Why Are You Called That? (Creative Writing)

            It was off Martino Road on the corner of Gauthier. She knew the land well, but perhaps she didn’t. It was past city limits and the people of Caruso don’t associate with the people of Curran.

            She knew the land well. She didn’t know it lied in Nagy. But no one knew of Nagy. And neither did she.

            She slipped out of her house one day when she had the place to herself. They’ll never know how long I’ve been gone and where I wandered off to, she thought. They don’t need to know. They’d only be worried. She stuffed a piece of paper into her pocket, tied her shoes, and went down the steps, being sure to keep quiet as not wake her neighbors that lived downstairs.

            Leaving the apartment, she began to walk. She walked, she strolled, she roamed, and she dodged the cars on the edge of the road. She walked until her feet reached mud and the pavement stopped. Several miles, though it’s hard to say how many. Her foot sank into the earth and caught her by surprise. “Am I still in Caruso?” She wondered. “Curran? But I’ve never heard of Martino Road or Gauthier Avenue.” She didn’t stop; she ventured on.

            She began to fall into a rhythm as she walked: something she hadn’t choreographed but rather something that matched the voice of the wind and the tumble of her thoughts. Curious thoughts that never stopped to rest or disrupt the consistent beat.

Dogwoods, elms, spruces, poplars.

Velvet grass.

Wildflowers.

Green.

Completely monochromatic with shy peaks and greetings from dandelions. And the sienna path she walked on.

So much of one color, but where is the gray? Where is the fog, the smog, and the screech of tires? The blinking red and yellow headlights? The glint of stained glass windows from the church? The silent roar of conversations: of whispers, topics, and controversy? Where is the cacophony of busy lives?

She couldn’t fathom this peace. This silence. A silence in which she could hear nothing but herself and the natural sounds that circled and danced around her.

And she couldn’t help but smile. Smile, twist her head, and breathe the same breath the wind used to sing. “Couldn’t be Curran,” she thought and then chuckled to herself. “Definitely too peaceful.” She’d never been to Curran, the neighboring town to her home of Caruso. She only heard the stories of violent actions: of robberies and murders and injustice. The people of Curran were selfish and cutthroat. Inconsiderate, greedy, yet urban just as Caruso is.

But nothing bad ever happened in Caruso. Crime never found its way. It was always diverted to Curran. Caruso is safe. It’s secure, friendly, and yet always gray with the smog of the city blanketing the area. “The people of Caruso bring color to the community,” everyone had always said and agreed. And how they all hated Curran because of it.

The rhythm she fell into never seemed to veer off-track, even though her thoughts certainly had.

Walking.

Thinking.

Venturing.

Pondering.

Exploring.

Contemplating.

“…Hello?”

Her rhythm finally shattered, quickly stopped by the voice of another. For a moment, there was complete silence. She was in a daze until she realized there was someone before her. Another girl, probably the same age as her. Short in stature with an intimidating face. She had a sense of confidence and authority in her voice that cut through the gentle wind. Her blonde hair swayed across her shoulder blades, as if the dance it was doing softened her stare and diluted the navy waters that flooded and colored her irises. Or maybe it was her thin frame that made her seem more inviting: fragile, yet with an aura that could cut through dry ice.

“You seem a bit… lost.” The girl cocked her head and placed her hands on her hips. “Like you’re not from around here. Like you’ve never seen a poplar before or you’ve never walked on the grass barefoot just because you could.”

“… I’m sorry?” The other girl questioned. The spark of interest she had for this place became a flame kindled by the words of the stranger. She mimicked the shorter girl, towering over her with her hands now on her hips and staring down with eyes that matched the dogwoods and bouncy, brown curls that sprung up and down with each word she spoke and each thought she created. “Just because I come from Caruso doesn’t mean I can’t explore this place.”

“Ah, Caruso, you say?” She shot back.

“Yeah. Why, are you from Curran or something?” The curious flame continued to grow with a passion for information, but also for Caruso as well.

The blonde girl snickered.

“Honey,” she began. “Don’t even get me started on that.”

“On what?” The girl of Caruso questioned.

“Whatever silly battle you two cities are involved with.”

“It’s not silly! People of Curran are horrible, selfish, greedy people I don’t want to associate with. Simple as that, really.”

“Okay. Then why are you here.”

“I’m not allowed to leave Caruso? Maybe I just like adventure.”

“Oh no, certainly not. You are allowed to explore.”

“Then that’s why I’m here.”

“But why here, specifically? There are several other dirt paths closer to Caruso you could have ventured down. Why this one? Why so far away?”

The wanderer paused for a moment. She had a distinct motivation and reason for traveling so far from home. She moved her hand closer to her pocket, where she had stuffed the piece of paper earlier. She pulled it out without thinking.

“I found this,” she said, smiling and feeling accomplished for having a decent answer for the stranger. She handed it to the blue-eyed girl.

“So you’re just going to give me this?” she inquired. “You don’t even know where I’m from, hell you don’t even know my name. I could be from Curran for all you know.  I could be this ‘selfish greedy’ person you were describing. And you’re just going to give me this without knowing a single thing about me?”

“Well then…. What is your name?”

“Out of all of that, you think the most important thing is my name?”

“Um, no, but —“

“Dear…. You have a lot to learn.”

They both stood there. The short girl read over the paper as the other stared at the dirt path and how it contrasted with the rich grass. It reminded her of the emeralds she saw in the jewelry stores all over Caruso and how it made the ugly mixture of brown and red in the dirt path only that much more distasteful. Her eyes stayed fixated on the ground, even when she asked her next question.

“So you’re from Curran, I gather?”

“No. I’m from here.” She kept her eyes on the paper as she spoke.

“Where is ‘here?’” She picked her head up and made a gestured to the green area around her when she asked that question.

“The name of this place is not important,” she replied as she gave the note back to the girl. “What is important is how you got that note.”

“What do you mean the name of this place isn’t important?” Her brown curls were now leaping. The flame in her eyes became a bonfire. “And does it really matter where I got this note from?”

“Yes, actually. Where you got this note is very important. And don’t worry: I’m on your side. I’m not greedy or selfish or a bad person. Just please don’t stay fixated on trivial details like names and places.”

The fire in her eyes began to die down a bit. “Sorry,” she said. “I can get a bit defensive when I’m frustrated.”

“No need for apologies. Like I said, I’m on your side.”

A breath of silence, a vocal note from the wind.

“All I ask is where you got that note.”

“I found it attached to one of my essays from English class.”

“And where do you go to school?”

“Caruso Academy.”

“Caruso Academy? Attached to one of your papers? That’s a new one. Your teacher put it there then?”

“I asked him about it and he didn’t answer. He said he never saw it before.”

The girl of the forest slowly smiled and a sparkle found its way into her eye.

“Very interesting,” she answered. “So why did you decide to come along, venture out here at such a young age? You weren’t afraid? You trusted the author of this note?”

“Well… yeah, I guess. I mean… I don’t know. I really didn’t think about it. It looked interesting so I came here.” She answered the questions with hesitation in her voice.

So quick to trust.

So quick to respond.

And what if it all crumbled? What if she found herself facing her death, or deep within the city of Curran, never able to find her way back to Caruso safely?

“You don’t seem so sure…” the other girl commented.

“I saw the opportunity so I took it.”

“Alright… I can see that.” Easy to trust, and very naïve, the native girl thought. That’s unusual for a Caruso. But then again, nothing is usual for them either, I suppose. All of them so incredibly diverse and unique. “Your teacher,” she continued. “Is his last name Patterson?

She shook her head with disgust. “No, he transferred to Curran.” She rolled her eyes. “I have Hull.”

“Hull?!” Her eyes widened with astonishment.

“Yeah, you know him?”

“…Perhaps. Again, just more information that’s not important.”

“Um, okay.”

“Anyway,” she diverted the conversation and regained her sense of awareness and confidence. “I think it’s time you’ve ventured a bit further into this place.”

The two of them continued. The Caruso native decided to take her shoes off at one point and feel the grass under her feet.

Tickle her toes.

Cushion her soles.

Relax her heels.

The song of her tumbling thoughts and the vocal wind returned to her as the petite girl let her walk in silence, allowing her to take everything in at once. It’s so serene, she thought. Why concentrate on the dirt path when there’s an olive carpet and growing trees around me? Why did I ever love the city so much and why have I never truly left the bustle?

* * *

After a few minutes, they reached what looked like a village straight out of a fairy-tale.

Gardens.

Squirrels.

Foxes.

Butterflies.

Dandelions.

Children playing tag.

Everything hit her quickly and potently, one after another. She grasped the environment around her in quick bursts, even the subtlest details making the strongest impact on her.

Welcome mats in front of each door.

Wind chimes in the gardens.

Wells a few feet from each cottage.

But what seemed to stick out the most to her was the peace that each person had with one another. People hopped from cottage to cottage, sharing vegetables from their gardens, exchanging friendly conversations, yet keeping a sort of peaceful harmony. There was no commotion here. Everything fit together melodiously.

 The native girl watched the outsider’s reaction and simply grinned.

“Welcome to Nagy,” she introduced the village to her, though not much information seemed to pass through the curious girl’s mind as the beauty around her hit her like a bag of bricks. “’Have you ever left your front door? Surely you’d like to see what this world has to offer and more. Venture around. Leave home You’ll listen to wonderful sounds, and find beautiful places to roam. We’re friendly here, dear. We love all, even though right now we are quite small,” she quoted the note.

“It’s… beautiful,” the city girl said in complete awe. “Not only the surroundings but also the peace. I can tell everyone genuinely loves and cares about one another, like they’ve earned their trust.”

“Want to hear something interesting?” The short girl shot her a glance. “Each cottage that makes up the village is half Caruso, half Curran.”

Half Caruso, Half Curran.

Half Caruso.

Half Curran.

Half.

Caruso.

Half.

Curran.

The girl’s hair stopped bouncing. The flame in her eyes froze. She remained still.

“Everyone here was tired of the fighting. Tired of the judgment. They wanted to see if they could get along together, half Caruso, half Curran. They found out they really had no differences at all. The views they had of each other were tired stereotypes and propaganda. They had more in common than they thought. So they got together and formed Nagy.

“Nagy will let anyone move in. We just want to stop the feud. That’s why we send out messages to people. Some of your teachers even live here, working to keep the peace. And some don’t. Some work, I guess you could call it ‘undercover’ in Curran and Caruso. That’s why Hull came as a surprise to me, because he does not live here.”

She dumped the entire story onto this girl so quickly and swiftly.

But that’s how it ultimately stuck for her.

“Those notes,” the city girl snapped out of her daze and asked, turning her head to the girl. “Did you write those? Then give them out to those who wish to keep this peace?”

“Of course, dear,” she answered.

“You’re incredible.”

“I wouldn’t say that. I just write the notes and help the people find their way here.”

“All on your own?”

“Of course.”

“But… how are they getting along so well?”

“Because they’re people, like you and me.” She chuckled a bit, still surprised that some people don’t understand that concept. “Want to hear a secret?” She continued. “I’m was born and spent most of my childhood in Curran.”

She looked at the tiny girl in awe. “But we just started getting along so well. I started valuing your words and finding so much genius in you. So much kindness, compassion, and caring. You’re from Curran?”

“It doesn’t matter where I’m from. We’re all just people, aren’t we?”

She thought about this. How this made so much sense, yet she never seemed to believe such obvious logic until now.

“And that’s why your name never mattered. It never mattered where you were from either. That stuff isn’t important.”

Hearing the words repeated back to her, the girl’s blue eyes softened and became more friendly, yet wise and authoritative. “Now you’re getting it.”

“But for the sake of my friends and family, for the sake of your friends and family…. I must know your name. So brave and wise at such a young age. I think someone like you deserves to live on in some way.”

“I promise you it isn’t important. No one here even knows my true name because I think it’s so insignificant.”

“I’m Mitzi,” the taller girl said.

The other girl sighed. “I’m Christie. My parents made sure that something fantastic, wise, and impossible found its way into my name, so they made sure to include Christ. The rest was their imagination.”

“Christie…” Mitzi repeated, “I’ll have to remember that name. The name of a brave, clever girl who opened my eyes to the truth in such a short amount of time.”

Mitzi carried the information with her the rest of her life. The village of Nagy never left her as word began to spread and the hate began to dissolve.

Years passed, and then Mitzi found herself in the Nagy Hospital one day, cradling her first-born child on the first of June.

“Christie,” she said to her husband. “That will be her name. Just like the girl who showed me Nagy and lead the revolution in peace.”