Have you ever heard of the story of the "Woman with a Ribbon Around Her Neck"? There are many different versions of this myth, but my favorite was the one that floated through the Romanian Gypsy community where I grew up.
But no matter where the myth came from, in all of them, they described the most beautiful woman anyone had ever seen, with long, flowing hair, a slim build, and a shy demeanor. She was the epidemy of the perfect woman, and she always wore a red ribbon around her neck. One day, she met a man and fell in love with him. After a short time, he asked her to marry him. Her only request: "please don't take off the ribbon around my neck." Years passed and the couple had the most perfect marriage, her husband could not have been happier. Although they never had children, his wife was the only thing he needed. Until one quiet night, it was not enough.
Looking at his beautiful wife asleep beside him, he wondered how it could be that she still looked the same as she had when she married him all those years ago. As his eyes skimmed over her features, he stared at the red ribbon around her neck. Never once in 40 years had he ever seen her take it off. She slept with it on and even bathed with it on. As is human nature, the husband could not contain his curiosity and he pulled on the ribbon, causing it to untie.
As the bow was removed and the ribbon firmly in the husband's hands, he looked back over at his wife and screamed when he saw her head roll off the bed, leaving only her body beside him. The sight was so shocking to him that he ended up having a heart attack and died.
This was where most of the stories ended; husband and wife, dying on the same day, the wife, decapitated.
However, this was not where the Gypsy tale ended. In our version, after the husband died of a heart attack, the red ribbon in his hand crawled over to the body and began to sew the head back on. As soon as the head was reattached, the wife came to life again and looked over at her husband. "You couldn't resist, could you?" She asked him. Then she packed her bags and left the village, looking for another place to live.
Some Gypsies believed that the woman kept wandering around, finding husband after husband until one could overcome his curiosity and not pull the ribbon. When she met her fated husband, they would gain eternal life, never to die or become old.
Of course, this was just a myth. After all, if someone was really able to reattach their head or limbs, something that would obviously kill a person, and yet never die, they would be considered a monster, right?
But there were many people who considered Gypsies to be monsters, they were hunted down and killed for centuries until the remaining few left the old country and settled in the New World. Unfortunately, just as the Gypsies could flee from their killers, their killers were still able to find them, no matter where they ran to.
After hundreds of years and countless of deaths, the legend of the "Woman with a Ribbon Around Her Neck" faded into obscurity. Now only one family remembers the story, and that family is mine.
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1810
The Westward Expansion
The New World was not as it was promised. It seemed like wherever we went, people hated us. To the Europeans who had been in the Americas for generations, we were nothing more than immigrants, subjected to their disdain and prejudice. To the American Indians, we were the same as all the others that came before us, wanting not only their lands but their deaths as well.
There was no place for us in New York. Although we were told that money would never be a problem, finding things to do to earn it was. Our only choice was to join the Westward Expansion, leave the North, and travel south where there was a need for people to settle the land.
In all honesty, all we wanted was a place to call our own, to not fear the hunters that came out of the darkness when we least expected it. A place where we could build our homes and set down roots, something that our Ancestors could never do.
But as I stared at the burning log cabins that we had finished building only a week ago, I felt the rage explode inside of me. Arrows flew as my family and friends fell down dead, not a word was spoken as they were killed without regard.
I hid at the side of my house, looking at the destruction and all I could feel was hatred crawling up my insides until I could not help but let out a scream.
My voice was lost in the chaos, my hiding place still safe. Or so I thought.
I missed the person coming up behind me with a tomahawk. I missed the arm that raised up into the night sky and I missed it as it fell to the ground, taking my head with it.
What I did not miss was my mother running towards me, clutching her skirts up high. I watched as she looked behind me, trying to see who could have killed me, and I watched as she saw no one.
I can now call it an 'out of body' experience since my memories of that time have faded. I knew I was watching things unfold from my detached head. But where I thought death would be quick but painful, there was surprisingly nothing.
The rage I felt as I watched my cousin die fizzled into nothing. The hatred I felt as I watched my home burn was gone.
In its wake was acceptance. This was how my life was to end, and that was ok. At least when I died there would be no pain.
I felt my head being picked up, of my mother cuddling in her skirts as she slid to a stop beside me. I watched detached as she carried me back to my body that was still hidden beside the house.
"It's okay Suflet, just relax. Let the magic of your blood take over so you can live again. Lubirea mea, my darling, close your eyes and when you wake up, you'll be my little ribbon girl." The soft voice of my mother lulled me to sleep and I closed my eyes, wondering if I would ever wake up again.