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Super Secret Agent Spy

I am a writer. And a doodler. And an eater of Twizzlers. And the mother of MuShu, the wonder puppy. I love long walks on the beach, fast cars, fine din. . .whoops. Wrong website. . ....

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For the Love of Osmanthus

Amy Fagan

In some other life, I made love in a garden full of Osmanthus. Or maybe I fell in love while standing next to that fragrant shrub. It's possible that I was born, married and buried with that scent in my head. All I know is that when that musky, fruity smell hits me, I get dizzy and my heart pounds. I swallow hard. I can't breathe and I'm suddenly awash in an odd combination of love, lust and longing.

In Charleston's version of autumn, the osmanthus bush, or the Tea Olive as it is common called, emits this heady fragrance; releasing it to float on the sea breezes that are gently curling their way in from the harbor.  I work furiously from the time I get into the office until my lunch hour, when I'm free to roam among hundred-or-so year old houses and their garden gates. If I walk down just the right streets, I can work my way through the maze of the city and never see a moving car, never have to smell anything other than that glorious Tea Olive. For at least one hour during the day, no matter what condition my home life is in; no matter how the stress of work has made me want to launch myself out a window, I am free. I am in love. I am happy.

The scent of Tea Olive takes me to places that I've never been in my current life. Whatever that smell triggers in me is something more than, say, the smell of laundry drying on the line. Whisk and wet sheets on the air make me think and feel the comfort of things that I know; like love for my mother and days spent laughing with my brother in the yard. Those things are familiar to me. They are from this life.  The fragrance of the Tea Olive, however, spins me into the unfamiliar. The feelings it calls to life are feelings that I know nothing about - a haunted, but pleasurable longing for an arm around my shoulder, my head on someone's chest, joy, sorrow. I feel like I'm walking through a ghost story, only I know nothing of the characters within.

It's funny how senses can take you to places that don't exist. After all, while the scent of laundry recalls happier times as a child, what I'm seeing isn't real. That is to say, it's no more real than anything else that isn't right here, right now. Memories aren't real, you know. They're just ghost stories of the events of Once Upon a Time. It's even stranger with the Tea Olive. Not only does it transport me to a place that doesn't exist, as far as I know, the places it takes me never existed at all. Or they did and I just can't remember.

Tea Olive sucks the Rock Star right out of me. I'm not rebellious and sneering when I'm enveloped in that perfume. I'm gentle, quiet and kind. I am in love. I AM love. My mind stops racing (well, to whatever degree it will slow down. . .), I breathe easier, deeper and my troubles are gone in a breath. The sound of the city gets locked out and I hear nothing but the twittering of birds, the occasional broom across a porch, the clip-clop of a horse's hooves (Carriage tours . . .). I'm in another world, or in between worlds.

That is why I love Osmanthus. It does for me what no manufactured medication, no new-age meditation has been able to do for me. IT QUIETS MY MIND and allows me to just feel. Yes. . .I think that is what happens. I think it somehow erases all conscious thought; the thoughts that interfere with my true feelings and makes way for all of these emotions to rise to the surface. And I feel rather than "think" or "perform" for the approval of the crowd.

So, if you see me walking somewhere South of Broad and it seems that I'm ignoring you, forgive me. It’s not my intention to be rude. I'm just walking through a ghost story, lost in emotion and entranced by the fragrant life of the Tea Olive. I'm just. . .in love.

[Author's note: I have searched from England to New Orleans trying to find a perfume that would allow me to put this fragrance in my pocket. Thought I've purchased hundreds of dollars of liquids and solids claiming to be the Tea Olive perfume, to date, none have matched up to the real deal.]