Skip navigation

Monthly Archives: June 2009

She was sitting on a bench overlooking the whitest shore on a siddewalk, looking at the bluest sky meeting the shining water and calmly licking away at her soft-serve chocolate ice cream cone while her face showed perfect contemplative tranquility. She had on a nice straight black shift dress and big Italian-style sunglasses, and her legs, crossed one over the other at the knee, ended in feet shod in chunky black heels. For some reason, she had a big tan coat on, even though the day was fabulous to just strut around in her little black dress.

She licked the ice cream to the level of the cone, got up, and started walking down the cobbled street.The beautiful 19th century apartment buildings loomed over her with an old-world charm, somehow both musty and cheerful at the same time. It was that kind of day- even the dead artifacts of the staid city were revived and lovely in their antiquity, showered in the most flattering light of the unhindered sun.

A man turns round the corner of the next street, and he looks like a Hellenic god. Not Apollo, golden and shining, but one of the darkly handsome, perhaps mysterious gods, Dionysus or Hermes. She had loved him long ago, thought she had gotten over him, only to see his heartbreakingly gorgeous visage pouring into the street like the milk and honey of the promised land. He did not smile- not really. He turned her body towards himself with one hand, and placed the other on her cheek, lifting her face ever so gently to look into her eyes with the beautiful seaform blue of his own.  His gaze was soft and wonderful, and she remembered exactly what she had wanted for so many long nights after he had left her, remembered how he had made her feel like she was so lucky to be touched by this incredible angel.

His hand swallowed hers as he led her upstairs to a flat. The twilight of afternoon’s border with evening tickled through the window, making his white sheets even more enticing than they were already. He let her down into them, and so tenderly touched her, feeling his way into a perfect fit. It was better than she had ever imagined it would be, and she had imagined perfection- but her idea of perfection was not as great as his idea of excellence. Exhausted from the ever so private display of affection, she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

The low murmur of voices in serious conversation awoke her slowly and lethargically from a wonderful sleep, soon to be ruined. She saw him, in the next room, with a woman without match in grace- a blonde like herself, but with twice the presence and three times the beauty. She knew instinctively that this was the lady of his house: the goddess to match the god.

A young lad, the very picture of his father, tugged at his mother’s forearm, asking her if she knew where his roller skates were- he wanted to know. The piano played in the background, and as she got up to get her clothes, she looked around the corner and saw the sandy-haired miniature of the dark god. She remembered telling him, when they still dated, that his children had to take piano lessons, that she would teach them herself if that was necessary. Clearly it was not, because the boyh was already doing octaves at the tender age of seven. She smiled at the fact that he had taken her advice.

Looking out the window at the fading shadows of sunset, she remembered where she was and put on her dress. As she went out the door, she glanced in the lady’s eyes, and was surprised to find no jealousy lurking in them. As she descended the spiral staircase at the back of the flat, she realized why: she had been played as a whore.