veil | W. Axl Rose

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𝐒𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟓

In September, in wind and ashes, Linda started her first year at University of California. 

    The day before the start of the initial quarter, Sofiya seemed more overjoyed than usual. I'm flying to New York for the weekend, that's what she told her daughter. It had something to do with some literary collaboration offer from one of the Manhattan writers, but Linda knew it wasn't just the weekend. Sofiya eagerly anticipated the chance to leave California and spread her wings. And Linda always had this bitter thought at the back of her head that, had it not been for her, she would never have had to endure those wearying jobs at Cinema Scene magazine. She already would have been half a planet away, floating in a turquoise sea, dancing by moonlight to flamenco guitar, and writing during mercury retrograde. Linda felt her guilt like a brand.

    When will this life turn to a distant memory?, Linda thought to herself as she laid all alone on the carpet in the family-sized house, sketching the curtains which stripes were the only thing that interested her now, that made sense. When will this life turn to a specter of dark days, vale of dried tears from which oozes a feeling strangely painful, suffocating, and sad? She didn't want it to last forever, yet was aware it was her bread-and-butter anyway. An eternity she will never escape. The arcana of solitude.

    She was shuffling Minor and Major Arcana. Out of boredom, she paged through a 19th-century leather-bound book on Jungian tarot, the pages of which crumbled in her fingers. The priestess was the only one that kept falling away, her spirit card; a statuesque woman seated in the temple, clad in a pristine white garment that symbolizes purity, carrying a book on her lap. Her shoulders are covered by a blue cloak, the color of spirituality. Above her, the sickle of the moon shines brightly. Some decks refer to her as The Popess, which erroneously associates her with the Catholic religion. In actuality, the Priestess is the pagan goddess of Nature, the Greek Artemis, the Roman Diana, the Vestal.

    She flipped open the book to the page detailing the card and scanned the text, written in a distinctive Gothic Revival font.

    The card embodies a woman whose sensuality is yet to be fully realized. Throughout her life, she has never experienced the presence of a man or a father figure. Unaware of her own allure, she lacks the knowledge of how to wield it. Her belief in pure love often manifests as platonic affection. She may harbor feelings for someone unattainable due to their commitment to another. The Priestess card also signifies concealed secrets and forbidden emotions. This aligns seamlessly with the numerological significance of the number TWO, symbolizing passivity, vulnerability, and timidity. The Priestess is selfless, not contemplating her own desires or seeking to disrupt existing relationships. She holds her love within, willingly embracing solitude. Rejecting superficial connections for pleasure or convenience, she remains steadfast in her commitment to true love, even if it means waiting indefinitely. This can only happen unless she rejects potential happiness with a Page, merchant, or blacksmith merely because they don't arrive on a white horse.

    The second sentence rang in her ears again. Duff once joked to himself that she has no say in the matter because she's half an orphan. Back then, his words seemed like meaningless, drunken gabbing to her, but as the years passed, she was about to comprehend what he meant.

     For the first two weeks of UCLA, she just bumped from her home to departments and to Glendale Galleria for mindless walking during free period and from Glendale to the afternoon lectures and back to home like a numb trolley-bus. The sunlight tilted through the blinds once in a while, and she'd peek out to see if the leaves on the trees were dying yet. Life was repetitive, resonated at a low hum. She hadn't seen Guns since mid-August, at which time, at Natasha's insistence, she got her tramp stamp tattooed. It consisted of sharp tribals and effortlessly emerging Om symbol in the center. She wasn't under the influence, just to be clear. It had been on her mind for some time, and the opportunity just arose. No one has seen the tattoo yet except her, the tattoo artist and Natasha. Save it for a VIP person, Natasha would gnarly joke to her.