Two-Faced Charade

ALL RIGHTS TO FAMOUS LAST WORDS FOR WRITING THIS STORY. IT IS NOT MINE BY ANY CHANCE

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I feel faint, I feel numb.  I feel darkness.  This isn’t the way the story was supposed to go.  Nothing will fix this.  Traumatic experiences are like blood stains; they leave a mark long after the initial mess has been cleaned up. 

All I did was what the world told me I should do.  How often are we told to start over if we don’t like where we are in life?  Tomorrow’s a new day, every day is a new sunrise, seize the day.  Our society is all about fresh starts and taking chances, working hard to get what you want, even though wants and needs are sick, savage beasts.  The beasts take exactly what they want, and they keep on taking until they get what they desire.

Sunrise came.  I took my chance.  I worked hard to get what I wanted.  My opportunity came pounding at the door and I took it.  I had to.  I can’t be blamed.  Remember what I said: every day’s a new sunrise.

MARCH 16th

           

The bar I followed her to is getting crowded.  It’s semi-dark and smells like beer.  I spot Elise sitting at one of the tables near the back.  It looks quieter back there, more intimate.  The seat opposite her is empty.  She’s waiting for me, I know she is.  She’s so beautiful, taking small sips of her drink, blotting her lips with a napkin when she finishes.

She was ready sooner than usual today.  Every Saturday afternoon for the past two months she has wrapped herself in a skimpy black bathrobe, turned up the music on her stereo and paraded around her house in curlers.  From my porch I can see her through her living room window.  I am the only member in the audience while she performs her one-woman show.  She mouths the lyrics to the songs while she dances around to the music.  I know it’s all for me: she leaves her blinds open so I can see.  When she’s ready she takes her curlers out one by one, letting her brown hair tumble down her back.  I bet it feels like satin.  She paints her face with many brands of make-up and sprays herself with orchid perfume. 

She leaves her house at a quarter to 6:00.  At 5:30 I make sure to read on the porch swing or weed the flower bed.  I didn’t know much about gardening before Elise.  When I saw her caring for her flowers I knew there was something special about this hobby. 

We’ve spoken twenty-three times since she moved next door last fall, twenty-four if you include tonight.  The first was when she brought over mail that had been accidentally delivered to her.  My old neighbor never did that.  That’s how I know Elise is special and that I am special to her.  I know she’s the one I want to spend the rest of my life with.  Her flowery perfume was so fragrant that I went out that night and bought the flowers to place on my bedside table; her scent lingered when I fell asleep, granting me sweet dreams. 

The day we met her smile penetrated my skin, deep down into my bloodstream.  We introduced ourselves and the sound of my name on her lips ignited something in me, something I’ve never felt before.  It’s like bees drawn to honey, or a moth to a flame.  Tonight is our night.

Elise looks up and casts a smile in my direction.  She looks so beautiful in her red dress, with the long loose curls framing her face.  I want to kiss her now.  I have to caress her cheek.  I’ve been waiting so long for this.