Have a Seat

I had lived in my house for over ten years and thought I knew every inch of it. Walking down the wooden staircase, my body knows the sounds of the creaking wood like I know the motion of my breath, no surprises. When the wind picks up or rain falls, my house groans with acceptance and I hear it, I know its devoted strength. The sun streaming onto my breakfast nook is like a goddess shining her blessings on what I am doing with my life. My bathtub has praised me as well, my yard loving the pressure of my feet against it’s face. My home is like my body, a place I inhabit fully, graciously and lovingly.

When the government shut down most of the businesses in the country, I became more fully in tune with my house than I ever thought I could be. I left only for food, as instructed by the political leaders, and I stayed away from people, again, as I had been told to do. Living alone, then, left me with more time spent in my house than I ever thought I would. I became familiar with the 946 tiles in my upstairs bathroom, the 1,741 brick pieces which made up my fireplace as well as the 502 pink lines in the tapestry on my living room wall.

The longer I stayed at home for most of each day, the more my home spoke to me, telling me of its needs and showing me its abilities. I never knew that my back yard was shady enough to use my laptop in, but only until midmorning. I never realized how quiet my neighborhood was at sunrise. I didn’t know I couldn’t hear someone knocking on my side door if I was in the basement or that the downstairs bathroom’s plumbing whistled for no reason. Though I thought I knew my home like a beloved knows their lover, my house had secrets, powerful, eerie mysteries.

It all started one day when I sat down to breakfast where I always do, at the wooden table my Mother gave me. My parents both believed in family meals and we all gathered at this table for as long as I could remember. In a spate of downsizing, my Mother has bestowed it on me and I cherished it. I was eating an English muffin with peanut butter and jelly on it when I thought I heard someone say, ‘Come with me’. It was muffled and distant sounding and I blew it off, assuming someone in the neighborhood had called out to someone else to go with them.

The next morning, however, I was dreaming of a woman I had never seen before, a stranger who was familiar with me, a little too familiar. She grabbed my shirt, my arm, she even pinched me at one point. She scared me awake when she looked me in the eye and said, ”Come with me.” I woke up but couldn’t move, something that hadn’t happened to me since I was a teenager. I lay in abject fear for at least thirty seconds, finally willing myself to breath. I sat up in bed, panting, sweating, trying to calm myself, eventually forced to start my day hours before I had to. That night, I went in the basement to look for batteries. ‘Come with me.’ I heard it and there were no kids playing in the neighborhood at 9 o’clock at night to blame it on. I left the basement, quickly closing the door behind me, a little freaked out. I sat down at the kitchen table to gather my thoughts.

‘You are here, Virginia,’ a feminine voice spoke clearly, to me. I froze and looked around, seeing nobody anywhere near me. ‘Now, come with me,’ the voice said, clear as day. ‘Why should I?’ I barely squeaked out, having trouble finding my voice.

‘Come.’

Next thing I knew I woke up in the Palace of Versailles, in the biggest bed I had ever seen, amid hundreds of blankets, sheets and pillows in all colors of the rainbow. I wore the softest, layered nightgown made of pink and cream satin. The bedroom I awoke in was the size of a small house with windows the went from the ceiling to the floor. As I was trying to get my bearings, a woman in a very modest grey dress entered the room as though she knew she ought to. She then prepared my toothwashing experience for me. When she was done grabbing a pail of water, she stood still and stared at me, pointing the toothbrush my way. I walked over and scrubbed my teeth with the most uncomfortable toothbrush ever, using a vile smelling black cream. Confused as I was, it didn’t seem prudent to fight my circumstances with this woman who was just doing her job.

After brushing, she ushered me back into the room in which I had awoken. She proceeded to dress me in an outfit over which I had no choice. I seemed to be the only one concerned about that fact. This woman acted like it was perfectly normal to choose a dress for a grown woman without her consent. This girl dressed me with the quickness of hands undaunted, not by cold nor girth. I was ‘presentable’ within minutes and had to admit, I looked quite lovely. My hair stood a solid eight inches off my head and had feathers and pearls in it. And ribbon, lots of ribbon. I had been quiet with everyone who readied me, unsure what to say to whom. I listened though, and while I didn’t speak French, I heard her name several times, Marie Antoinette. ‘Come with me,’ had somehow led to this. I had lain my head on that table my Mom had given me and it had transported me here, to the court of Marie Antoinette.

The first time I saw her, I was in awe. There was no mistaking her. She had an air of opulence and fruitful abundance about her that went far beyond the diamonds and gold she wore. She was gorgeous and vivacious and absolutely dripping in jewels. Having no idea how I had arrived where I was, I  revealed myself to her.

“Virginia, what a beautiful, if virginal, name. Virgin means whole, a person whole unto themselves, Virginia. Did you know that?” the most exquisite woman I had ever seen said. Her voice was assertive, though it didn’t appear she desired dominance, rather, to be heard.

“No, ma’am, no I didn’t know that. You look quite beautiful today, ma’aam,” I said, having no idea if I had crossed boundaries never crossed before in this palace.

“You are a generous woman ripe with virtue and patience. It shows in everything you do. Thank you for not only noticing my gown but taking the time to bless me with your approval and admiration. I am truly honored. Will you join me for lunch today in The East Garden? I so hope you will,” she said, sincerely and honestly.

“Of course, ma’am, I graciously accept your offer and will see you there,” I said, again hoping I hadn’t stomped all over some protocol.

I apparently was fairing rather well as the same woman who had dressed arrived silently and kind of pushed back towards the room in which I had slept. Once there, she rather roughly undressed me, redressed me, fixed my hair and make up, assisted with yet another tooth brushing and directed me towards what I assume were The East Garden. I was about to have tea with a legend and was thinking only about that. When I came upon the gardens, I felt inwardly pulled to go sit by Marie Antoinette where she sat on the ground atop one of the many gorgeous, Persian rugs. She saw me sit down and waited for me to situate myself and get comfortable. A glass of champagne came out of nowhere which I gladly drank. I waited for my first opportunity to try to get this infamous woman to talk to me about anything she wanted.

She was laughing with some ladies, generously spread across the grass, as they talked about flowers and fresh goat’s milk. She was just finishing laughing when she glanced my way, caught my eyes and told how happy she was I could make it.

“I am so glad to be here, Your Majesty,” I told her.

“This morning it was ‘ma’am’, now it’s ‘Your Majesty?’ Please, just call me Marie. That is who I am in this country and though it took me a long time to accept that that is the way things work- when in Rome, one does as the godamn Romans do. I am the French version of me, Marie, it is who I am.’

“Marie, I adore your taste, it is exquisite! The walls, the paintings, the furniture- it all expresses such a deep belief behind each decision of color, texture or placement- just perfection! Marie, what is it? What is the belief behind all your stuff?’’

I thought she was going to kill me, I really did. She stared at me with a furrowed brow for a full 20 seconds, making me wonder if I ever filled out the will I bought on line and printed out. It was like she was super mad and we both knew it but she never, not for an instant, looked mad at all. She just calmly looked at me and said,

“Love,” then looked away and didn’t so much as look in my direction for the duration of the picnic. As I left, she graciously shook my hand and wished me well. I knew right then that I had to get closer to Marie, I had to get her trust me, I had to save her.

Marie apparently wasn’t being told things she ought to have known, namely that she was being used by the powers that were when they needed a scapegoat for some political battle. The country had turned against her and she didn’t even know it. It looked to me like everyone else knew, or a lot of them, at least. I had to tell her, to warn her that she was in danger of losing her head, literally. There must be a way, I thought, to get her to change her ways, to placate the public. I had to get close to her.

After the picnic, it was lights out, for me, anyway. My pushy woman-servant showed up just as the picnic was ending and with nothing but a curtsy by way of greeting, made me go back to the same room we had dressed me in early where she closed the blinds, though the sun was still out. For me, it was an early night, apparently.

The next day, I awoke refreshed and with a new plan. I would spread the word that I was an Astrologer, sent here from some long-lost relative of hers, The Duke and Duchess of Earlminster, to read Marie her future. After passing the word around Versailles, I retired to my room, readying myself for a knock at my door. At 9 pm, a soft rasp came upon my wooden door.

“Who is it,” I asked.

“Marie”.

I let her in and ushered her to a table in the corner where I had lit candles galore and had silk scarves and pillows strewn about, should she, at some point during the reading, choose to sit on the ground. She sat in a chair across from me and looked at me with such gentle, truthful eyes.

“Are you ready to begin, Marie?” I asked.

“I am, Virginia, though please, be kind,” she implored me. I had every intention of employing a deeper kindness than any of her court cronies had shown her. I was going to tell her what was really going on and get her to save herself.

“Marie, the cards show me something I have never seen before, something more backwards yet forward, crystal clear yet almost foggy. The say over and over that you, my Beautiful Queen, must change. The cards are showing me that you have been unjustly portrayed as a heartless woman who enjoys spending money knowing how people are starving, that you crave the feeling of having what so many lack. You must change the way people see you, Marie, you simply must. The cards are very clear, this will end badly for you lest you change.”

“Dear, Virginia, what a talented astrologer you are but you are not well-versed in the ways of finance, of opulence.  You claim my lack of living in squalor means that I have no heart. I claim that is foolish drivel! I further maintain that I will not, ever, stoop so low as to believe within my soul, that I can change another person. If the people want to see me as something I am not, I heartily applaud that and will never choose to step in the way of their beliefs, about me or anyone,” said the Queen of France, herself.

I tried a few more times, from different angles, to get her to see that if gave up her massive sending habits, the people would love her again. She didn’t care, claiming love based on receipts was not a real love. She haughtily claimed that the love of a people who let money dictate their hearts was not a love she cared for. Marie believed in an enlightened self interest, knowing she might be mistaken for selfish when she was actually selfless. She simply refused to see people as they saw themselves, insisting on looking past their egos to the moment they both shared together, to the Presence of God within them both. She was magnificent but stubborn as a mule. She would not budge, she would not submit. She was very kind and sweet about it though I believe she knew I meant it when I warned her of a tumultuous ending. Though not malleable, she certainly felt things strongly and was solid in her beliefs. As far as she was concerned, she was the only person worth worrying about, the one she could control. I went back to my bedroom, brushed the servant woman off, fell into bed and slept deeply. I woke up back in my familiar, kind of small, very basic but comfy, know-it-like-the-back-of-my-hand house, my head resting on the table my Mother had given me.  The table of time travel, the table of other worlds, the table at which I would think twice before ever eating breakfast at again.