A giggle escapes her. “They’re archetypes. Strong masculine energy. You help and protect her. Wise feminine energy. She helps and guides you. It’s a powerful mix.”
I crack a smile. “Energy,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Guppy, you’re somethin’ else.”
A playful scowl claims her face. “You’re just ignorant. It’s not your fault.” She throws back the rest of her margarita. “You’re lucky you have me to teach you about the mysteries of the universe.”
My laughter booms through the garage. I suddenly feel lighter. Younger.
Better than I am.
“Go ahead, Guppy. Teach me.”
She licks her lips, preparing to school me, and at the flash of the tip of her pink tongue, my mouth goes dry.
“Well, you—” she gestures to me with an upturned palm, “are obviously the warrior archetype—”
“Hold up.” I raise my own hand to stop her and just manage to keep from grabbing her outstretched fingers. “What’s an archetype?”
Her eyes bug. “Oh my God, you poor baby!” She shakes her head dramatically. “You really do need me more than you realize.”
She’s teasing me, but her words hit home anyway. I’m not supposed to need her, but there’s no denying it. It feels like I need her just to stand upright. I need to know her. I need to be near her. I need to protect her. But, most of all, I need for her to be happy and whole.
Which is why I also need to stay away. Because how could someone like me give her whatsheneeds? I’m an ex-con with blood on his hands. I work in a garage for fuck’s sake. Ex-con grease monkey. That’s what I am.
“An archetype is… well, it’s like a pattern. A recurring pattern or figure that exists everywhere.” Her silvery green eyes have gone wide with wonder. “Throughout time. Among all cultures. In art. In stories. In dreams…”
My brow creases. I have no idea what she’s talking about, but I’m glad she’s giving me something else to focus on besides her nearness and that awed look in her eyes. “Like what. Give me an example.”
Her gaze sharpens. “Like a symbol or a type of story or myth.” She looks so excited to be telling me this I have to keep my smile in check. She’s shining. Absolutely fucking stunning. “Like a coyote, fox, or wolf. How many stories can you think of where one of those animals is a trickster?”
I blink at her. “You mean like fairy tales? Or cartoons?”
Her smile widens. “Both. Either. Doesn’t matter.”
Little Red Riding Hood. Wile E. Coyote.The Fantastic Mr. Fox.“A lot,” I say, unimpressed. “But what does that matter? Foxes and coyotes are sneaky bastards. Everybody knows that. They were always finding ways of raiding the hen houses at Angola.”
She laughs again, nodding. She sets down her drink and makes two fists, gesturing emphatically. “Exactly, but the power of the archetype is not only in what it symbolizes but what it revealstous andinus.”
I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this animated. I can’t take my eyes off her.
“Take the fox, for example. Think of the words and phrases we use to describe people that have to do with foxes.Outfox… crazy like a fox… sly as a fox.”She rattles these off so quickly I can’t help but smile. “Even though the fox is small, he can evade and best his enemies because of his cunning. Even if they are bigger and more powerful. The fox archetype reminds us that might doesn’t always win. That wits matter more. For better or for worse.”
She pauses, and her smile softens. “So those stories aren’t really about foxes. They’re about us. And the neat thing is, they are found all over the world. Existing simultaneously in cultures that had no common language or connection during ancient times. Isn’t that amazing?”
“It’s…” It’s over my head is what it is. Even though my view of life and mankind grew and unfolded while I did time, I didn’t give much study or consideration to anything she’s describing. Patterns that connect us. Symbols that mean the same thing to all people. And as I stand here, staring at the most beautiful human being I’ve ever known, I realize she’s made the world — the whole universe — bigger and more mysterious.“... incredible.”
“I know, right?” She nods, beaming. “The more you know about archetypes, the better you can understand who you are and where you are in your life’s journey. And there’s so many really cool ones. Like the Green Man.”
“Green Man?” I sound so stupid. What is she even doing here with me?
“Yeah, like inSir Gawain and the Green Knight.Or Peter Pan. Or Shrek.”
“Shrek?” I laugh. I can’t help it. What the hell is she talking about?
She laughs at me laughing but recovers to educate me. “The Green Man — who is usually green all over or dressed in green — symbolizes life, the natural world. The wild.” Her eyes, their own vivid green, shift between mine as if she knows a secret, and she’s going to share it. “The Green Man’s job is to remind us that we are wild, too. If we forget that — if we think we are so civilized and cerebral andrational—”She rolls her eyes as if being rational were the most ridiculous thing in the world. “We fall out of balance, and we wind up making fools of ourselves.”
She stares into me, and her voice drops. “For all of our fancy clothes and planet-destroying ambitions, we’re still animals, after all.”
There’s no chance I’ve forgotten this. The heat in her gaze stirs the animal within me. He’s powerful. And hungry.
