Dan had refused to talk about starting a family when we were together. I thought it was because he didn’t want kids, but he just hadn’t wanted them with me.

  I ducked my head and tugged at a loose thread in the hem of my sweater. Tears stung the backs of my eyes, but I fought hard not to let them fall. I knew Lia meant well, but right now it felt like she had shown up out of the blue only to rehash everything that was wrong with my life. When I had composed myself enough to look at her without crying, she had a glazed look on her face. The one she got often the few times we had hung out over the last couple of months. She would suddenly go quiet and emotions would flicker across her face like she was having a conversation with someone only she could hear. I wanted so badly to ask, but the habit of letting Lia open up in her own time was hard to break.

  I knew she was making changes to her life and trying harder to let others in. But she was still holding back. The abruptly halted conversations and secret looks were enough to tell me that. Lia always wanted to protect me, no matter how often I’d told her not to put me in a bubble. Deep down, I knew that it wasn’t because she didn’t trust me, but it hurt just the same. She had Bennett now, and I couldn’t help but wonder where that left me.

  She rubbed her temples and gave me an apologetic little smile. “I’m sorry. I thought we would have more time. Bennett made me late.” She blushed. “Well, anyway, company’s coming.”

  6

  “Lia, no. You know what happened last time we met.” I stared at her incredulously after she told me who was coming.

  “Oh yeah, this should be interesting,” she chuckled. A groan escaped me, and she raised her hands in defense. “Hey, it was his idea. I want it on record that I am not in agreement with his plan.
I’m here to have your back and referee if he needs protecting.”

  “What if I need protecting?”

  “I think you can handle him.” She gave me a knowing look. “But if I see you starting to fall under his charm, I’ll protect your virtue.”

  Heat swept across my chest and I jumped to my feet frantically scanning the condo. I rushed into the kitchen, and Lia followed me, laughing. I gathered all of the dishes scattered across the kitchen counters and dumped them haphazardly in the dishwasher. I wiped down the splatters from the pot of spaghetti warming on the stove. Then tucked the basket of avocados I’d taped silly faces onto into a cabinet. The bag of Skittles went into the flour canister. The clay pots of veggies that looked like flower arrangements went into the freezer.

  I rushed back into the living room to scoop up a pair of socks and stuffed them under a couch cushion. Choking sounded, and Lia stumbled from the kitchen. Pieces of the spaghetti I had made were plastered to the front of her shirt looking like fat worms with their rusted reddish-brown color. Her eyes were wide. Her face bright red as she shoved pieces of ice into her mouth while trying to talk. It sounded like she said, “Dahea da goo gee hee.”

  “Are you ok?” I went over to pat her on the back. She said something else unintelligible. “No matter how many times you try, I’m never going to speak Ewok.”

  “You shouldn’t mock Ewokese,” she rasped out. “Oh gods, what did you put in that? My throat feels like I swallowed a hot coal. I didn’t think it was possible to mess up spaghetti.”