A Price To Pay

 I should've known better. As cliche as it sounds nothing in life is ever free.  It all started with my dream trip.  We were bouncing down the streets in the French Quarter to the tune of live horns blaring and drums pounding, forcing this mystical string of rhythm that shivered up from my toes to my hips.  I had over elaborated in mixed spirits with colors of red, orange, and green doused in crushed ice.  I had saved up an entire year for three whole days. of fun. The ultimate girl trip!

   Now here I was. Trapped in this padded room.  All by my lonesome. It’s better this way for everyone. At least in my opinion. Now back to how I got here, I digress.  I promise it will make sense later on. 

   Anyways, we were partying with all the other thrill seekers. The weather was perfect. I mean it was hot, but that’s what you want in July in New Orleans. Hot, Humid, and rainless. Everybody was spreading southern love. Gold, silver, purple and green beaded necklaces rained down like candy from a kids pinata. It didn’t matter if you raised your top or not. The love for tourists was overflowing. The street vendors were making their rounds as well. So quick and elegant with the words that rolled off their tongue, it was like they were singing you a night time lullaby.  Weaving a spell of sweet nothings, and joy.  Little did I know, that is exactly what they were doing.   

    I have never thought of myself as an overly superstitious person.  I say overly, because I did avoid having my feet swept, and never opened an umbrella in a building or house.  Outside of that a black cat was just a black cat.  I didn’t believe in witches, shamans, witch doctors or black magic.  I understood the undertones of voodooism in the bayous of Louisiana. I took a mythology class during my undergraduate studies. I even did a research paper on it.  I knew a good story when I heard one, and that is exactly what they were. Stories. I digress.

   My attention was drawn to a street vendor that had his face painted in gold.  He had on a jester hat decorated in colors of purple and silver. He had on a purple blazer with purple dress pants to match. His feet were nestled into pointed green boots trimmed with white. He had multiple beaded necklaces going down his left arm and was shooting confetti out of a wooden pipe that resembled  some type of flute or oboe. I made my way closer to capture a video.

The vibes from that one was something magical.  It was 90 degrees and he wasn’t sweating . That should have been my first clue something was off.  People were passing by pointing and laughing.  I got closer but still was far enough away that I looked as if I was just a part of the crowd celebrating on Bourbon street.

   He placed the pipe down on a little box as an elderly couple stopped to admire his painted face and outfit.  He tried to hand the woman the necklaces on his arm and her husband, I assume, shook his head no.  The guy was like 6 feet tall but did the daintiest curtsy, I had every seen and I couldn’t contain my giggle.  Neither could the couple, and the man accepted the beads. 

When the couple tried to give the beads back to the court jester, he shook his head no and put his hands up to signal $20.  The husband tried to give them back again.  The jester took 3 of the beaded necklaces back and then put up one hand to now signal $5 as the total.   His wife laughed beside him.  I mean I get the humor.  What better place to get swindled than the streets of New Orleans baby!  Memories to keep for a lifetime. He gave the hustler the money and then they bounced down the street. 

    I had recorded the entire scene on my phone, and when I looked up we had made eye contact.  I felt almost locked in his trance. The beginning of my demise… I look down at the stupid tarnished rose gold ring with the blue opal stone that was now trapped on my finger.  Sorry, there I go again jumping around the story…

   Again we locked eyes.  I was more than a little tipsy and had the audacity to wink and giggle.  He put his confetti flute back to his mouth and blew in my direction.  He wasn’t going to hustle me and that was for sure.  I know how it works.  The group I was with shifted and somehow we got closer to him and his show.  This time when he blew, confetti made it onto my shirt.  He had a cheering audience now. The air smelled of booze, sweat, and cigarette smoke mingled with hints of too strong cologne here and there but that did nothing to deter the crowd.

    He presented a new sleeve of beaded necklaces in multiple colors.  The flute pipe went back to the box.  People were so drunk that they were totally fine with paying $5 for necklaces you could get from the nearest dollar store. But not me.  They were being thrown from balconies for free. 

    I couldn’t hide the skepticism from my eyes. I loved the camaraderie but no scams will empty my pockets this day. He locked his eyes with mine again and then moved towards me.  This time he grabbed my hand and twirled me around in a circle to the beat of the live music that was playing in the streets.  My cheeks were aching from smiling so hard but I was not going to fall for his swindle.

  My friends were cheering me on in the background. Happy that I was finally letting my hair down.  I was a little dizzy from the alcohol and the spinning.  The Jester then enclosed my hand in both of his and when he pulled back there was a ring on my finger. I don’t know how he did it but I wasn’t paying for it. 

   “Take it back!” I screamed over the music and noisy patrons. 

   He shook his head no and put up his hand to indicate $25.  I laughed and repeated myself. 

    He changed it to 15$ dollars.  His light brown eyes seemed amused by my defiance to be swayed to part with my hard earned money for a ring I could have gotten from a bubble gum machine.  To be honest I had already been hustled when I went to the marketplace the day before and paid $75 for a ugly dress because I was sold a dream.  He went down to $10 and he almost had me until a lady behind me said that she would buy it for $25.

   I tried to take it off my finger to give it back but he stopped me and gave me a huge smile.  His teeth were about the prettiest I had ever seen complementing his gold painted skin.  He really looked like he was out of a painting. He had a broad nose and he had a set of long lashes that any woman would be jealous of.  A handsome fellow he definitely was.  Again, not a bead of sweat and his skin was flawless.  

    He nodded and then pressed his lips to the back of my ringed hand, before shaking his head at the woman and spoke, "This here trinket is for the one who doubts the ways of the bayou. She has been chosen." And then gave her a beaded necklace instead.  I felt a flush of heat go over my entire body. The accent made it sound so poetic. Everyone continued to cheer him on until all the necklaces were gone, and then that was that. Or so I thought.  He turned back to me and winked, as we all dispersed.

  My party and I made our way down to the end of Bourbon street and when it was time to go back up I tried to take the ring off my finger to give it back, but I couldn’t get it off.  In theory the good thing is when we came back to his area of business he was gone. Little did I realize then, that he meant what he said when I was chosen.  All that was left in his spot was an empty box and pieces of confetti that littered where he once stood….

    No matter how many times I replayed it in my mind, I still can’t figure out the pivotal moment when I chose my fate or better yet my fate was chosen for me.  Why me? No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t get this stupid ring to come off.  At the time I thought it was all of the salty food and alcohol I consumed on the trip but when we made it back home it was still glued to my ring finger.  Of all the fingers he could have put it on, it had to be the one that indicated I was taken out of the marital market.

    Like I said before I have never been an overly superstitious person. My beliefs are my beliefs.  When the first dream hit me, I thought it was just a coincidence.  I had a dream that I was drowning. The golden man with the perfect teeth was looking down at me from a black boat smiling.  Instead of beaded necklaces on his arm he was holding a funeral wreath with a name I recognized on it.  The odds, right?  Or at least that is what I thought.  Until three months later the person actually passed away in a boating accident.

   The dreams continued. Vivid nightmares of people I know perishing to the other side. Every dream turned into some kind of forewarning of what was to come. Always him, always a new funeral wreath, always the smile.  

    The creep worked some kind of black magic on me when he gave me his ring.  I tried telling my friends and family that we were entertained the grim reaper himself and he was punishing me with these visions, because I wouldn’t fall for his con. Everything has a price. Even entertainment. I didn’t even know I was giving up anything. I guess I got swindled after all.  

     The group that went with me had no recollection of the gold painted man with a jester hat on his head. What they did remember is me getting into a rather large argument with a stranger about the origins of voodoo and screaming that the natives of New Orleans beliefs are based loosely on fairy tales. And that I apparently offended a lot of people. Even if that was the case, no one could tell me how the ring came to be on my finger. The video that I thought I had recorded when he was hustling the elderly couple had disappeared from my phone.

    The first professional I saw, for the prophetic dreams, told me I worked too hard and maybe I needed to take some time off and stay away from alcohol. They had me complete all these different tests to prove that I was in my right mental state.  In the midst of it no one could get this stupid ring off my finger.  By the time I got to the fight professional, I was told that maybe I should just keep my intrusive thoughts to myself, and death was a part of life, and try to live in a normal manner. 

    Normal manner! I see death.  I don’t want to see it.  But I still was able to see it all the same. I was cursed by a New Orlean's Jester. All because of the difference of opinions. If only I could go back, I would have definitely said no to that first drink and kept a clear head the entire instead of being doomed to a room of padded walls because everyone thinks I lost my mind. Here I was safe. But let's go back to the beginning....