Often Gabrielle felt like a stallion in a yoke. She was deeply sensitive in nature, rarely revealing her true self to anybody, but instead wearing a Harlequin mask to portray a regal sense of optimism. Her eyes had layers to them, as many layers one supposes as there are layers to the Earth or to a Sequoia tree.
She spoke very little since the years of her suicide attempt, and those around her often complained that they saw her rarely. She had, in turn, become scarce. Being employed as a front desk girl for some time, her deeply sensitive nature would subtly reveal itself as her fingertips nervously raced across the bed of the keyboard or answered the telephones, she had a gentle nature akin to a doe.
Gabrielle was pale and fine of face, choosing to shorn her hair during the long expanse of her twentieth summer when she came home again to the shrouded suburb of Hamburg, Pennsylvania where she worked for some time as a secretary under her father.
The harsh and somewhat, abrasive atmosphere of the office, seemed to take root in her own demeanor and some backhanded comments from some fellow employees and talk that she was merely employed because of her father’s position in the company, reached her ears at record speed.
Daily, she’d come in and sit at the large, maple desk and open her book. She had some trouble transferring lines, and one employee, Ryan O’Toole, would not miss such an occasion to poke fun at her seeming “incompetence”.
Ryan O’Toole was a speedy talker, ambiguously sarcastic in nature though he tried to come off as one with a golden heart. He in fact, became brutally pitted against Gabrielle as she often confused either phone line.
It might have been Gabrielle’s fine features, as she was petite in frame and very beautiful in nature though she seemed completely unaware of the fact, or if such a subject was brought up, she dismissed it. She thought that if she could dismiss it, others would and they’d move on and let her be.
In truth, Gabrielle had only one desire and that was to vanish completely. To be invisible, to be absolutely translucent to the eyes of all those who mocked her.
Indeed, the cleaning ladies Olga and Anya had walked in on her just this morning as she stood with her black coffee, musing at her day to the empty house. They’d snuck in through the front porch with their wash buckets and their brooms and found her blatantly alone; Gabrielle’s booming voice had become a waning soprano at their entry and though she tried to come off brassy and proud at her eccentricities, she blanched and inwardly felt shame.
This did not fare her well as she entered into the office, where her vulnerability to that event seemed to seep into her other work; and at the appearance of the resident secretary Louise showing up at the front desk once more, Gabrielle had whispered to her father how she’d like to step down.
He looked at her with some disappointment, nodded his head and instead of letting her go so Gabrielle might peruse the local library (her favorite thing to do was to get lost among Tennyson’s poems) she instead encountered the Lion’s Den where all the men at their desks seemed to gristle or guffaw at her under their breaths, as if to say, this was a man’s world.
Gabrielle sat pensively at her new desk, hoping to be obscured from their vision and she retied the scarf at her neck. Smoothing the down of her jersey dress, she leaned into the typewriter and began her work with a silent prayer that she might vanish.
She was finally released from the yoke just shy of four o’clock, and immediately caught the trolley to the public library. The Poetry Wing at the library had a beryl wrought iron bannister that led to the stacks, and a small stained glass window that was always left cracked open during the humid months.
The smell was damp and slightly moldy, and when Gabrielle looked out she could spy the crown of the blossoming pear tree with all of its flowers strewn over the bit of lawn and sidewalk. There was a crevice where she would hide and it had a little chair from the Colonial era. A breadth of wind fanned the nape of her neck and she closed her eyes and felt the spines of the books. They were ancient books, some of deteriorating cardboard or cloth, and still some were mahogany leather.
She took off her pumps and they sounded against the blond floorboards, the heel slightly scratching the surface, she let her feet breathe through her light taupe pantyhose as she lifted the pages of some centuries old edition copy of “Idylls of the King” and was soon lost in the poem of The Lady of the Lake.
But what was this? Between the spines of “The Iliad” and “The Odyssey”, lie a book with a sparse title of chipped gold leaf paint. It seemed so much smaller than the other books, and Gabrielle began to question if the librarian had put it in the wrong area. Curiosity nevertheless consumed her, and Gabrielle opened the small book up (which smelt of mildew and coriander) and began to read.
It was arranged like old Pablo Neruda poetry, and so for an instant, Gabrielle began to believe it was so; for on one side there was the Hungarian text and the other a translation. But what the small book said was hardly romantic poetry, and it seemed to be incantations.
“Spell for Abundance”, read one page, still another: “Spell for a Mead Moon”, and another “Spell for a Flower Moon”. Licking her fingers and turning the page, Gabrielle scanned to see if there was any such poem for invisibility and upon finding it, she slid it between her copy of Tennyson and Sir Malory.
That night, while she made her croque-monsieur and poured herself a glass of burgundy, she mused over the book. She began to wonder if it was just some fantasy poem or mythology, but upon scanning the pages again her doubts were quickly dismissed.
Sipping her burgundy, she giggled and began to read one such poem:
Amely a fénygörbe körülöttem
Nézek sötét mások
Csend a hangom, hogy senki sem hallja meg nekem
Egyértelműen a testem
Having had her fill of fun, Gabrielle climbed into her bed and slept a dreamless sleep until waking with the fresh blood of the dawn as it crept over the cerulean horizon.
It seemed a lovely day, with tufts of clouds somewhat gilded and a light breeze from the bay. Gabrielle stretched under her cotton sheets, splashed her face with some brisk water and changed into her formal suit.
The office was in a rush as always, and as Gabrielle was crossing to her desk, Ryan O’Toole ran into her, spilling coffee all over her. Gabrielle glared at him, but he merely swaggered on. She approached her father at his desk while he was scribbling out some checks.
“Father.” She said.
He did not look up.
“I’m not late, I can’t think why you’re ignoring me.” She questioned.
“Father!” She repeated.
“Father!” Still, he did not look up, so Gabrielle returned to her desk and rolled a paper through her Underwood and waited for assignment.
When the secretary Betty passed, and Betty being somewhat of an ally for Gabrielle, she assumed she would get an assignment; but Betty too seemed to ignore her. Gabrielle stormed into her father’s office once more.
“Is everybody ignoring me because I chose to step down from secretary?” She yelled.
He looked up and blinked.
“You already had Louise, I was just filling in, don’t you remember?”
He turned around in his chair and slid a paper clip over some papers and put them in a file.
“Oh, I suppose I’m the bad daughter because of this? Don’t you understand that they mock me? James, Johnny and Fredrick? Oh and what about Ryan! He’s the worst!” She demanded.
But her father merely turned back to his work.
“I’m leaving early.” She said, and so she took her cardigan and her crocodile bag from her desk and exited the doors of Winchester Inc.
Having little else to do, Gabrielle decided she might get some lunch and a pack of cigarettes. For lunch she decided on Harry’s Sandwich Shoppe down Main Street. Harry’s was a nice place where you could sit out bistro style and they had a wait staff and delicious pink lemonade.
As such, you could seat yourself if the place wasn’t teeming with people; so Gabrielle paid no mind that the hostess didn’t look up from stacking the menus. Gabrielle went right outside to her favorite spot by the oak tree and waited for a waiter from the other table to come over.
She read the menu and decided upon a chicken BLT with a pink lemonade, of course. It was her favorite comfort sandwich and she needed comfort after this morning at the office.
After ten minutes however, the waiter didn’t come over and so Gabrielle began to get irritated. At twenty minutes, the table he’d been waiting paid their bill and left, and he lit himself a cigarette.
Gabrielle glowered at him and decided to walk over to him.
“You’ve a lot of nerve ignoring a customer. What? What is it this time?” She yelled.
The waiter kept puffing on his cigarette, and at certain points when Gabrielle emphasized her point, he ashed it.
“Am I not rich enough for you? Is that it? Well, I can just make my sandwich at home.”
So she did such.
Gabrielle collapsed onto her bed and watched twilight seep over the skyline. It was a waning gibbous and so the moon even seemed to angle itself away from her, and Gabrielle began to wonder what it was she’d done wrong to make people ignore her.
She buried her face in her hands, feeling her eyes begin to well up with tears and moments later the salty water emanating from her streamed down her cheeks. The muscles in her stomach felt as though they were grilling against a furnace, and she buried her head into her pillow.
Walking past her bedroom mirror to grab some tissues, Gabrielle paused. Did the mirror despise her now, too? For on the other side of the glass, there was no reflection. Gabrielle wiped the tears from her cheeks and stared back. Where had she gone?
The tissue fell from her fingers as she realized what she had done. She looked at the little book with the chipped gold paint that rested on her bureau.
Flipping it open to the page she’d read last night, Gabrielle felt her face blanche. How would she reverse such a spell? She searched through the pages, certainly they must include how to undo a spell, but there was nothing to be found.
Gabrielle decided to go to the library once more, as maybe there was a librarian who could help her. Checking the clock on the wall, Gabrielle saw it would be closing in just a few minutes but perhaps her favorite librarian, Cynthia would still be there.
Fleeing suddenly, she caught one of the last trolleys and rushed into the library right before it closed. Luckily, she spied Cynthia at the front desk.
“Cynthia! Cynthia!” Gabrielle yelled. Cynthia did not look up from her stacks, and Gabrielle understood the objectivity of her situation. With no one to look at her, she began to cry once more.
“Excuse me, miss.” Said a voice, a male voice.
“Why are you crying?” Gabrielle looked up to see a tall man gazing at her (or through her?) She looked around and supposed he’d meant Cynthia and continued to mourn for herself.
“Is there anything I can do?” He asked. Gabrielle stared back at him and decided to speak.
“I’m invisible.” She said, though it came out rather muffled as she was crying into the sleeve of her cardigan.
“How’d that happen?” The man asked dryly, as Gabrielle sniffled.
“I read this book and now nobody will ever know who I am.”
The man inspected the book carefully, and then he said, “Ah.”
He offered her a tissue and his hand so that she might get up from the dirty carpet as to not ruin her sundress.
Gabrielle saw he was wearing a three piece suit, or so she supposed, but his blazer was off and his vest unbuttoned. She also noticed he was very handsome and had blue eyes, pale like the Arctic and a Catalan complexion. He smiled at her.
“I’m a mess!” She exclaimed. He laughed.
“Would you like dinner?” He asked.
“Who would serve ‘The Invisible Woman’?” She said.
“I will.” He said.
“Would you mind telling me your name? Manners still exist for us phantom femmes, you know.”
“Amory.” He said, and he stretched his hand out to her, and she him.
“I didn’t quite catch yours.” He said, furrowing his brow.
“Gabrielle, but my friends call me ‘Gabby’.” She said.
“Well, Gabrielle,” He said, “How about Chez Maurice? On the corner by Kensington and River Street?”
Gabrielle nodded, somewhat smiling while she wiped away some more tears,
“That would be lovely, Amory.” She said.
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