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In her Indian silk paisley skirt wrapped low on her hips and strands of tiny beads strung loosely around her waist, she swayed and spun to the throbbing pulse of twenty drums being pounded by long haired Indians and dread-headed Rasta men. A brown skinned man in a sarong with tattoos stretched across thigh sized biceps and piercings in both ears watched her from the edge of the undulating circle.
He gazed as her breasts bobbed in a lavender string bikini top and her cheeks flushed from the heat of the crowd and the afternoon sun. He watched the creases at the small of her back as she worked her hips in a figure eight with eyes closed and head flung back. She rolled her head onto her shoulder as she shimmied and slowly opened her eyes in two cat slits to see him staring unabashedly. Spirited away by hands with silver rings on every finger that had spontaneously clasped her waist from within the thick of dancers, he noticed her yard of sun bleached brown hair cascading down her bare back. More importantly, he noticed a freckle just to the right of her lower spine.
By night's end, beneath the western moon along the roaring river he had her, consuming her vitality, her sensuality, her absolute everything. He took her again and again and again. He couldn't get enough of her.
Watching the soft dawn rise in the reflection of her eyes as he made love to her long and slow, he knew that it would be for the last time. She'd never have him if she knew everything about him. And, what was he to do with Lisa back home? No. This was enough. Lisa was a sure bet. This woman was like a simmering smoldering ignited stick of dynamite. A woman like this, you didn't take home to Mother. A woman like this, you didn't take out for drinks with your brothers. A woman like this, you didn’t hold for long. If you were smart, you loved her and left her to the well insulated recesses of treasured taboo fantasies. No one had ever called him a fool.
~~~
Thirty years after she had lost her virginity to a dark man on a river bank, she strode away from me looking like sin personified in her low cut, slim fit, Levi 513's with the frayed hems and embroidered white roses that vined from the back pockets on a curling stem of green leaves that twined beneath her ass cheek and disappeared between her legs. I must be plumb out of my blooming mind to let a woman like that just walk away. Get up, fool. GET UP a voice deep within me screamed.
But, I didn't. I couldn't. With her feet bare but for the infinity ring I had given her adorning the second toe of her left foot, she had grabbed her sandals and flung her bag over her shoulder when I had said I wanted space. She had asked because I had withdrawn. Typical scenario and I almost hadn't answer honestly. Now that I had blurted those infernal words out I wished I could take them back because the minute I uttered them I could see the damage they had done. And all I could do now was sit gaping like a guppy at what a total ass I am.
Truth was, I didn't know what I wanted aside from not wanting to hurt her. She was every man's dream and I lusted for her to the point I felt I would tear her to bits in the throes of passion. I just didn't think I could handle her; to be plainly blunt about it, I didn't think a man like me could keep the likes of her. She'd become unhappy with me like all the others before her had. And, frankly, I didn't want to be the brunt of all her failed relationships. It was best this way; best to cut my losses while I still could.
I almost grabbed her when she leaned over to kiss my cheek, overwhelmed with the feeling that I might be making a mistake. Overwhelmed with the need to explain somehow, yet I had no idea what to say. Instead, I just sat there with my hands clasped together between my knees and let her turn her back to me. I just sit here still, watching her leave.
I am so torn amidst all this ambiguity that I am literally burning from what feels like resistance and from a piercing agony. I don't want to lose her yet haven't a clue how to keep her. I sit here inflamed by the ultimate urge to somehow just be able to talk to her and express what it is I feel I need--not even from her but from it all. I sit incinerated by the totally pathetic debilitating paralysis that keeps me from following her sweet swaying ass down the length of the Strand.
I sit here telling myself that in time, there will be others. I know eventually, I'll be cool again. I just know all I need to do is sit tight right on this wall that she left me at and let her walk out of my frame of vision. Don't move a muscle; don't say a thing, I tell myself. Stay steady, man.
I don't take my eyes off her as she walks the length of the beach, the setting sun casting shadows of her tall frame. Unconsciously, I wipe the tears streaming down my cheeks. The cool breeze goes through me as if I were nothing but a pile of ashes mixing with the sand, shell shards and ground sea glass.
~~~
She felt the heat of her pain and shame peel off her with each long stride like layers of clothes taken by the breeze left strewn on the trodden ground behind her until she felt naked striding blind into the sunset. She had trusted again and loved more deeply than ever before, and yet, the result was again the same. She knew there wasn't any point in trying to understand what it was he didn't choose to convey. No point in wallowing in the murkiness of his apparent inconstancy. His choice, like his past, was his to carry and certainly nothing she could resent him for. It, too, contributed to who he had become over the years, who he was still becoming. If his choices removed his affections and presence from her life, she knew she was powerless. All she could do was surrender to it.
If space from her is what he wanted, then that’s what he’d get. Casting her eyes to the horizon she walked hard, pounding her steps, begging to be held steady lest she spiral untethered into dark thoughts of worthlessness as she had all the times before. She stifled down the swelling bitter recognition of not having been enough for him, of not having been to him what he had been to her. She could hear all the old records begin their tracks--her aunt asking her with titled head what she could have possibly done in her past life; her sister telling her if she’d only fix herself up a little, maybe she’d be able to keep a man-- yaddyyaddyya. Didn't matter; doesn't matter. It never would.
She felt derailed, pushed off the track. Luckily though she had years of experience bushwhacking through the wilds to fall back on. She'd survive, she knew this. She always did. But, as she walked the long beach back to the car alone heedless of the rising surf tugging at her pants she felt something inside her die.
Recalling the phrase that where "god" closes a door, he opens a window, she reconsidered. Perhaps it wasn't quite that something in her had died; maybe it just closed. Maybe it's just being redirected or redefined even. That, too, didn't matter then at that given moment she decided. What did matter was that things were changing. That things beyond her control had been set in motion and she would never again be the same.
She rolled her shoulders and jutted her chin out absorbing the truth. As the sunset reflected off her sunglasses, she sighed, breathing in the awareness that she had loved her last lover, that she just didn't have it to give anymore. Not in that capacity, at any rate. She'd love--couldn't not love--was all about The Love. She understood as she reached the pier and brushed the sand from her feet that her love from here on in would take on a different flavor, a different focus. Slipping her feet into her sandals, she crossed the empty parking lot to the car. Lifting the lid, she saw their matching luggage, lying side by side in the trunk. That, too, wasn’t hers. He had lent it to her for the trip so that she wouldn’t have to go back to her place to pack. Most of the contents were items he’d given her—his favorite flannel shirt that she now slept in, tops or bottoms that he had picked up in his travels, chains and bangles he had thought she’d like. Stuff, she thought as she looked down at the bag. His stuff, not hers she decided letting the hood slam.
Trading the sandals for her Keens that had been tossed behind the passenger’s seat, she made her way back out to Coastal Highway empty handed with the words, “from nothing, to nothing” firmly fixed in her mind.
~~~
A year after Lisa left him for the caterer they had hired for their daughter’s wedding, he found her on Facebook, his long lost love, the love of his life, the one who had been meant for him. He had been such a pussy back then. It disgusted him to remember. Staring at her profile picture for hours he wasn’t certain what he wanted to do now that he had found her.
Her profile was protected, only viewable to friends, but he could send her a message. Her face looked thinner, but her smile just as sweet as the one he had embedded in the back of his mind. He had looked over the years, a Google search here and there but had known so little about her that he had always came up empty handed. Finally, beyond all expectations, he had found her. He knew he had to write. He had let her go once and had lived to regret it every day since. With little notion how to make amends, he began typing.
After having deleted more than he typed, he sat staring at the remaining words stewing over all the what-ifs. In the end, he stood up and hit send. He’d be damned if he made that mistake again, he said as he grabbed his jacket from off the back of the chair and strode out the door.
In her Indian silk paisley skirt wrapped low on her hips and strands of tiny beads strung loosely around her waist, she swayed and spun to the throbbing pulse of twenty drums being pounded by long haired Indians and dread-headed Rasta men. A brown skinned man in a sarong with tattoos stretched across thigh sized biceps and piercings in both ears watched her from the edge of the undulating circle.
He gazed as her breasts bobbed in a lavender string bikini top and her cheeks flushed from the heat of the crowd and the afternoon sun. He watched the creases at the small of her back as she worked her hips in a figure eight with eyes closed and head flung back. She rolled her head onto her shoulder as she shimmied and slowly opened her eyes in two cat slits to see him staring unabashedly. Spirited away by hands with silver rings on every finger that had spontaneously clasped her waist from within the thick of dancers, he noticed her yard of sun bleached brown hair cascading down her bare back. More importantly, he noticed a freckle just to the right of her lower spine.
By night's end, beneath the western moon along the roaring river he had her, consuming her vitality, her sensuality, her absolute everything. He took her again and again and again. He couldn't get enough of her.
Watching the soft dawn rise in the reflection of her eyes as he made love to her long and slow, he knew that it would be for the last time. She'd never have him if she knew everything about him. And, what was he to do with Lisa back home? No. This was enough. Lisa was a sure bet. This woman was like a simmering smoldering ignited stick of dynamite. A woman like this, you didn't take home to Mother. A woman like this, you didn't take out for drinks with your brothers. A woman like this, you didn’t hold for long. If you were smart, you loved her and left her to the well insulated recesses of treasured taboo fantasies. No one had ever called him a fool.
~~~
Thirty years after she had lost her virginity to a dark man on a river bank, she strode away from me looking like sin personified in her low cut, slim fit, Levi 513's with the frayed hems and embroidered white roses that vined from the back pockets on a curling stem of green leaves that twined beneath her ass cheek and disappeared between her legs. I must be plumb out of my blooming mind to let a woman like that just walk away. Get up, fool. GET UP a voice deep within me screamed.
But, I didn't. I couldn't. With her feet bare but for the infinity ring I had given her adorning the second toe of her left foot, she had grabbed her sandals and flung her bag over her shoulder when I had said I wanted space. She had asked because I had withdrawn. Typical scenario and I almost hadn't answer honestly. Now that I had blurted those infernal words out I wished I could take them back because the minute I uttered them I could see the damage they had done. And all I could do now was sit gaping like a guppy at what a total ass I am.
Truth was, I didn't know what I wanted aside from not wanting to hurt her. She was every man's dream and I lusted for her to the point I felt I would tear her to bits in the throes of passion. I just didn't think I could handle her; to be plainly blunt about it, I didn't think a man like me could keep the likes of her. She'd become unhappy with me like all the others before her had. And, frankly, I didn't want to be the brunt of all her failed relationships. It was best this way; best to cut my losses while I still could.
I almost grabbed her when she leaned over to kiss my cheek, overwhelmed with the feeling that I might be making a mistake. Overwhelmed with the need to explain somehow, yet I had no idea what to say. Instead, I just sat there with my hands clasped together between my knees and let her turn her back to me. I just sit here still, watching her leave.
I am so torn amidst all this ambiguity that I am literally burning from what feels like resistance and from a piercing agony. I don't want to lose her yet haven't a clue how to keep her. I sit here inflamed by the ultimate urge to somehow just be able to talk to her and express what it is I feel I need--not even from her but from it all. I sit incinerated by the totally pathetic debilitating paralysis that keeps me from following her sweet swaying ass down the length of the Strand.
I sit here telling myself that in time, there will be others. I know eventually, I'll be cool again. I just know all I need to do is sit tight right on this wall that she left me at and let her walk out of my frame of vision. Don't move a muscle; don't say a thing, I tell myself. Stay steady, man.
I don't take my eyes off her as she walks the length of the beach, the setting sun casting shadows of her tall frame. Unconsciously, I wipe the tears streaming down my cheeks. The cool breeze goes through me as if I were nothing but a pile of ashes mixing with the sand, shell shards and ground sea glass.
~~~
She felt the heat of her pain and shame peel off her with each long stride like layers of clothes taken by the breeze left strewn on the trodden ground behind her until she felt naked striding blind into the sunset. She had trusted again and loved more deeply than ever before, and yet, the result was again the same. She knew there wasn't any point in trying to understand what it was he didn't choose to convey. No point in wallowing in the murkiness of his apparent inconstancy. His choice, like his past, was his to carry and certainly nothing she could resent him for. It, too, contributed to who he had become over the years, who he was still becoming. If his choices removed his affections and presence from her life, she knew she was powerless. All she could do was surrender to it.
If space from her is what he wanted, then that’s what he’d get. Casting her eyes to the horizon she walked hard, pounding her steps, begging to be held steady lest she spiral untethered into dark thoughts of worthlessness as she had all the times before. She stifled down the swelling bitter recognition of not having been enough for him, of not having been to him what he had been to her. She could hear all the old records begin their tracks--her aunt asking her with titled head what she could have possibly done in her past life; her sister telling her if she’d only fix herself up a little, maybe she’d be able to keep a man-- yaddyyaddyya. Didn't matter; doesn't matter. It never would.
She felt derailed, pushed off the track. Luckily though she had years of experience bushwhacking through the wilds to fall back on. She'd survive, she knew this. She always did. But, as she walked the long beach back to the car alone heedless of the rising surf tugging at her pants she felt something inside her die.
Recalling the phrase that where "god" closes a door, he opens a window, she reconsidered. Perhaps it wasn't quite that something in her had died; maybe it just closed. Maybe it's just being redirected or redefined even. That, too, didn't matter then at that given moment she decided. What did matter was that things were changing. That things beyond her control had been set in motion and she would never again be the same.
She rolled her shoulders and jutted her chin out absorbing the truth. As the sunset reflected off her sunglasses, she sighed, breathing in the awareness that she had loved her last lover, that she just didn't have it to give anymore. Not in that capacity, at any rate. She'd love--couldn't not love--was all about The Love. She understood as she reached the pier and brushed the sand from her feet that her love from here on in would take on a different flavor, a different focus. Slipping her feet into her sandals, she crossed the empty parking lot to the car. Lifting the lid, she saw their matching luggage, lying side by side in the trunk. That, too, wasn’t hers. He had lent it to her for the trip so that she wouldn’t have to go back to her place to pack. Most of the contents were items he’d given her—his favorite flannel shirt that she now slept in, tops or bottoms that he had picked up in his travels, chains and bangles he had thought she’d like. Stuff, she thought as she looked down at the bag. His stuff, not hers she decided letting the hood slam.
Trading the sandals for her Keens that had been tossed behind the passenger’s seat, she made her way back out to Coastal Highway empty handed with the words, “from nothing, to nothing” firmly fixed in her mind.
~~~
A year after Lisa left him for the caterer they had hired for their daughter’s wedding, he found her on Facebook, his long lost love, the love of his life, the one who had been meant for him. He had been such a pussy back then. It disgusted him to remember. Staring at her profile picture for hours he wasn’t certain what he wanted to do now that he had found her.
Her profile was protected, only viewable to friends, but he could send her a message. Her face looked thinner, but her smile just as sweet as the one he had embedded in the back of his mind. He had looked over the years, a Google search here and there but had known so little about her that he had always came up empty handed. Finally, beyond all expectations, he had found her. He knew he had to write. He had let her go once and had lived to regret it every day since. With little notion how to make amends, he began typing.
After having deleted more than he typed, he sat staring at the remaining words stewing over all the what-ifs. In the end, he stood up and hit send. He’d be damned if he made that mistake again, he said as he grabbed his jacket from off the back of the chair and strode out the door.