The sun was setting when I approached the
house, casting a burnt orange/red glare across the sky on our first of many
meetings at her place of mystery.
Auburn’s real name is still a mystery to a
lot of people, as she’s been around for so long. However, being a writer for the ‘On The
Bottom Line’ Newspaper, it was an honour to be asked to write an article about
this long-time author and artist. She
had been in the public eye for such a long time, I don’t remember exactly when
she was born, as she’s never told anyone her date of birth.
Today, I was going to ask… see what was
going to happen.
Would she tell me?
Would she laugh?
Would something else happen?
I pushed the large iron gate closed behind
me and walked along the winding path up to her front steps. This place was immense! So many plants and there was so little room
in this garden… it appeared to be a complete mess, and yet, it wasn’t.
I walked across the impressively wide
verandah and rang the bell by the door, then waited for her to answer the
door. While I did, I looked around, and
resisted photographing this place… I just didn’t want to interfere with her
privacy – not yet.
“Hello. You must be the reporter.” Her voice
behind me was surprisingly young.
I turned to find a face of youth, “Um… yes. Ms Aurburn?”
“Call me Red, all my friends call me Red.” She
smiled and her beauty shone through, and I almost forgot why I was there, “Please
come in.”
Smiling I walked through the door and into
her house, catching a glimpse of the outside as the sunset of the day turned
the rest of the garden, skies and outside completely red – as red as Auburn’s
hair.
We sat in her beautifully furnished home talking
about her many publications and art exhibitions for what seemed like hours as
we ate a light snack set out on a huge dining table. I felt as though I had come through that
famous wardrobe into Narnia and I was dining within royal halls as the pieces
inside Auburn’s home were from overseas, collectable, and there were some
things around the place I notice that I just hadn’t seen before – ever! – and I
didn’t have the courage to ask her where she had gotten them. But she told me anyway without me asking.
This made me wonder how she knew what I was
going to ask without me asking.
“I think I have enough notes to get an
article on you.” I rose from my seat, “Thank you for your time. You really must be busy.”
“It was an absolute pleasure.” She rose as I
did and followed me to the door, “I look forward to reading the article.”
As I walked out to the curb where my car had
been parked, I found it was gone! So, I
pulled out my phone and called my office, but they hadn’t heard of me and hung
up before I could say any more. I went
back inside to Auburn’s place and she opened the door, “I think something has
happened.”
She smiled, “Yes it has.”
“What’s happened?” I nearly didn’t want to
hear her tell me, but I needed to know.
“You came here, you saw red before, you saw
red… and now… you’re seeing red again.” Amusment played in her eyes.
Frustration tightened in my gut, “What the
hell does that mean?”
“Red… three times… think about.”
“I gotta go.” I turned and walked away.
Walking through the gate so the local cemetery
I looked around at the place, and found where our family plot was. I walked up to the plots, where they lay side
by side, and found mine.
I felt sick as I read the stone: I saw red,
I saw Red, I saw … red.
