Alysse Aallyn

Category: #Marriage

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    Mirabel’s been hard to pin down lately. 

    Then suddenly she changed. This marriage idea.”

    Did he blush or blanch?  I couldn’t

    See clearly in the darkening light but

    His throat trembled raw

    With pent emotion.

    My face must have betrayed 

    My distaste

    Because he hurried to explain.

    “She’s been trying to

    Talk me into seeing her family. 

    A wedding to erase her

    Great Silence. I thought we were 

    Two avatars alone. I imagined 

    A woman to stand with me against the world.”

    How rich, I thought, literally, 

    For a man with a title based on family 

    To disown that very concept.

    But to quarrel seemed

    Perfidious, and once again,

    The youngest person in the room

    I was silenced and shamed.

    He leaned back in his chair

    As beef wellington arrived.

    “I’m amazed you existed, frankly.

    I thought the little sister

    Was another of her stories.

    Kudos to your parents.”

    I stared nauseated

    At beef wellington –

    Perhaps I’m vegan after all.

    This party made me gag.

    “I’m so glad you’re you,

     Just like her but so

    Unspoiled.”

    Never had a compliment

    Felt more like an insult.

    What kind of talk was this from

    A prospective groom?

    And any idea that my parents “made” me

    Is creepy and revolting.

    “Mirabel and I are opposites,” I stressed

    Too angrily before I considered.

    “How can THAT be?”

    He was smug. Superior.

    I schooled him.

    “She cares what others think and

    I just don’t.”

    That should have stopped him but –

    It didn’t. He smiled

    Indulgently.

    “Sisterhood is powerful.

    I see she’s got “the drop”

    On me,” he emphasized the slang

    Like any English lord raised on 

    American movies.

    Unable to be me;

    Unable to read him,

    Know him, change him.

    Is this the dawning of

    Despair? It makes me hate

    The grown-up world. 

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    We were silent in the elevator.

    Feeling naked

    I clutched the fur I’d borrowed 

    Summoning up the nerve for

    Questions but

    Mirabel’s mood seemed depressed.

    Encumbered, perhaps?

    With me? With Verne?

    With family – obligation –

    Tradition – without her help

    I couldn’t map it out.

     “When did he propose?”

    My query’s girlish gaucheness echoed

    Off the shiny doors

    That bent our reflected beauty so

    Unflatteringly we seemed 

    Haunted.

    “It’s not when he proposed,” she said

    “It’s when I accepted. He

    Proposed the first night I met him –

    Five years ago.

    Said he’d marry me

    If I’d change from blonde to red.’”

    Wow. I didn’t know what to say

    To that except

    Why was he never in her pictures?

    What shame could there be? 

    “Was it a secret?”

    “He hates the press – it

    Treats him so unfairly in his own country –

    And he wants me to himself. I was so unready – 

    Seeing other people,

    Savoring my options.”

    We nodded at the doorman

    And the driver of 

    The waiting limo –

    “He slowly won me over.

    He was so suave, so

    International. Adoring.”

    She let me climb in first,

    Then backed away as if she’d seen a ghost.

    “I forgot something. Tell Verne I’ll be along.”

    The car swept away, leaving Mirabel 

    Huddled alone, by the curb in her mink coat.

    Chapter 4 – Cocktailing

    Had I been played?

    It’s what you do to children.

    I couldn’t shuck the memory of

    My own mother through the years –

    Lofty & deceitful –

    Briskly turning “road trip” turned into

    “Summer camp” and “one night” 

    Into seven. 

    I hated being “managed”, but really

    Who could blame Mirabel?

    Quoting Mom: “Guests must

    Be adaptable, obliging – a guest has

    No one to blame but herself

    For her bad treatment.”

    Was it something I’d said? Or

    Something I’d done?

    Or simply one more humiliation as

    Baby sister. Why did she keep throwing me

    Alone together with this man?

    Did I want to get to know him?

    I wanted to get to know HER.

    The driver helped me out of the car

    And I saw his frank expression.

    Another stunner. It was

    Admiration. I looked too good. I

    Was too tall.  Had I insulted the bride

    By overreaching?

    I blame the heels – when

    I towered over her –

    She must have hated it.

    She’d gone back to reposition – 

    To pivot, as they say,

    While Verne sat in comfort at the bar.

    He rose at the sight of me and once again

    I saw that face. Tribute

    To my manufactured beauty and yet

    I saw the calculation – was he 

    Managing me too?

    Naturally, he’d have to be –

    They had a goal of some kind

    Inviting me here –

    Weaseling their way back into the

    Famiglia, the family that gave up on them

    For whatever purpose.

    He seemed satisfied that

    I was alone –

    The arm that contained me 

    Was decidedly un-brotherly:

    Squiring me away from his 

    Desultory conversation –

    He didn’t bother to introduce me. 

    He enjoyed them seeing he was meeting

    Some strange woman.

    “Let’s get you dinner.”

    Anything better than a bar

    That looked me over as if 

    I was some Russian call girl.

    As we turned I was confronted

    By the mirrors: I looked like

    Some Russian call girl.

    Can I blame champagne, allowing

    Mirabel to paint me up?

    Or the society that wants –

    Expects me to look this way.

    None of this is my fault.

    I said in my best-guest manner,

    “Should we wait for Mirabel?”

    He demurred.

    “Waiting for Mirabel’s never a good idea.

    Putting yourself out only encourages her.”

    He snuck an angry glance at his phone

    As the headwaiter flashing menus

    Manhandled us

     Towards a darkened booth.

    Perhaps this engagement was far too long –

    Were they tired of each other already?

    “Turtle soup’s very good here,”

    Said Verne: I longed to claim

    To be a vegan but also yearned

    To sample everything.

    Sucked my water greedily

    As a martini-bearing waiter 

    Assessed me so attentively. 

    “A Virgin Mary?”

    Verne seemed startled but

    The more knowledgeable waiter sped away.

    “Without the vodka.”

    He seemed relieved.

    “Something Mirabel said let me

     Feared you were religious.”

    It was too complex to enlighten him.

    Famiglia’s religious but

    I’m free choice. I’ve yet

    To make up my mind about

    A lot of things. Switched it up.

    “What kind of ceremony will you have?”

    He seemed stunned as if I’d proposed

    Barbarian rites, then vague.

    “Some judge. A ballroom.”

    Shrugged his shoulders.

    “Mirabel says you proposed

    First night you met.”

    He laughed sharply.

    “I was young and stupid.”

    Well THAT was tough to follow up.

    Could both be afflicted with

    Cold feet? But Verne could

    Switch it up as well.

     “I recognize the signs,” he said.

    “What signs are those?”

    Struggling to regain my footing.

    “Mirabel can be very shattering, can’t she?”

    I shrugged, dismissed 

    Disloyalty, opting for

    Vagueness.  As he did.

    “Life comes at us so fast.”

    “I tried to free her from the life,” said Verne.

    “I don’t believe she’ll really let me.”

    Which life was that?

    This was depressing – my parents hoping

    For good news, find a bride and groom stuck

    In mutual complaining.

     “Mirabel proposed to me.”

    He said coldly. “It’s the title.

    They all do that. 

    She was no virgin when I met her.”

    I was stung on her behalf – who wants his

    Moth-eaten old royalty?

    And what cretin expects 

    Virgins among New York models?

    “She said she accepted

    The proposal you’d made long ago.

    And you said yes!”

    My Virgin Mary was 

    Too spicy to be truly virginal.  I

    Almost choked.

    Sipping slowly to wonder

    If I liked it.  Doesn’t hot sauce 

    Wreck your palate?

    As the waiter manifested a fresh martini, 

    I assessed Verne’s subtle desire

    To put me in the “wrong”.

    Lack of breeding?

    Was my hair not red enough?

    Too bad for him –

    I am well used to disapproval.

     “Mirabel said you like red hair,”

    I teased him.

    “I wanted her natural color –

    Yours, I assume?”

    Who could say?

    My memory was of long ago.

    “I think people should make themselves,”

    I defended, arguing

    Too fiercely.

    Soup arrived, bread slathered with 

    Mozzarella, pesto & tomato. Mini-pizzas!

    I sighed ecstatically and felt from him 

    An answering thaw.

    “When you inherit an ancient world,”

    He pontificated, “you learn to value the past.”

    “So you have a castle?”

    I asked through my full mouth.

    Turtle soup OK. Too much sherry for my taste

    Or was that stuff curry?

    Are turtles seafood?  Just like my sister

    I got a bored “I do.”

    He checked his phone.

    “It’s a bit of a ruin with tourists crawling

    Everywhere. Mirabel doesn’t care for it.”

    Phone again. Was Mirabel texting?

    I studied mine to be

    Companionable. My folks again.

    Always, with the questions.

    “She’s not answering,” he sighed.

    We’re not as attractive as

    Her double life.”

    This gave me a jolt.

    “She has a double life?”

    “Probably triplicate by now.”

    He snorted.

    I tried my father’s ploy.

    Get ‘em talking.

    “Why don’t you just tell me about it?”

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 3 – The Lost Sister

    I realized with horror that

    I was going to cry.

    Seemed I’d never expected

    To actually see her

    She was a scam  – a myth –

    Like so many ones

    She pleasured to perpetrate

     On our poor parents.

    “Darling!” Threw her skinny arms out

    And kissed the air.

    “You escaped!

    You’re all grown up!”

    She was shorter than me now –

    A tiny person-

    How I laughed.

    Laughed with relief – 

    Suddenly I was initiated into

    Her exclusive club

    Two of us against the world

    Superiority & sisterhood.

    She’d always known – none better

    How difficult parents are.

    They didn’t need me to protect them

    Running my own modest scams

    To engineer breathing room

    Took all the help I could get.

    Could it be time for Mirabel and me 

    To grow up together?

    I’d have a New York City sister –

    Married to a lord 

    Providing escape anytime.

    Mirabel tossed Verne a burning look –

    “Get us drinks?”

    And dragged me –

    Literally DRAGGED me –

    Into a double-doored bedroom where she

    Swept me down upon the white flokati rug

    And gazed deeply in my eyes.

    I felt a bit of a hostage at that point

    To tell you the truth.

    She seemed more desperate for ME –

    A nobody fourteen year old –

    Than I was for her.

    How could this be Mirabel?

     So much smaller than my memory –

    Disappearing before my eyes in fact,

    Running away

    As she had seemed to do 

    The whole of my existence –

    Shoulders folding together

    Over her knees –

    Dress size diminishing

    Smaller, ever smaller.

    How could this tiny thing

    Ever strut a catwalk?

    Blondness was history

    She was a redhead now.

    She caught me staring at her scarred

    Upper lip and covered it

    With a gesture I recalled

    As if moving her hand fast enough

    I wouldn’t see it. “Too many

    Piercings gone haywire,” she explained.

    Apologizing to me

    For the ruin

    Of her beauty.

    Something rattled at our door – Mirabel called –

    “We’re naked!”

    Pulled me into giggles –

    “Leave it outside!”

    She covered my mouth and signaled with 

    Humongous eyes –

    Crawling to the door she –

    Peeked out low –

    Pulled in a

    Champagne bucket and a pair of flutes.

    My face must have showed

    Surprise at his exclusion; but

    She said: “Grooms get in the WAY 

    Of weddings! No one wants them!”

    She lifted an unsteady

    Rock-wearing hand to toast –

    “Men! You know! They want to

    Decide everything but weddings are the

    Bride’s-” She gasped and gagged 

    As if from desert thirst – as if

    She’d never had such wine.

    “You can’t think what pleasure it is

    Finally getting rid of him – too much

    Togetherness destroys

    The hardiest relationship.”

    I sipped sedately, even though

    The brew frothed my sinus

    Parked burning foam

    Behind my eyes.

    How COULD this be Mirabel?

    The way she looked at me –

    Something stank of 

    Imposture and deceit.

    I just can’t say –

    I’m far too new –

    It’s just too weird.

    She was my sister and yet not.

    She leaned too close to

     Touch my hair.

    “They should have named you

    Maribel so we’d be twins.”

    The door opened and Verne stood over us

    Looked reproving as

    Mirabel fell away.

    But he was mild enough 

    Laying dress bags on the bed.

    He winked and

    Then was gone

    Door slightly left ajar –

    Pointedly, I thought –

    Mirabel closed it with her foot,

    Called, “See you at dinner!”

    I felt sorry for the poor groom –

    Then we heard the outer door slam and

    Mirabel unzipped bags briskly after

    Topping off her glass with

    Vodka from a bottle by the bed.

    “Bad champagne,” she excused herself,

    “In Europe, babies drink this stuff.”

    I studied the bottle –

    Beau Joie Brut Special Cuvée –

    “Brute” champagne 

    Sharpened me like

    Winter air when you can

    See farther, fly further

    Or think that you can.

    Mirabel offered her bottle.

    “No thanks.”

    And drained her tulip glass

    And spoke my words.

    ”You’ve changed,” she commented.

    Did I drink vodka at eight years old?

    I said, “So have you.”

    “My hair hated being blonde.”

     “Is he really a lord?”

    Mirabel rolled her eyes.

    “Unfortunately.” At my surprise she added –

    “It’s a cruel trick if

     You can’t do anything you want.”

    Shrugged.

    “At least the restaurants like it.”

    “And you’ll be –“

    “Lady Verne.”

    Unexcited at the prospect.

    Opposite of what

    Old Mirabel would have thought

    She followed the doings & undoings of

    European princelings in 

    Vogue magazine.

    I probed deeper.

    “You just met?”

    “God no, we’ve been together FOREVER –

    And only now we tie the knot. But you!”

    She spun me all around.

    “You’re so tall! And thin!”

    I found myself apologizing.

    “I can’t stop eating –

    “I must grow so fast because I eat

    Whatever I can find.”

     “After the wedding,”

    Mirabel promised

    “We’ll do a purge.”

    Sounds like a great honeymoon

    I thought but didn’t say.

    She was not making out a

    Great campaign for aristocracy &

    Marriage.

    “Think you’d fit a four?”

    The dress she flourished was pale gold,

    A fairytale gown with an endlessly flounced

     Puffy skirt. My gasp 

    Relaxed her. And she smiled.

    Most beautiful dress I’d ever seen.

    “Let’s find out!” I

    Almost dropped my wineglass in

    Excitement. Rapidly

    Stripped to totally unsightly sports bra

    And cartoon briefs.

    I knew we’d try on clothes

    But I owned no decent lingerie.

    “Can’t wear a bra,” said Mirabel.

    “You don’t need one anyway.

    I’ll cinch you in.”

    She gazed too long at my sad breasts

    A man’s gaze I thought –

    This dress had ribbons for corset strings 

    and Mirabel cinched me tight.

    “There!” The mirror exposed a stranger. 

    I was a new person.

    “A little short, maybe” said Mirabel,

    “With the right shoes…”

    From the closet she threw out flats.

    Disappointing – but –

    Bridesmaid shouldn’t tower over bride! 

    Maid of honor harnessing

    The clashing egos! 

    In weird familial telepathy

    Mirabel said,

    “Princess Richenda

     To the Dark Tower came.

    Just like in the

    Tarot cards.”

    In the mirror

    I admired my nude

    Beribboned back.

     “How about your dress?”

     “You’ve seen it.”

    It was like the breath went out of her.

    She tossed it out – they were identical.

    How could that be?

    Wasn’t that too strange?

    I was gobsmacked –

    Never heard of bride and bridesmaid

    Wearing the same dress –

    Think of the confusing pictures – 

    People getting entirely

    Wrong ideas. 

    Sounds like bad luck-

    Guaranteeing

    The groom will see the gown

    Before they’re hitched

    If you believe in that sort of thing.

    Mirabel’s dress was

    Smaller – size “zero” –

    Competitive,

    Combative Mirabel.

    She knocked my phone right out of my hand –

    “No pictures till the wedding.”

    Her pressured speech rushed on –

    “We’ve got to dress for dinner.”

    She checked her phone.

    “What will you wear?”

    I looked embarrassed at my

    Corduroy skirt

    Discarded like a 

    Shriveled carapace along the floor.

    Mirabel threw open mirrored

    Doors to reveal another bedroom –

    This one stocked with girlish stuff.

    “This room is yours -”

    She told me –

    “He’s staying at The Stanhope.”

    I blushed – I don’t know why

    He’d called it “his” place –

    And these closets were packed

    With Mirabel clothes so

    Where did I fit in?

    My sister unbound my dress –

    I’m not used to

    Clothes that need assistants.

     “You can borrow anything.”

    Tossed out a slinky gown green with

    Scales that matched my eyes

    Still with price tags –

    I’d never had a dress this costly.

    No bra here either –

    I dangerously chose heels that made me

    Six feet tall – but Mirabel

    Didn’t seem to mind –

    She gave me smoky eye, nude mouth and

    Emerald glitter.

    “Verne hates lipstick.”

    But she wore plenty –

    Cherry red to match her dress –

    I felt lucky anyway

    To be transformed.

    Now I was an impostor too.

    “He’s waiting at the Stanhope Bar.”

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    He reached for my bag

    Kissed the top of my forehead –

    Doubtless drinking in

    Sweat, hairspray, foundation;

     “Richenda?”

    Pronouncing it “Richendor”-

    English accents are so cool.

    “Recognized you immediately. You’re

    Just like Mirabel. Maybe it’s 

    The dark glasses – always dodging

    Paparazzi.”

    I felt helpless rapture as if

    He flattered me when all it meant

    Was that Mirabel wanted to hide and yet

    Remain superior in just the way I’d

    Fantasized. I did some obscure

    Need to argue –

    I’m an arguer –

    But taking “compliments”

    Is the better part I know.  

    But usually people said how unalike we were

    Snow White and Rose Red.

    “Er, thanks,” sounds so ungracious and

     “What happened to Mirabel?”

    Downright rude.

    I said it anyway.

    He batted at it briskly.

    “Unavoidably detained.”

    Swept me and bag away from the escalator

    Clogged with ordinaries –

    Down the platform

    “We’ll take the elevator to the car service.”

    Actually, it was a limo.

    The driver rushed to fondle my

    Pathetic flowered bag. Couldn’t parse whether he

    And this mystery man

    Knew each other – casual hire? or

    Permanent position?  Hard to know.

    “You’re the fiancé?” I stuttered out. 

    Worse and worse! Country cousin

    Morphing into bumpkin sister.

    He seemed surprised.

    “So sorry,” he bundled me into the limo,

    “My excuse is wedding nerves. 

    Meet the family!

    Philip Valerian. Everyone calls me 

    Verne.” Now I was 

    Laughing and I couldn’t stop.

    “Mom thought your name was Rupert Golden!”

    Verne didn’t see the amusement. 

    “Must be some other swain,” he huffed.

    Was I

    Getting Mirabel in trouble? 

    Would she thank me?

    What kind of fiancé

    Hates to hear his glamor girl

    Has been around?

    “I guess we all have wedding nerves.”

    He was jumpy,

    Fingers drumming on one knee.

    What a relief to turn away

    Make what brain-meat I could of the street outside.

    Writing my own story

    In which he was smoother, easier,

    Less knotty and complex.

    New York City! Kubla Khan!

    But everything was dark and dingy

    Until Fifth Avenue; there a

    Nonstop parade of glittery storefronts 

    And entitled shoppers

    Promised trousseaux and makeovers and

     Glamorous fun!

    The limo stopped at the dress designer

    Questrina,

    And the driver stepped out of the car.

    A woman rushed through the double doors offering

    two glossy green dress bags in outstretched hands-

    Driver swept them into the trunk and we were off again.

    “Your dresses,” explained Verne.

    My excitement dulled to confusion &

    Disappointment –

    Bait and switch:

    I should have known.

     “I thought Mirabel and I

    Would choose our dresses -“

    “Oh, there’ll be lots for you to do.”

    I’m surprised he didn’t offer a

    Lolly to distract me.

    “Here we are,” said the would-be groom.

    “At my place.”

    A skyscraper on Fifth Avenue? 

    Shiny red doorman

    Rushed the curb. “Your lordship.”

    I thought my ears were ringing.

    Was I hearing right?

    Should have watched that damn Downtown Abbey 

    Or whatever it was called –

    My oldsters begged me to 

    Watch with them

    Instead of proudly sequestering my anime anger.

    Could he really have a title?

    Do they still give those out?

    We were alone for a looooong 43 floor ride.

    Under sallow yellow

    Lighting he seemed

    Depressed – was it me or

    Or approaching Mirabel?

    If only I could read minds!  Then

    Gold enameled door opened and 

    There stood my sister.

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 2 –  @Valerian

    Once Mom had exited

    I fell contentedly into

    Wondering:

    Who would Mirabel be now?

    When I turned ten

    I followed her face &

    Body through

    Inter-space but in

    Three long years  

    But there’s been nothing to see.

    I fully comprehend

    That shiny airbrushed people

    Don’t resemble that really. But

    Mirabel was always gorgeous;

    Swimming through some

    Different air; her

    Huge eyes and Roman nose teased & promising

    Cavernous depths of soul.

    We all want to believe that beautiful people

    Get everything they want out of life;

    Otherwise what’s the point –

    Yet the Mirabel I’d known

    Deliberately evaded us;

    Abjuring the fold

    Unless needing something.

    At eight years old I had learned

    She was a mysterious gift-giver

    Like Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy

    In whom it would be unwise to

    Believe.

    So, as my train slid into the darkness

     Of Grand Central tunnel I texted the number 

    They gave me with “Train on time” &

    Happiness emoji. 

    Of course I wanted to delete it

    Immediately;

    But as the sole bridesmaid –

    Wasn’t I 

    The real Maid of Honor?

    Obligated to planning

    If not excitement but

    No response from Mirabel.

    Someone called 

    “@Valerian” tweeted: “I’m meeting you. 

    M. otherwise occupied as usual.

    Look for red hunting coat.”

    Who was Valerian?  Where was Mirabel?

    Did fiancé have charge of her phone?

    Possibly he cloned it;

    My friend Derek does that.

    Forced fresh perspective:

    If parents had known

    There wasn’t a Mirabel

    Would they let me come?

    That was the emotion Mirabel engendered

    I well remembered –

    She was a genius at 

    Preparing the faithful –

    “Softening us up”

    For future hard times. 

    This means never forthrightly

    Telling those Inconvenient truths.

    As the train lurched to stop I vaulted upwards 

    Greeting myself in the

    Mirroring windows. The girl 

    “Valerian” would see

    Passable in gray skirt, shiny thigh high 

    Pink leather boots, subtly highlighted 

    Nut brown hair. Nothing to compete

    With Mirabel’s blond goddess-hood.

    Free from Mom’s diminishing thumb

    I could exaggerate my eyes – 

    Outline my cheekbones

    Use lips to suggest

    Goddess potential all my own.

    The sight of my made-up face 

    Makes me feel hopeful.

    I didn’t answer that text:

    Stranger-Danger ever-present;

    If I didn’t like the look of him

    I could Uber myself – 

    Once I knew where I was going.

    I  bet on my chances;

    There were other girls on this train –

    I had a hat and sunglasses

    I’ve been melting into crowds

    Once I learned how to walk.

    Problem; my idiot mother

    Sent pictures

    Proud as she was –

    Cross-eyed in her fearfulness –

    If he was the one trying to

    Friend me –

    He’d already seen me grow up.

    Ugh!

    How the past follows us!

    Tortures us; cramping our style!

    How I long to be known 

    Yet forever undiscovered

    Wild virginal territory

    The better to project myself 

    Into the brains of others –

    Ultimate Observer.

    I’m aware

    It makes no damn sense

    To wish for admiration and 

    A the same time 

    Disappear – could it be

    We’re all the stalkers of our dreams?

    Threw diary, book, magazine

    Into my capacious carpet-bag –

    Diaries take one

    Only so far –

    Scribble scribble

    Ratcheting up while 

    Tamping down

    All the sharp points of life. 

    Fell rather than walked

    Down ungainly steps and My God

    There he was-

    Guarding the escalators, in his famous

    Red coat.

    Mirabel would NEVER come 

    Way down here 

    “To the tracks” –

    Hoi polloi, déclassé –

    But this sharp face looked eager

    Gladdening to see me.

    Was he

    A sight for eyes too young to be sore?

    Tall physique; you’d say

    “Distinguished,” but 

    Foreign looking, really,  in spite of 

    American jeans and that red down parka.

    The closer I got the more

    Startlingly handsome appeared

    That knife-planed face –

    Curly undisciplined black hair –

    Couldn’t stare long because

    He grinned at the sight of me. 

    No possibility of escape –

    Nor desire really 

    Wasn’t this more fun 

    Than forging some raw

    Uncomfortable relation with

    The long-lost sister?

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    What could excite the most

    Boring of Mothers?

    Lacking hypothesis –

    Unshouldered my headphones–

    Grateful because

    Geometry’s a notorious paralytic –

    Playing the

    More interesting

    Guessing game.

    “We won Powerball?”

    “Your sister! Your

    sister’s coming home!

    To get MARRIED!”

    Invisible Mirabel –

    ten years my elder 

    Unseen lo these

    Eight years at least.

    I barely remember her.

    Lifetimes ago. 

    “Why?”

    Mom – never invited in –

    Unable to break my force-field 

    Leaned against my door.

    Thin edge of the wedge

    Is an article of her religion. 

    “It’s all forgiven.

    Making up for the past.”

    Who can make up for the past?

    Especially when they’re so busy making UP

    The past.

    Mirabel just wants a free wedding.

    Mirabel was ALWAYS

    Always always always

    About the money.

    That much I DO remember.

    “Who’s she marrying?”

    “I think his name  –

    Something like Rupert Golden.” Said mother –

    “I couldn’t ask her to wait while I got a pen.

    Said she’d send details. She’s so fussy about

    Snoopers.”

    Everyone loathes snoopers, I thought because

    Everyone loves to snoop.

    It’s addictive.

    People usually won’t

    Reveal themselves without help. What

    Mirabel really hates is

    Accountability.

    I know it – 

    We’re all that way at first till 

    Forced to grow out of it –

    Taking our medicine; 

    Surviving

    Tongue-lashings

    Dressings-down,

    Bad grades –

    Teachers who hate you

    Disappointing boyfriends 

    Etc. etc. etc. 

    Most of us move on.

     “Rupert Golden sounds so unreal,” was my

    Only contribution.

    Mom gave me her

    “Like you’re the expert” face.

    But fourteen year olds DO

    Know everything.

    Then we start to forget because

    We’re distractible.

    Mother sighed gustily –

    Almost obscene – I 

    Looked away, politely

    Embarrassed for her. She said; 

    “We’ll be a whole family again

    First time in – ages.”

    Just so Mirabel can leave us 

    One final time, I thought –

    Cynical me.

    It’s all coming back to me.

    Attuning to Mirabel – she’s the one 

    Who made me so cynical –

    Looking for groupies –

    “Murble”

    I called her

    When learning to speak, 

    She was my dazzlement,

    Goddess of my

    Dappled infancy.

    Parents may be incomprehensible and

    Downright nonsensical.

    Caring only for appearances –

    Pretense

    Our manse is

    Copacetic.

    That’s why we – the

    Ungratefully sane –

    Greet their

    Lectures on truth-telling with

    Stink-eye and sour-mouth.

    “When’s this happening

    Happening?”  I asked a fair question.

    “Unsettled,” says Mom.

    “She wants your help buying The Dress.”

    “Me?” Here’s something unexpected.

    Amazing adventure, in fact.

    Up to that second I’d  been a

    Peeper, a commentator, a satirist 

    Unthankable critic of

    Our Family Drama.

    Now I’m  color coordinator?

    Was there a choice buried in this?

    “You’re her only bridesmaid so your

    Dresses must match,” 

    Mother pronounced –

    Completely unrealizing

    What idiocy she spoke.

    Mirabel had certainly

    Not sacrificed

    Edge.

    “You travel tomorrow 

    and both come back Sunday.”

    These plans were

    Gobsmacking.

    How had she been inveigled

    Into agreeing to this

    By a kid on the outs

    Unseen in eight years.

    I could see she wasn’t quite  happy.

    Something was niggling.

    Probably the fear that

    White slavers will get me

    It’s usually that.

    “Unless… maybe I should drive you?”

    I alerted like a drug dog.

    Time to finish Mirabel’s work.

    This was nothing less than

    A prison break.

    There’s a first time for everything

    Grab it when you see it.

    “I’ve taken trains before,”

    I said maturely, suppressing my

     Own edge; announcing –

    In case she’d forgotten –

     “I’m fourteen years old!”

    “But it’s the city,” wailed my Mother

    Both of us panicking 

    For different reasons.

    “I’ve been to the city,” I said,

    Blessing disgusting school field trips

    I’s tried to get out of.

    “I know where things are.”

     “She’ll meet the five o’clock.”

    Mom’s face was a study –

    Obviously wondering

    In what hell had she agreed to this?

    Some strange woman

    Calls up my Mom 

    Securing more freedom 

    Than I’d ever managed?

    It’s a gift.

    Keep the horse’s teeth out of it.

    “It won’t even be dark,”

    I said blithely,

    Knowing that, after white slavers,

    Parents dread darkness. 

    “So that’s where she lives?  In the city?”

    Rumors of international travel reached us

    when Mirabel’s modeling died.

    (I recall her yelling that fashion 

    Is shit.) And

    All this time she’s been

    Twenty miles away?

    Mom still seemed unhappy,

    Realizing how few facts she’d extracted.

     “Maybe it’s where Rupert lives.

    I’ll trust your good sense.”

    First time for everything!

    Who trusts Mirabel,

    Under what misbegotten star?  

    Someone needs to commit 

    To some serious snooping –

    And I’m the right person with my

    Fierce curiosity to

    Ferret out truth.

    That very night a person

    Calling himself

    Philip Valerian

    Accosted me on Instagram.

    But I was well-trained

    Media savvy –

    I shut him right down.

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    Why would a bride vanish after pushing her fourteen year old sister into the spotlight?

    Chapter 1 – Surprise Wedding

    I’m Richenda

    Fourteen; I

    Thought myself bored.

    Winter break’s glacial dullness

    Broke just recently –

    Right before dinner, when

    Mom

    Harried as usual 

    Put her head around my door :

    “You won’t believe what has happened!”

  • Purrsiflage – Today’s Kitty Horoscope with Alysse Aallyn

    Jan 20

    The Universe Know That You are searching for your “other”.  Today you will know either who it is, or where to look.

    Do you look in the mirror and see another face behind yours? Do you dream of a lost twin? Do you imagine “the other” across a crowded room, and think when you touch their hand, you will feel a strange galvanic charge?  Do you think soulmates are even possible?  Is there only one or are many soulmates potentially developed over a lifetime? 

    Have you been disenchanted with sex? Does it seem like more trouble than it is worth? Do you have sex dreams that feel more like night terrors? Does sex make you feel increasingly worthless and untouchable?

    Soulmates Are Real and You Have One – It’s never too late. You are never so “lost” you can’t find your soulmate. The problem is, your soulmate feels just the way you do and both of you are frightened of those feelings, isolating you further in an invisible, impenetrable membrane. You want your soulmate to rescue you, but Purrsons rescue each other. This takes a lot of bravery, a lot of humility, much insight and a little magic.

    Desire Can Be Slaked – Temporarily. Purrson must stay alert. We don’t pursue numbness – or even satiety. It’s good to get acquainted with hunger. Pro tip – hunger keeps you young. Hunger is a condition of youth.

    When Purrsons Bond There is No Going Back. – The potential magic of sexual connection ignites the search for a SoulMate. Purrsons believe that once found, a Soul Pair becomes capable of Time Travel, TransSubstantiation, and Immortality.  Genders merge; either one can be feminine, masculine or androgyne at will. One wing searches for another to form a bird and fly. The question we must ask ourselves is: are we willing to undergo the pain of having the boundaries of our borders breached to fully merge with another?

    Purrsons Lift Each Other’s Souls – The power of a doubled pair is raised to the nth power by their knowledge, commitment and shared purpose.

    Purrsons Release Each Other – There are so many permissions, forgivenesses, and skills we cannot give ourselves. Love literally gives you eyes in the back of your head. There is no hiding from your soulmate.

    Doubled Purrsons Power the Universe – The constant clash of mating, sharing, satisfying and negotiating is the music of the spheres. It keeps us all spinning in an ecstasy of selfless selfhood.

    Purrson Challenge – There are plenty of frogs out there and some vipers, and you will kiss each. Possibly more than once. It’s also possible that we have “rewired” our system – through porn, games, and casual sex – so that it actually prevents us from recognizing a soulmate and forging a life bond. This is why starting as friends is so critical. It gets your defenses down to the point where you can talk about fears, desires and problematic reactions. Go slowly, welcome mistakes and be prepared to learn.

    Purrson Danger – Sometimes – let’s face it – most times, you and your soulmate are “sick.”  You have “caught” infection from a society that says “screw you” to eternal, mystical, mutual sexual union. That makes things hard. You don’t recover overnight. You must commit to good mental, emotional, physical, spiritual and sexual hygiene and you will both have to figure out what it is. You need to make a plan – yes, a map – out of each other’s minds and bodies. If the other person refuses to accept health you will have to detach for your own sanity and safety. Vampires create other vampires, and bliss will elude them. The most important part of soulmating is the mutual pledge for health and growth – for both of you.

    Purrson Opportunity – My book, I’ll Sleep When You’re Dead – is about the supernatural powers of soulmates. It’s about what to do when you dislike and distrust your soulmate at first. It’s about what to do when you and your soulmate both have horrific pasts and are pursued by actual demons.  I can’t say it clearer than that. Don’t be frightened. Your bond is eternal, across time, geography and multiverses.  Take it slow. You have all the time in the multiverse.

    Bereavement Is Never the End – As life itself is not the end, bereavement cannot be. The glory of bliss still awaits, and detached Soulmates have been known to find each other and form new spiritual and physical connections.

    Models & Mentors – “A soulmate’s purpose is to shake you up, tear apart your ego, show you your obstacles and addictions, break your heart open so new light can get in, make you so desperate and out of control that you have to transform your life and then introduce you to your spiritual master” – Elizabeth Gilbert

    “A soulmate is the one person whose love is powerful enough to motivate you to meet your soul to do the emotional work of self-discovery and awakening”

    – Kenny Loggins

    “They fought all the time and challenged each other every day. They were crazy about each other” – Nicholas Sparks

    “I know what love is, because of you.” – Herman Hesse

  • Purrsiflage – Daily Inner Kitty Horoscope with Alysse Aallyn

                           Jan 12

    The Universe Knows We Need Help. We need to forge alliances and so we often dream of that One Special Alliance, the person who will always have our back and whose back we want to have. The spiritual component is present; we will read their soul, they will read ours and we will exchange psychic power.

    Time to consider your ideal partnership contract.  What would it be like? Have you been dreaming lately about weddings? Love, proposals, marriage? About The One that got Away? About partnership enterprises in general – video gaming, tennis – where an Ideal Partner/Helper’s always there when you need them? 

    Purrsons can’t make it through life without a partner. We’ve got friends who come and go, sometimes special ones, but they’ve got obligations of their own. What if we had a Perfect Friend who made our Best Life their priority? What if we were not only willing to do the same for them but to promise this in public?

    Everybody Deserves Somebody – We come into adulthood with strong memories of familial dependence. We are all attracted to caretaking behaviors and easily seduced by promises to read our minds and give us what we really want, even if we haven’t figured that out for ourselves. Then hormones click in and we discover Desire. Not only for bodies, but for Persons, Lives, Individualities. Other people are a spice, other people are a medicine, other people are a distraction – everything our own inner, secret lives seem to be lacking. What if we could combine all these needs together in one appetizing human package?

    Purrson Challenge – We rarely ask our friends to change their lives for us. They are VERY rarely willing to do so. But a partner is someone to actively plan a future with. You get to talk through all the Wants, the Possibilities, the Fears. Heady stuff!  The challenge is to know yourself well enough to make any sort of honest statements about who you are, who you CAN be and who you want to be.

    Sometimes Allies Need a Long-Term Contract – Lives are uprooted. Possessions are shared. Long term strategy results in map-merging to create a new – but more exciting – map. If you’re a giver, now’s the time to learn your limits. Because takers don’t have any.

    Someone Needs to Take Your Back – As the great mystic Emmanuel Swedenborg pointed out, each one of us is only half an angel. You need someone to cover the things you can’t cover. And if you were planning to start a Purrson family, you need more than a partner, you need a spouse.

    Spouses Teach Honesty – The person who knows you best won’t put up with a false front. You literally force each other to get to the root of emotions and behaviors that will open up your psyches not just to each other, but to the world and to yourselves. The spouse who falls in love with you and forgives you finally allows you to fall in love with and forgive yourself.

    Staging, Experimental Life Lab and Boot Camp – we get to try out our ideas on each other. The Beloved Other is a Mirror and a Coach. The purpose of existence, the purpose of YOUR existence – suddenly becomes clear.

    Purrson Danger – A substantial number of partnership contracts fail ultimately. We all know this but we keep trying. That doesn’t mean that while they were good they weren’t wonderful! We’ll always have our memories.

    Some Partnerships Evolve into Something Else, a Financial, Real Estate or Caregiving unit that is very necessary but also pretty far from what we had in mind originally. Our challenge remains the same.  Is it possible to both know and be known? Can we find our Soulmate? Does such a creature exist? Is it possible to evolve with another soul to a higher plane of SuperSoul? Disappointment and betrayal are all too often the apparent outcomes.

    Purrson Opportunity – Soulmates DO exist! They DO evolve. We WILL change our life for another and they will change, blend, merge with us. Any interaction with another requires communication, boundaries, honesty, planning and “rules”. I put rules in quotes because a good partner keeps “transforming” the game and we keep transforming ourselves to meet it. The best way ever to honestly know yourself is to keep conscious, subconscious and unconscious in alignment. Purposeful dreaming, journaling and planning is the best way to achieve that goal! Get out your Training Journal and start with absolute honesty, realizing that tomorrow you may see things differently. Accept it!

    Models & Mentors –  “It’s not lack of love but lack of friendship that makes for unhappy marriages” – Friedrich Nietzsche

    “What counts in making a happy marriage is not compatibility but how you deal with incompatibility” – Leo Tolstoy

    “A happy marriage is a long conversation which always seems too short”

    – Andre Maurois

    “The secret of a happy marriage is finding the right person. You know they’re the right person if you want to be with them all the time” – Julia Child

  • The Book of You – Haiku Diary by Alysse Aallyn

    #Haiku: The Firefly

    False romantic glitter

    Compliments its prey;

    “See how much

    I want you”.