Mercury Rose, April 1973:
Downtown Los Angeles, California
This will be my side of the story, so I thought I should start at the beginning. This is an epic tale and I don’t want to confuse anyone.
My name is Mercury Rose, but everyone just calls me MR or Rose for short. My parents tended to hang out with an artful crowd, and in there revelry that they would have a daughter who would have their creative genius I was gifted that moniker. I kind of like it, especially since its one of a kind.
Anyway, in 1973, and both my parents were artists, and from time to time, would dress me up in fancy clothes and take me to art openings. I loved being in the middle of all the creative energy and vibrant alive art that I would absorb at these instances. I was fortunate to have these experiences and see the beauty dripping off canvas and clay, taking it all in my young head for future use of my own creative life.
This particular evening it was raining and my Mom and I were driving down to an art show, meeting with my Dad there. She was quietly driving and her sophisticated perfume comforted me and let me know that this night would be special. I was focussed on the water dripping off the glass by my seat and watching the lights of traffic and dizzying high buildings melt into the moisture before my very eyes.
We were in little Tokyo, in Los Angeles and I loved the slick black buildings that looked almost too slick against the night sky, the red signs of oriental writing, and the traffic. All of it made it seem surreal to me. Looking back on it now it was something out of ‘Blade Runner’ without the ruin and grime. Some shiny advertisements playing against the night sky and the rain, the soaking wet rain.
And it was at this point that I was consumed with an overwhelming knowing that I had seen this before. I had been here, but not as a child, but as a grown up. The cars had looked different and the buildings weren’t as slick.. but I remember distinctly running through the rain on these very streets and trying not to get soaked; getting into another kind of car and the rain pounding on the black metal as the rain melted the lights through the window pane in front of me.. just as they were doing now….
I tried to bite my tongue, knowing how that sounded, and wondering what my Mother would think. But she was a lovely intelligent woman who knew things that at that point I could barely guess at. I also was three, and didn’t know the word for it. But it came to my head… it sounded right, although I had never said such a long word before..
“Mom…?” I asked, hesitant, looking at her, questioning… and then down at my hands.
“Yes hon, what is it?” she asked.
I knew I had to.. it was my truth… “I believe in reincarnation.” There.. it was out, that strange true word. I didn’t dare look at her and instead went back to watching the steady rain slide through the lights on my window.
She raised her brow and looked at me. “Well, Mercury.. that is wonderful. Your my little Buddhist.”
I turned to her and she was smiling. And I asked her what that was.. The picture she painted for me was one of orange robed monks in a far away place that studied a different religion from ours; one that consisted of souls coming back as different people in many lives.
I was intrigued, and at the same time, completely comforted that 1. I hadn’t lost my mind at 3, the word I had used, surprise surprise, was a real one, with a real meaning.., and that my Mom understood me. She seemed intrigued to, but by that time we had arrived at the art opening and didn’t have time to go into it further.
When we went through the entry way and into the gallery she introduced me as her ‘little Buddhist’ and the adults would just look down at me and smile, thinking it was charming, if not a little strange. But this was the art scene.. the mundane world had no place in it and many of these creative people knew deeper meanings to things then I knew that time.. So it was accepted, and I was more charming then my cute curls and sassy dress could of made me..
Echo: Diary Entry #1
Anna, April 1923: Los Angeles, California
I was late.. and I knew I was late. I had specifically come to this western city on the Pacific coast for a big break in the industry. My man, the guy I cuddle with most nights when I’m back in Chicago.. he had this brilliant idea for me to come out here; even set up this dancing gig at a friends club. I knew I could dance and entertain; but I also knew the danger he was in back home, and why he had put me on the train to come out here.
And now, instead of a sunny beachside town I had been expecting, I was drenched in my black dress and heels, running to a slick black Ford that was sent to pick me up. I had seen the driver on the other side of the crowd in front of the hotel and had to run down to the corner in order to get in, my heels squeaking with water.
I pulled the door shut, pulled the wet strands of my hair back and smiled at him. He seemed nice.. and introduced himself through the din of the rain hitting the roof of the car, as one of the owners of the club. He seemed honest and familiar to me, though I couldn’t recall it at the time. Told me he was my boyfriends pal from way back, when he lived in Chicago to.
He did look me up and down like a wolf after a rabbit, but then smiled again, winked at me.. and we were off. Despite that, I felt safe for the moment, as I had dealt with worse back home; and had the means to protect myself if it came to that. I mentioned I would have to dry off a little when we got to our destination. He said it was not a problem and made it seem like it wasn’t. I turned to look out at the city and the lights were a blur through the glass, turning into a mosaic painting of some kind.. I smiled, as it seemed so familiar..
Inspired by A. Written by Sophia Bungay @Wickedlydrivenmedia.com April2017