Balance Beam

A smile crept upon my face as I walked around the dirty city of New York. Much has changed since I was briefly here in the 1960s. It seemed so much more upscale. I continued to walk towards 23rd Street, where my new residence was. It was no secret that my good looks had scored me a pad at the Chelsea Hotel. I was excited about seeing it, I missed out on the whole punk scene around these parts. I was long gone to California by the time that Sid and Nancy called this place home.

The familiar red building that I saw in many pictures came into view. I walked inside, my sandal-clad feet not making a sound. I admired the art on the walls and loved how you could just feel the history in the building. A throat cleared behind me and I whirled around to see a middle-aged man smiling at me.

I returned the smile and extended my hand. “Hello I’m Giselle Giovanni, I’m assuming you are Mr. Davis?” I asked as he shook my hand gently.

“Yes, it’s nice to finally meet you Miss Giovanni,” his eyes trailed down to my breasts and met my eyes again before he went behind the front desk. I glared at him as he grabbed a key but smiled once he handed it to me. “We received your money transfer around dinnertime last night, so here is your key to your room. I’m sure you’ll be quite pleased with it. It’s quite late, I’ll let you get some sleep. But if you ever need anything, please don’t hesitate to get ahold of me.”

I nodded at him and gave a slight wave. “Thank you Mr. Davis. You have a good evening,” I said as I walked off towards the stairs.

One of the good things about being almost six-hundred years old is you had money. I had shipped my belongings here last week and the staff made sure to put it in my room. I didn’t have much stuff, just a lot of clothes. I’ve saved as much clothes as I could over the years, along with a few keepsakes. Another good thing about having money is I could afford a spacious room with my own bathroom. Many of my neighbors have to share a bathroom per a floor.

I stopped in front of my door and stared at the number 815 on it. This was about to be my home for the next several years. Well until someone notices I’m not aging and starts questioning me. I heard the creaky elevator ding and watched intently as the doors opened. Two young men in their mid-twenties stumbled out, laughing loudly. Giving it was nearly four in the morning, I assumed they were drunk.

Trying to avoid my neighbors, I slipped into my new apartment. I leaned against the closed door and stared into the faint darkness of the room. A heavy sigh escaped my lips as I turned on the light and looked about. The walls were a cream color, making it appear larger than it really was. As I entered the only bedroom, a smile crept upon my face. The staff had gone out of their way and set up my bed.

I made myself some tea and stared at the many boxes before me. I placed my empty cup on the counter and opened the closest box near me. Inside was a couple sentimental knickknacks, some candles and incense, a few of my hippie-days souvenirs, and my ceramic mushroom set. I grabbed my mother’s jewelry box and ran my hand over it, sighing deeply and closing my eyes.

I was a young girl, no more than thirteen years. I wore a long brown dress that showed off my small, bare feet. My wavy hair was pulled out of my face, revealing my light tan cheeks. My maid, Geneva, had helped me dress and done my hair to perfection. She lead me to my mother’s quarters as I skipped behind her.

“Miss Giselle, you must settle down,” she said, looking back at me. I continued to skip and smiled at her.

“But I cannot help it, really. I’m ecstatic about tonight Geneva! My first ball! Oh, can you believe it?” I said dreamily, clasping my hands together.

“Miss Giselle, a lady does not show her emotions as such. A graceful smile is all you need to supply tonight, along with plenty of manners,” Geneva said sternly as she stopped in front of my mother’s door.

I nodded as she knocked on the door. Maybe I didn’t want to be a lady. Maybe I want to skip and jump, shout at the guests. Perhaps I could even make a joke about my father at dinner! Oh, if only I was allowed to be as outspoken as a man. Geneva opened my mother’s door and lead me inside.

I’ve always loved my mother’s room. It was so beautiful, just like she was. Her furniture was made of oak and her linens were a mixture of purple and pink. Freshly picked flowers sat perched in an English vase along side her bed. My mother smiled at me as she admired my figure in my older sister, Adelina’s, hand-me-down. She was a solid three years older than me, but my bossom fit perfectly in it.

“Geneva I think I can manage my daughter from here,” my mother smiled. Geneva bowed and left us alone. My mother patted the bench in front of her vanity. “Have a seat sweetie.”

I smiled and practically ran over to her. It was an honor to sit at my mother’s vanity. My older sisters talked often of this, always rubbing it in my face. You were not allowed to sit here if you were a little girl, you had to be considered a young lady. I could have squealed with joy as I sat on the wood.

“Now Giselle, you have to mind you manners tonight,” my mother lectured as she opened her wooden jewelry box and pulled out her amber necklace. “I know you’ll do just fine tonight, sweetpea. A certain guest will even be dancing with you this evening,” she said as she put the necklace on me.

A tear slipped from my eye and trailed down my face. I gripped the jewelry box tightly as I sobbed. That was the night that my mother told me of men and sex. She let me look through her jewelry as she did so. I remember that night so clearly, as if it happened last week and not over six-hundred years ago.

A man that was my oldest sister, Capricia’s age, which was twenty-one, was looking for a wife and I was a candidate. We had danced a lot that night and he sat next to me at supper. He was attractive, but he wanted someone who would give him plenty of children. I had snorted at him and I told him I was merely a child myself. I caught a hell of a punishment for that too. Luckily I had scared him away, he ended up murdering the girl he did marry and was hung in the courtyard a few years later.

To say I missed my family was an understatement. I had never really got to say goodbye to any of them. Well, in a way I did. They bid me farewell off to England to live with a respectable friend of the family’s. I was to marry their son the following autumn. However, I never got to see my new home or meet my future fiance. Instead, I got lost in the London night and fell victim to my maker. If I ever see that son of a bitch again, I’m going to rip him to shreds for what he’s done to me.