This story
begins in the early 1990’s. Our young
lady heroine is finding her first tastes of sexuality. She is 13.
I will say
that this begins in a real place, and in a real time, with characters that are
of this reality. The characters that
live in this story—live askance from the reality you may be familiar with. But.
This story was found out of a reality that I once could not distinguish
from the reality we share. I am a
schizophrenic. This story—although I
have taken liberty with the plot and characters—is based on delusions.
Our heroine
is named Isabel. And she is the most
beautiful of all the ugly ducklings which the world has ever known. Do you remember the story of the ugly
duckling? It becomes a swan this ugly
duckling. It only has to grow through
early stages for its beauty to emerge.
Isabel lived
in St. Albans, Vermont. She was a girl
who always found a way to see the good in the lost souls of the world. And maybe it is because of this that she
ventured so near to being a lost soul herself.
No, she did become a lost soul.
But this is how she was the courageous woman that she needed to be to have
her love save a man’s life. That is the
gist of this story. A big strong man
will emerge in this story who knows not much of love. I will not go further into his character than
that because it will kill the story.
Isabel
brought all her men to a point of weakness.
But, anyway, I’ll stop telling you about these events and let them
unfold for you as they unfolded in my mind’s eye while I was in psychosis.
She grew
into herself too quickly. Smart and
tough. Isabel loved the simple working
people of Northern Vermont; as well as the misfits. She showed everyone that that much more the
lost and depraved were exotic, and beautiful.
As most
things are when you are 13 Isabel’s life was a series of accidents. She fell in love with a man of 23 who raped
her. She couldn’t help giving herself to
him. When they first met he told her,
“you are the star of the sky that is so beautiful that it could not be in the
heavens. Because it would only make the
other stars look pale.” She laughed and
retorted.
“Flattery is
the first sign of love, I hear.”
“Who said
that.” The man responded, knowing that
he wanted things she was not supposed to give
him.
They screwed
in his truck. And Isabel knew that this
was the single thing she had ever known that made sense to her. At that moment, love became her muse—and she
learned the nature of passion and sex.
Then, she taught the nature of passion and sex. She was almost destroyed by the tempestuousness
of sexuality. But she was strong. She took all the heartbreak; she took the
misdeeds of men that treated her wrong; and she made it better each time for
her next lover.
