She turned her cool blue eyes on me, that familiar smirk on her lips. "Am I interrupting something?" she questioned, her eyes crawling over the man at my side. "Or is there room for another?" A low laugh rolled out and over her tongue.
"You're not interrupting a thing sister. Maybe we should start this tea party." Came my answer.
The small gathering of people dispensed, moving around the table to find their seats. There was a small quarrel over who might find themselves next to the lady Lianessa. To calm the tempers Lia simply grabbed the man most to her liking and sat him down before taking her seat upon his lap.
To my right my own gentleman took his seat, making sure to move his chair an inch so that our elbows bumped when we sat down. We fell into idol chit chat, conversations of no importance except to keep the party moving on. To my surprise, as I lent my opinion to the state of refereeing in my sport - to a dream man who had never heard of sports, I felt the touch of something warm. A hand, so much larger then the knee it came to rest on, finding my leg under the table. The last word caught in my throat causing me to sound like a parrot screeching out a misshapen word. The smile was still there on the man’s lips as if he didn’t know what caused me to stutter.
I could feel the blush heating my cheeks. The blush that started underneath the man’s hand and worked its way up my leg, over my spine before spreading across my face. Could I ever be the woman who had the most perfect poker face? Could I ever hide the things that swirled around in my head? The crimson color of my face suggested no. To worsen things another degree the butterflies were now awakened from their long slumber. They beat their wings against the insides of my belly like little dragon beasts below. So violent and anxious they were to get out that I feared a painted moth might dart out should I open my mouth.
“Don’t you know it’s rude to start a party without your host? But than what can I expect of Americans anyway? Such a low class bunch of souls.” A deeply French accented voice said to the table. There stood the tall form of the man who was the same here as he was in life, Monsieur Dominique. His eyes moved from person to person, briefly pausing on me to offer a smile, then moving on to find the Lady Lianessa.
The madam smiled her wicked smile. “We Americans are about as much a transplanted mutt race as you Canadians are I would think. Look at me, with the Scottish in me and countless other races running through my blood. And look to our mutual friend over there, with her Dutch and Native American. It is such an arrogant thing to suggest any of us are of lower class than anyone else. After all, we’ve all stolen the land from the people who once owned it... of course they were a much better race to know you could not own the land that belonged to nature.”
The monsieur scowled and waved a hand at Lianessa as if to cast her off. “Don’t you have some little man you should be beating Lianessa?” In much the same manner Lia waved back and snapped “Don’t you have some Queen’s ass you should be kissing, my fraudulent Frenchman?!” And so the mating dance of the sadistic couple began.
The exchange was just another example that each breed had its own mating ritual. To the beautiful and evil, this ritual was almost cruel but the attraction was there. My only criticism was that we all had to be witness to it. It was all very distracting. Especially when my butterflies had done good to morph into small dragonflies that now blew their little flames in my tummy. All the while I was trying to find the catchy thing to say that might keep the attention of my suitor on me. My moments with him, truly with him, like this, where few and far between. Somewhere he most likely had some lady to adore him. A fine female creature who had long ago moved beyond being a woman child, unlike me. I could never quite let go of the girlish thing in me that caused great difficulty in referring to myself as a woman. Always feeling I needed to be just a bit older to truly understand the world around me.
As the insults flew between the madam and the monsieur, my gentleman lost his interest. His gaze moved back to look at me, to offer another smile. He leaned close to my ear as his hand pressed closer to my inner thigh. He whispered, and I could feel his breath on my ear. He spoke soft and low, “Come walk with me.” At that moment I coughed up a butterfly wing in my excitement.
I stood up so fast that the chair beneath my legs fell backwards with a clatter, but no one noticed. The quarreling couple were inches from one another, firing back and forth like their words were some demented tennis ball. Neither of them wanted to lose the match. The crowd around the table was caught up in the spectacle. The two of us walked away without so much as an eye finding us gone.
“Why do you think I wouldn’t need you?” he asks.
I look at him sharply and feel the blush returning. The daisies below my feet taunt me, telling me in their little whispers that such a rose color was quite stunning on my cheeks. The butterflies still themselves for a moment, they’ve got to hear what I’m going to say. I don’t want to disappoint them but truthfully I hadn’t thought he had heard me. And now that he put the question to me I felt rather foolish. In fact, I wished that I could be a simple creature... the kind of sleeping mind that simply dreamed of being naked in public. But no, I had to be more creative and now I suffered the effects as I tried to put into words the things I wanted him to know.
“Well... it’s hard to explain. You see I can understand it because it is one of the thoughts that swirls around my own head. But to put into words is a different thing...”
He smiled, a small smile, to show he thought my situation quite humorous. But of course, he was the phantom. I took his hand.
“You see, it is not so much that I need you, but someone much like you. The humor that is in your voice, the attraction I have to your appearance, what girl wouldn’t want her ideal? I have had two lovers in my short life, both men I thought I loved very much. Neither of them was exactly what I wanted in a man. Neither offered me the equal of the attentions I gave them. It seemed unfair to me then and yet I felt as though I was somehow deserving of this. The man is a different creature to the woman and rarely are our actions reminiscent of one another. I thought this was how they loved. I was young and I lacked the typical type of life that allowed me to know how lovers treated one another. I mean my own parents have such hate for one another. How am I to know? Till one day I awoke to either of these men and realized I was lonelier with them then I have ever been alone. So I left them, but five years was spent between them and I learned.”
I paused, looking up at him and wondered how so much light could come out of such black eyes. They almost reminded me of my mother’s eyes, as black as bits of mica. I sighed, realizing I was letting myself fall into the rhythm of a dreary, love spent woman. I did not want him to think this of me because that was not true. I was only confused and I needed to explain this confusion to someone, even it was only to myself in a dream.
“I learned what I wanted, learned you should never settle where love is concerned. But when I see you in this place I realize, with your humor and your man like actions that these are the things that I need because it’s been lacking in my life. How much time do I spend alone? Making my dinner alone, to dine alone, to eventually hide away at my drawing table to dream something into creation? I can’t claim that I am lonely because I am not. I do enjoy my time alone, I would still want this time whether a man shared my bed or not. But that is not my problem, not really. I have enjoyed the advances of men but they confuse me so. Their eyes fall on what they see here...” I open my arms and shrug my shoulders. “They usually like what they see, though they can be so critical. Woman are chastised for their vanity and yet many a men judge that same woman by her outward effects. All I’ve ever wanted was for someone to look into these green eyes of mine and see what swirls around beyond them. Someone who wouldn’t call me silly or consider my ideas trivial. Someone who didn’t think me foolish for loving my God, talking to my plants or weeping when my team is knocked from the play-offs. What man would want someone like me, like that? What man could suffer my dry humor or my warped se
nse of what is funny? What man would want to attach himself to a woman who is so... eccentric, though she lacks the age or money that is usually the cause to use that word for a nut, or for me an artist? Who would need the long haired girl with the whispery little voice? Could any of you understand the idea of having a cloud on your tongue or eating ginger daisies till you were sick? Why would someone like you ever need me? This is what I think of most people... maybe because so seldom have I ever needed anyone or has anyone ever needed me. It’s confusing when I try to sort it out in my brain. This would all be so much easier if you were simply the object of a wet dream. But unfortunately.... there’s not enough symbolizing in it for me. And it’s not like this is so important, or so unique to me. The world over suffers the same as I do. I just have the luxury of expressing it somewhat more poetically than them.”
The blush subsided. Embarrassment can only last so long. Though I had to wonder why I could never be so open in the waking world. Why none of my friends ever heard such sentiments from me. If they only knew how deep some shallow waters could run.
The man gave my hand a light tug and I looked up. He smiled and I smiled and for a moment I didn’t feel so foolish for being so childish at times. My butterflies were starting to rise themselves once more.
His smile increased and he leaned very close to me. “Maybe those things, the things that you mentioned, are the very things that make me need you quite badly. After all, how many men can say they love an eccentric woman... a nut like you?”
The butterflies, having heard enough, decided the stomach would not suit their purpose. So they flew farther south to tickle my pelvic bone and cause me great discomfort. But the man was drawing closer, to place his hand behind my head, to draw me near....
“My name is pronounced Dom-ee-nick!” the monsieur cried from behind me. Lianessa answered him just as loudly “Alright Dom-ee-neek! Maybe your mother should have blessed you with a man's name if you wish me to call you by a man's name. But then you do remind me of a little girl... always pouting!” Then the crash of the madam being lifted and thrown upon the table. The tea cups and plates flew in every direction. The guests rushed away, each disappointed that they had not won the attentions of the lady. The lady’s back fell flat against the wood table top, her nails finding the man’s neck. The monsieur’s response was to tear away the acres of plum velvet so that he might find the long pale legs hidden below. At that point, I knew enough to look away, but not before seeing the small smile playing at the corner of the lady’s lips.
I turned my attentions back to the man who was but inches from my face. But... he was not there.
“Damn!” I cried in my rage. “Always! Always you disappear before the good stuff can happen! Why can’t I just have a normal beginning and ending for once, just once!” and then, with a sudden movement, I ducked. At the same moment the Queen’s staff flew over my head. I had almost forgotten were I was. I looked over to the side to see little Alice holding her pink flamingo, taking a swipe at the small painted ball. I should have known it was the Queen of Hearts who’d come to jump on mine a few times.
The Queen swiveled round in a circle as she missed her target. She regained her composure, straightening her golden crown and standing up straight. She pointed a red painted nail at me and screamed “Off with her head!” In response I only shook my head and laughed “Go ahead, lob it off! Lot of good it has done me so far. Maybe at least the butterflies will be able to be free. I can’t see them enjoying their home in my tummy anyway!”
The Queen smiled and motioned with her ax. My interest had left me though. I was about done with this dream. I turned my back to her and began walking away. The Queen hissed and cursed behind me to which I replied in kind. Soon, the whole scene had faded altogether.
I found my resting place, found my dead friend. He smiled at me. “Another tough night for you my dear? Ah, but listen to that, I am getting the hang of this modern English!”
“Yes you are my friend, yes you are.”
Drifting and dreaming, my body growing weary, as I was slipping too deeply into dream’s depths. The sounds of the dream slowly disappeared, lost to the dull sound of waves. My friend was here to keep me from my isolation. As I let myself lay upon the feather soft floor, I looked towards my only companion. “Please, take my mind off of these things that trouble me. I find myself speaking in rhythm with some unwritten melody, some song that keeps playing itself over and over in my head. I just want to find some peaceful waters.” I say as my voice slips into a whisper.
My companion nods and opens a book, to a page, to a verse that I had always enjoyed. “Even as a flattering dream or worthless fancy...” he began “then take him up and manage well the jest...” such thoughts, such thoughts. Please go on. “Carry him gently to my fairest chamber...”
As my mind slips away, falling back to waking in much the same manner it falls into sleeping, the sound of his accented voice fades away. I often wonder, as I sit on the edge of consciousness, if the shrew was ever tamed...
And then I am awake.
The sun is shining brightly through my window, effectively turning the backs of my eyelids into white sheets of light. Perhaps this is the Sun’s punishment for siding with his lover.
Something warm and fuzzy stretches across my chest. It occurs to me, as I have to struggle to breath, that it might be wise to put Jezebella, the world’s best mouser, on a diet.
And so begins the day...
And that...
Is another story.
* * *
I see through it all. I see through the wounded to the shrouded thing beneath. I feel through the trappings of the conventional that it would offer up to the world instead of honest emotions. I see... you, through the mask and the props. I see... you, through the infliction of others and the harsh dents time has put upon you. I live with all the painful pieces of what have been chiseled into your character and none of these faults bothers me. All those things that should grate upon the nerves and pull us farther apart, they don't touch me. Through it all I feel nothing but you and this thing that is you has never made me feel as profoundly as it does. It scares me but I would not be taken from it even upon the pain of death. There are no words or poetry to describe what comes over me when I am near you. I see through it all. I see you. I see through it all to you.
Feathers, Flowers & Death
Who are you?" she asked.
“Who am I?” the other girl answered back.
Stella eyed the girl in the same way she inspected an article of clothing. She checked her stitching and hems to see how well she was made. She looked over the girl’s materials and design to see what level of quality was used in her creation. Once she was satisfied with her observations, she folded her arms against her chest; her stare intently upon the stranger. “Yes. Who are you?” she said again.
The girl smiled, slowly scratched her head and laughed softly “I’m not so sure you’d like to know that just yet. But you can think of me as a friend if that will help.”
The girl’s smile was very disarming, Stella relaxed.
Though disarming, her cheerfulness was a curious contrast to her appearance. The young woman looked like a dark thunder cloud had come down and bled itself all over her. She was all black clothes and dark details, pale skin and black eyes. These things were nothing Stella cared to dwell on; appearances were usually deceiving anyway. She knew this well. To the world Stella figured she appeared to be nothing short of an all-American young woman, fresh and healthy... full of life. Such things were just not true.
”Well...” Stella began. “Are you alone?”
The dark young woman's smile brightened “No, I’m not alone. You’re standing right in front of me aren’t you?”
Stella laughed, giving into defeat. “All right smart ass. I won't like knowing who you are, but you're a friend, and you’re not alone because you’re standing with me. As far as I’m concerned you’re a complete stranger though. A stranger who happens to
be on my grandfather’s property. I can over look that. I mean it doesn’t really matter. So while you’re trespassing, why don’t you give me a hand. Grab that bag.” Stella pointed towards an old army bag near her feet.
The dark young woman said nothing but reached down and grabbed the bag. Stella turned and started up a hill, the other woman followed, moving to walk next to the amber haired woman.
When Jupiter Sighs Page 7