Gypsy's Soul

Everyone paints themselves as victims in their stories because no one ever feels sorry for the villain. No ever stops to think that the villain is just a victim that never got rescued by the hero. Inside of every villain is a victim that just wanted to be saved. At least that's what I liked to tell myself whenever I felt bad about leaving home. My mother told me that when I was born, my eyes never stopped searching the room. Almost as if I was looking for something or someone specific. She named me Gypsy because of it, always telling people that from the moment I was born I was always searching for home. I guess that's one thing she got right. I always knew that home was more of a feeling, and less of a place. So although she hated when I ran away, she understood my need to be free. But freedom always comes at a price. A price that I’d be paying for the rest of my life.

“Gypsy, mama’s dead. She left you $20,000.” That was the only thing that my brother had said in the voicemail he’d left on my cellphone. I wasn’t really surprised though; my little brother was not a man of many words. I’d gotten used to it, but it was frustrating during times like these. Especially since I hadn’t spoken to my mother in over a year, but I knew she’d inherited money when Pawpaw died. That was all I could think about on the plane ride, so when I landed in Savannah, I walked right by him. “You blind now Gyppers?” a voice called from behind me. I stopped in my tracks and cringed. I had always hated that nickname. Turning around slowly, I came face to face with the male version of myself. Of all my siblings (there were 7 of us), my brother Oliver and I looked the most alike. We both had the same rich bronze skin, auburn colored hair, and freckled face adorned with deep dimples. The only difference? Oliver had hazel eyes and mine were brown.

"Sorry Ollie, guess my head is still in the clouds,” I said, giving him a sheepish smile. As I walked back toward him, he mirrored my smile and said, “When is it not?” I thumped him in the chest and pulled him into an awkward hug. He gave me a quick pat on the back then let go. “Everyone is waiting at the house for us,” he said. Grabbing my suitcase, he nodded toward the exit. That was Oliver, straight to the point. I followed behind him and thought of my mom again. The last time we spoke, we’d argued. She was upset with me for not making it to Thanksgiving dinner that year. I found it quite odd because I hardly ever came home for Thanksgiving. Or any other holiday. For some reason though, this time had really triggered her. I can still remember the words she shouted at me before slamming the phone down in my ear. “There’s gonna be a time when you won’t have me anymore. Then you’ll have no one left to fight for you, and it’ll be all your fault!” Thinking back to that conversation now, I wondered if she was trying to tell me something

As we walked out of the airport, I immediately felt the temperature rise. The dry, thick heat of Savannah, Georgia was almost suffocating, and I instantly regretted choosing to wear sweatpants instead of a dress. I followed Oliver through the parking lot, struggling to keep up. “Geez Ollie, you wanna slow down a bit? Short legs remember?” I huffed. Standing at 6’4, Oliver was the tallest one out of all 7 of us. Standing at 5’5, I was the shortest. “Should’ve ate those veggies sis,” he joked, slowing his stride a bit. I caught up to him and rolled my eyes. “I ate plenty of vegetables, thank you very much,” I said. Oliver walked over to a black pickup truck. “Well, I wouldn’t know since left you left and all,” he said, tossing my suitcase on to the flatbed. “Ollie, please don’t start,” I said, pulling the passenger door open. He and I had never really talked about my leaving home, but I knew that he took it the hardest. Being only a year apart, he and I were inseparable growing up. It was just us two until our twin brother and sister were born when we were five and six. I left home right after Oliver’s fifteenth birthday. I’ll never forget the look on his face that night. It was pretty much the same look he was giving me right now.

“Nothin’ to start,” Oliver said, slamming his door shut. Closing my own door, I looked over at him. His face was almost emotionless, but his eyes gave him away. I could see the hurt in them. “Oliver, I’m sorry. And I always will be. If I could have taken you with me you know I would have,” I said, reaching for his hand. “But you didn’t. And then you didn’t even come back for me. We didn’t see you again for 5 years!” he yelled, snatching his hand from mine. “I know Ollie, I know,” I said softly. “No, you don’t know Gypsy; you have no idea. Mama said she understood why you left. She said that you needed to be free. But she was heartbroken. And she resented the rest of us because of it. Do you know that she barely took care of Benji after he was born? All she would do is sit and look out of that goddamn window, like she was waiting for you to come home. To hell with the rest of us,” Oliver’s voice cracked and before I knew it, my face was wet with tears. “Ollie I never meant for anyone to get hurt, especially not you. But Mama loved y’all. She bragged about y’alls achievements every time I talked to her!” I pleaded with him. It was true. Whenever I’d talked to her, she always made sure to tell me about my brothers and sisters. She was proud of them and I knew this for a fact. Oliver scoffed and started the car. Not wanting to upset him even more, I didn’t say anything else. Instead, I looked out of the window, watching the trees whiz by. I had known that Oliver was upset by me leaving, I just didn’t know he still felt so strongly about it. I loved my brother. Hell, I loved all of my siblings, and the thought of them suffering because of me was not one that I enjoyed.

We drove for about 30 more minutes before pulling up to the familiar place that I used to call home. The peach tree in the front yard was still full of life, with bright peaches hanging from its branches. It reminded me of Saturday morning pancakes with Mama’s homemade peach jam. I smiled at the thought of Oliver and I fighting over who was going to eat the last pancake. “Thinking of Mama’s peach jam on a Saturday morning?” Oliver asked quietly. I turned to him and said “Yeah I am.” I saw a hint of a smile before he sighed. I hopped out of the truck and grabbed my suitcase from the back. Rummaging through the front pocket, I pulled out a little black book. I climbed back into the front and tossed the book at Oliver. “You think that Mama resented you guys, but she didn’t. She really was proud of y’all,” I said. Oliver looked skeptical. “Just open it Ollie,” I said, rolling my eyes. Oliver picked up the book and opened it slowly. Inside was a picture of him in his cap and gown from his senior year. He turned the page and there was another picture, this one of my twin brother and sister holding a trophy. The next one was of my younger sister standing on the first place podium at her swim meet. As Oliver turned the pages, there was picture after picture of my siblings. “Mama kept me up to speed with what you guys were doing. She sent me pictures all the time. So, while she may have been sad that I left, she was still proud of all of you. And so was I,” I stated.

Oliver didn’t say anything for a few minutes. When he turned to look at me, he was crying. “Gypsy, I have to tell you something,” he said. “Mama has been gone for 2 weeks now. We decided to cremate her,” he looked at me with pleading eyes. I replayed his words over in my head. Mama has been gone for 2 weeks. My mother was gone and I had never even gotten to see her one last time or say goodbye. “I’m so sorry Gypsy. Mama’s last words were about forgiving you. I got so angry. I thought about you leaving and made the decision not to include you. I just wanted you to hurt like I did,” Oliver explained, wiping his eyes. “So you keep my mother’s death from me! What the hell Oliver?!” I yelled. “It was stupid and selfish of me Gypsy and I’m sorry,” he said looking away. “So why make me come here? What kind of sick joke is this?” I asked. Oliver pulled something from his pocket. “To give you this,” he said. He held up a locket. It was the locket that Mama had gotten me for my 21st birthday. It was my first time visiting after leaving. The locket was gold and had the words “Gypsy Soul” engraved on it. I’d loved it from the moment I saw it, so when I couldn’t find it when it was time for me to leave, I was devastated. “Where did you find this?” I asked. I took the locket from him and ran my fingers over the engraving. “I took it. The night before you left again. I was mad that you weren’t staying,” Oliver hung his head. I laughed. “Oliver I seriously don’t even know who you are right now. At least I know how much you hate me now,” I said, still fingering the locket. “I don’t hate you!” he exclaimed. “Really? I couldn’t tell,” I snapped. “I know what I did was messed up. And that you’ll probably never forgive me,” he looked at me with sad eyes. I didn’t respond. We sat in silence for a while. There were so many emotions coursing through me. I was angry. I felt hurt and betrayed. But I also felt sorry for my brother. My choice to leave had affected him in ways I never thought of. Oliver leaned over and opened the glove compartment, taking an envelope out. “Here’s your cut of the money that Mama left us,” he said, handing it to me. I reached for it, and he grabbed my hand. “I really am sorry Gyppers,” he said before letting go. He opened the door and hopped out. Turning to look at me he said, “I had some of Mama’s ashes put into your locket.” He closed the door and headed toward the house. I looked after him, still staring even after he went inside. I opened it up the envelope. Inside was a check for the $20,000. I smiled, looking at Mama’s signature. She’d always had beautiful handwriting.

Stuffing the check back inside the envelope, I got out of the truck and made my way over to the peach tree. I sat down, leaning against it. I closed my eyes, the smell of the peaches making me think of Saturday mornings. “Don’t worry Mama, your Gypsy has finally come home,” I whispered, holding onto the locket. A gentle breeze blew over me, rustling the leaves near my feet. And in that moment, I knew Mama was there with me.