A Dark Horse

A Dark Horse

All her friends had little black dresses.

Eve had a little black book. It was a small black notebook. Sketches filled it mostly even though it beckoned her for addresses and lists.

Her Nana Kesson gave it to her and said she’d ‘draw spells from the things she put in here and maybe even a dream or two’. As she said it and handed Eve the book, her light grey eyes and grey streaked hair were like a waterfall. Leaving the little black book was an exclamation point to her life. She’d written in it, “Eve, wishing you the happiness of being yourself and following your own path ... the strength to live wisely, love generously, and believe in the dreams of your heart. And always all those things that bring true and lasting happiness. You are loved very much. ~Nana”.

Nana had an energy that stayed. Anyone who met her was better for it, stronger for it. She knew you better than you knew yourself. She would name each of your best parts (and worst) and love each one of them until you did too. And she always smelled good — like moss and winterberry — smells you read about in old Scottish tales of forests and witches. There was nobody like her.

It was a regular day for Eve. Fog, warm air, the smell of jasmine; perfect for her bright yellow jeans and riding boots. Life was good. A quick stop for tea at the local cafe and she’d be off to work shelving books, chatting up the regulars and making cappuccinos.

“The usual,” she chirped as the waiter approached, “actually, make it Darjeeling this time.”

Fountain pen in hand, she wielded line after line of beaks and feathers and fire breathing dragons in her notebook. Even trees that came to life with fiery eyes and twisted roots where little boys found solace, and little girls conquered the world.

She paused. Her steaming tea and a pistachio biscotti were just under her nose; fragrant, fresh. Like an elixir it slowed her heart and her mind drifted. She saw a dark horse. Staring out at the brick walk, people’s feet whisked by the window mixing in with her thoughts and became a blur. Everything slowed down.

It was always a dark horse. Riding fast, riding slow, her hair flying in the wind.

“This is how legends are born,” she told herself out-loud, quietly. “It all starts when you ride off into the unknown.”

Vivid as real life, her mind was masterful at creating pictures in cinema-black backgrounds with rich colors. She saw herself riding off into the cathedral leaving it all behind. It wasn’t really a cathedral. Everyone called it that. The last line of trees just before leaving town formed a perfect arch. It was spiritual. Entrance to exit, a half mile of trees (just for you is what it felt like) praying at your crown. Rumor had it there were angels who whispered your name as you made your way through.

“Hey, Eve,” a voice entered and she snapped back to the cafe.

“Hey, Lydia.”

“You dropped your notebook,” Lydia handed it off as she headed to the next table.

“Thanks, Lyd.”

Eve sipped her amber tonic and absently closed the book. She slid her finger down each side of the notebook slowly, mindlessly tracing its rectangular form. As she did, her finger felt hot and something strange happened; the edges receded to reveal a hidden encasement within the binding.

“What the ...”

Eve looked around feeling self conscious about what she discovered. It was a bit ridiculous really, magical. Then she heard the words again “Eve, I want you to have this. It’s my little black book, you’ll draw spells from the things you put in here and maybe even a dream or two, dear. Keep it with you.”

As she heard her Nana’s voice it was like a spoonful of honey. Eve brought her eyes down to the level of the notebook tilting her head. It seemed to have more gravity to it all of a sudden, as if lifting it would somehow compromise its new state.

As she peeked into the tight space her eyes widened. It was a check. She recognized the gold edge immediately. All those lazy Sundays with Nana, sitting around the old pine table paying bills during breakfast, “Jelly toast and gold,” she’d joke. “Money’s just energy, Eve. Make sure you conjure plenty of it.”

She slowly pulled the check out and swore she caught a scent of vetiver. She stopped suddenly thinking maybe she looked guilty of something and took a sip of tea and dipped the pastry. “Just act normal. Don’t be weird about it,” she said to herself. A flash of heat came over her, her heart started to pound. This was unexpected. She rearranged her long fingers around the paper and opened it from its fold with one hand.

Pay to the order of: Eve Lisbon

Amount: $20,000

Signed: Nana Jesse Kesson

Her eyes got wider.

Eve tucked the paper back in slowly and gently pushed the case to its original position — camouflaged. She sat smiling, brought the white china to her lips for one last sip and savored the moment with a gaze and a long, deep breath. Leaving a small puddle of tea at the bottom of the cup and a small cube of biscotti, she grabbed the little black book and zipped it into her bag.

“Time to go,” she popped up abruptly, startling herself.

She took another deep breath as the cafe door closed behind her and stepped into what felt like a new world.

She walked right past work.

Though she hadn’t won the lottery, she had a dream to reckon with.

“Taxi,” she waived.

“Where to?” He asked.

“The Indian store,” she said dreamily.

“What?” he couldn’t hear her.

“Wolf Motorcycles - Hyde Park,” she belted with clarity and more energy this time. “I’m getting a dark horse — a vintage.”