Lifetime

Folklore

As soon as I declared my intention to stay away from him, it was like the universe drew us together. It was challenging enough to push away the feelings that grew for him during his class twice a week, but I could prepare for that. I was never ready for the times that he showed up at the coffee shop I frequented, leading me to settle for the more crowded Starbucks on campus. He didn't make a habit of sitting next to me on the L, but even with him sitting or standing a few feet away I couldn't keep from glancing up every so often, relishing in the times we met each other's eyes.

I couldn't recall a day that I hadn't seen him since he explained impressionism to me three weeks ago. Faye was still laughing as we dragged our shopping bags from Target, ranting about our run in with Namjoon and his fiance.

"I feel like one of you actually has to be stalking the other at this point. I mean how do you still happen to see each other on a Sunday?" She cackled, sitting at the island to sort through the quirky decor she picked out.

"His fiance was gorgeous though wasn't she?" I muttered, remembering the woman who matched his confidence perfectly, her outfit polished and hair cut into a sharp bob that could have made her intimidating, if her character hadn't been so friendly.

Faye was unfazed by my observation. "He was so fine, even better than in that picture on the school's website." She gushed, pulling out the takeout we picked up on the way home and filling a couple of glasses with wine.

"He is," I added a reminder for her and myself, "and they make a really beautiful couple."

She rolled her eyes. "They do, but aren't you supposed to be together? I don't even think they looked really in love. Maybe he isn't really in love with her and just needs to real–"

I cut her off. "There's enough there for him to want to marry her. I can't get in the way of that for a romance that already has an expiration date." I shook my head, projecting the amount of hurt that could stem from this connection.

Faye wasn't happy about it but knew I was right, groaning with her response. "I hate forbidden love for the record. When is the next date again?" She asked.

"Like six years away," I sighed, "but as much as this one sucks I'm terrified to think about that one so I will be ignoring it until it comes."

She giggled over her food, always finding the prophecy interesting and a little entertaining, though there was nothing that felt amusing about this next disconnection as I was calling it.

The next Tuesday when he entered the class I silently praised myself, able to quiet the drumming just enough that I could focus solely on his lecture. "Before we go, remember that this weekend the Art Institute will open the first exhibit available as the focus of your final papers. This one is titled "Art and Lore," but of course there are other exhibit options so check the list provided in your syllabus." He reminded the class.

I already had the exhibit marked as the one I planned to attend, hopeful that I'd get the chance to write about Greek mythology or African folklore. By the time Saturday rolled around I was confident that the universe ceased its efforts to bring us together as I hadn't spotted him out and about any of the days I didn't have his class.

The metro was packed with the weekend crowd of people and I stood, holding on to a pole and nodding my head along to my favorite mixtape. The wind blew harshly, an early October chill in the air that made my shirt wisp around on the walk to the museum. I showed my student ID as I entered the exhibit, the room already packed with other patrons, a few who I recognized from class.

I ventured through each section of the exhibit, fascinated by "The Abduction of Psyche," "Lakshmi," and several headdresses and masks that represented mythical ancestors from the Yoruba and Dogon tribes. Though I was thankful for the opportunity to view every piece and learn of its history, I couldn't help but question if something so magnificently historical belonged at a weekend art exhibit in Chicago.

One of the paintings toward the middle of the exhibit drew me in like no other, an unknown artist whose work depicted a group of women who stood across from one. Most of the group pressed their palms together in thanks, one at the front holding both of her hands out, a glow coming from them that signified the title of the piece, "The Gift."

I took a moment to jot down my first thoughts and impressions on the small notebook I brought along, stepping a little too close to the piece as I gazed at the woman accepting the gift. Her eyes were tired but kind, and she seemed to be giving a small protest to the gift.

"You like this one?" My breath hitched in my throat at the sound of Namjoon's voice and presence. I stepped back from the painting, taking in the classic look of the black turtleneck sweater he wore.

I nodded, keeping my eye on the painting. "I'm loving all of the stories attached to each painting. I can't wait to get back and read more about them." I replied.

He pointed to the small description next to the painting, shorter than many of the others in the show. "There are a few paintings similar to this one, to represent the witch trials of the sixteen-hundreds." He started to explain, my attention immediately captured in the same way it was every time he taught. "Most of the trials took place in Massachusetts and Connecticut. There was a little more tolerance for witchcraft in the laws of Virginia, so some covens ran south to escape. Myths tell of women who stepped up to aid the covens, providing shelter, food, and protection through the witch hunts. Often the women had gifts bestowed upon them for their kindness."

The pounding in my chest wasn't just from my heart or him anymore, but in the story being identical to the tale of the soulmate prophecy my mother told me.

I took a step closer to the painting, resisting the urge to reach out and touch it. "What kind of gifts?" I was nearly breathless, my words coming out in a whisper.

"It depended on the coven's practices, potions, a message from the spirit world, a spell or divination reading." He responded.

He seemed to enjoy my fascination, his expression turning into one of worry when I stepped back. "I need to go." I murmured, my breath ragged with shock as I raced from the museum and into the city.

From the moment I was settled into a seat on the metro I pulled out my phone, diving into reading about the witch trials, looking for more recent information through forums. I always assumed that my family held every piece of history tied to the prophecy, but there was possibly more.

The rest of my weekend was spent researching, but there weren't many articles outside of the reports of hunts and background Mr. Kim gave at the exhibit. Every time it appeared that there was something deeper, the mention of divination, of witches who foretold futures I was met with another dead end.

Over the years I'd exhausted myself of reading the same documents I had access to since I was ten-years-old and had every word memorized, but at the end of that weekend I pulled them out once again, tracing my fingers over the pages with a wish that the magic would send me a guiding message.