Chapter Twenty Five
After treating Carrie, Ophelia was exhausted and desperately wanted to curl up in her own bed at home and fall into a dreamless slumber. But she couldn’t. Not yet, at least. She still had a three-hour drive ahead and a new life to put together.
Mawmaw reassured Ophelia that she would get used to treating and not feel as wiped out after. Yesterday afternoon’s adventure into the world’s worst pain ever likely didn’t help with her exhaustion. She vowed to take it one step at a time.
Ophelia tidied up at Mawmaw’s, packed all of her belongings, and held her grandmother tightly in her arms.
“Thank you, Mawmaw, thank you. I hope I can help as many people as you have.”
“You will, and more, probably. Keep practicing.”
“I will. When should I come visit again?”
Mawmaw hummed. “As far as I know, I don’t have anything going on the next two weekends. No visitors or nothin’. Best to call your aunt Susan to make sure, but you know I wanna see you. Check in on how your gift is doing. Maybe you can treat these old hands.”
“I’d be honored.” Ophelia smiled and kissed her cheek.
“Git, git,” shooed Mawmaw.
Ophelia sat in her car fiddling with her phone before departing for New Orleans. She set her GPS to take her back home, picked out a playlist, and then remembered she never checked Jade’s email.
From: Jade.LaFleur@
To: Ophelia.Oubre88@
Subject: FWD: You’re invited to the Archer Gallery’s Annual…
Hey girl,
Want to come to this show with me? A colleague (aka competition) is hosting it, and I want to check it out. See details below.
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The Archer Gallery is pleased to present Young Talents, Visceral Ophelia couldn’t quite tell.
The woman had been stabbed with a dagger straight through the heart, blood oozing down her bare left breast. Her back was arched as she sat straddling the edge of a chair as if she were grinding to climax.
Ophelia zoomed in on the image and noticed that blood had trailed down her body, pooling around her vulva and onto the edge of the seat.
Ophelia was in a trance, unsure of what the piece meant, but she felt the magnitude of it—the pain and pleasure.
She scrolled down the page to find his bio.
Mateo Ortega
Visual artist and sculptor from Mexico City gained recognition while obtaining his MFA at California Institute of the Arts.
In his second year at Parsons, Ortega won the 2016 Emerging Artist of the Year.
After graduation, he moved to New Orleans and now works in his studio in the Marigny.
His work can be seen at Ogden Museum of Southern Art, The Archer Gallery, and Gallery Thompson & Thompson.
Ophelia couldn’t wait to tell Jade that Mateo and Bathroom Guy were one and the same. She promptly responded to Jade’s email with a confirmation and began her long drive.
The first hour of the three-hour drive was difficult.
The fall sun held that perfect afternoon glow and warmed the car.
To combat the incessant need to sleep, Ophelia blared music and blasted cool air on her skin, but the pull was insistent.
She needed an adrenaline boost. More caffeine wouldn’t do it, and she didn’t want to stop anyway.
A long stretch of highway grew in front of her, endless and devoid of interesting landscape. Before she could second-guess herself, Ophelia quickly grabbed her phone from the dash and called Etienne.
His phone rang twice before he picked up.
“Hello.” Etienne’s voice filled her car, and she was starkly aware of how good it sounded, how good it always sounded. Ophelia noticed immediately that he did not have a phone voice like most people. His voice was the same as it was in person, deep and gruff with little care for pleasantries.
“Hey. Hi, Etienne. It’s Ophelia,” she stumbled.
Ophelia heard a muffled hmph on the other end. “I know.”
“Right.” He took the wind right out of her sails. He had been so nice to her at her grandmother’s. It was the first time she could remember that he was caring and attentive. “Well, I just wanted to say thank you for yesterday.”
“You’re welcome.”
Lord, he was going to make this difficult.
“Look, I just want to ask what happened last night. I don’t remember anything after the Passing. My Mawmaw told me about the crying. She…she said that I wouldn’t stop and that she eventually went to bed and left you to care for me.”
The line was silent. Ophelia felt immensely uncomfortable and gripped the steering wheel tighter.
“Sure.” There was a shift in his voice to a more clinical tone. “So post-Passing, you began to experience tremors and intense bouts of mental distress, which presented itself as mild hair pulling, excessive crying, and delirium.” He was speaking to her like a patient.
“Got it. So how did you get me to stop? Or did you?”
“Sure. First, it’s important to remember that your response was not unfounded, as you experienced an immense amount of physical and mental pain.
I first allowed your grandmother to comfort you briefly before I intervened.
It was apparent very quickly that your level of distress required treatment.
I first soothed any inflammation your body took on due to the Passing, which allowed you to gather your breath a bit.
However, you quickly went into a state of delirium.
I attempted several calming treatments on you that did not result in improved behavior.
Thankfully, I did not see any signs that you were in danger of hurting yourself or anyone else.
It was getting late, so my grandfather and I helped your Mawmaw to her room so she could get some rest, and I took my grandfather home. ”
Etienne paused again.
“When I came back, I moved you from the couch in the living room to your bed so you’d be more comfortable.”
“Wait. Could I walk? Or…did you have to carry me?”
“I had to carry you,” said Etienne, voice low and shy.
Ophelia was dying. “Fucking hell. Okay, keep going.”
“That’s really it. You eventually calmed down and fell asleep. I left shortly after.”
“Oh, okay. Good. Good.” Ophelia heaved a sigh of relief. “My grandmother said you sensed my tiger. How?”
Another uncomfortable pause filled her car. “I did, yeah. I could see your protector in a way that’s difficult to explain. When I touched you to heal you, it was like the tiger projected itself in my mind, letting me know it was there, keeping you safe. I’d never experienced that before.”
“My Mawmaw said she felt something similar once with me. Do you have a protector?”
“No. That gift doesn’t run in my family.”
Before Ophelia could ask more about it, Etienne interrupted her. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I need to leave in a couple of minutes for work. Let me know if you have more questions or if you need help with all the Traiteur stuff.”
Etienne was offering her help. She didn’t care if it was merely an empty offer stemming from decades of Southern manners. She was going to seize it.
“Well, I don’t want to keep you, but since you brought it up…
I was wondering if we could meet up sometime soon to discuss Traiteur stuff.
I’m trying to figure out how I’m going to use my gift, and honestly, I could use some pointers and practice.
Would you be open to maybe…helping me? Or at least talking about your experience? ”
“Sure. Just let me know when.”
Etienne was a man of few words, but at least he confirmed that he would help. He probably wanted to say even less over the phone. Ophelia wondered if he preferred to text like the rest of her generation. She didn’t care either way, but sometimes talking through something verbally was just easier.
“Okay, great. I’ll text you later to set something up.”
“Sounds good.”
“Thanks again, Etienne. Talk to ya later.”
“No problem.”
Click.
She was grappling with so many feelings. She felt like she had been a huge imposition to him with the amount of treating he had to do for her. She was mortified, but she still needed his help. She wasn’t used to Etienne suddenly being normal around her, willingly helping her.
Well, she was about to burst into his life whether he liked it or not. She had this gift, and she needed to hone it. Use it. But how was the question.