Footsteps: an affair.
“You’re late.” says Felique.
“Ten minutes.” Marcy replies.
“I cannot kiss on an empty stomach.” Felique orders à la carte
and gazes fearfully into Marcy’s eyes.
“What bothers you my little bon-bon?”
“Nothing, Mon cher. Try these snails.”
Yet the fear remains.
“Oh Marcy!” Felique feels suddenly ill , “Will I die if we make
“Only If you forget to breath, my little bon-bon !”
Tragedy replaces fear in the eyes of Felique Dupré. “Breathing reminds me
of my mother.”
“Is your Mother still alive, dear Felique?”
“I was ten. Mother chased wild geese and drowned in the Seine. This is why
love is painful. Everything reminds me of Mother! Oh poor stupid Mother!”
Felique sobbed as they hopped the E Train for Harlem; she sobbed for
her poor Mother.
Fellique turned to Marcy, her face as grey as the Moon.
“I’m a troubled woman.”
“Lamb.” Marcy replies.
“I am nothing but need.”
“Lamb.” Marcy repeats.
“Have I told you of my Mother?”
Marcy gripped Fellique’s shoulders: “Did your Mother drink?”
“Alcohol has wrecked your life!”
Fellque offers a cynical cackle: “Ah, that it was that simple
my wretched long-suffering woman. My Mother loved me.”
Marcy is strong, yet gentle: “Denial! Make love to me now!
Nothing sullies those who love!”
“Not even time?”
What it is about love?
Felique moves with the purity of a child who spies a new perception: all mothers are one Mother and the World is one big Mother
Hot tears dribble onto Marcy’s mound, whose love expels the ghost of Felique’s affliction.
“O! Que j’aille à’ la mer,” sighs Felique.
(c) Rob Goldstein 2017 All Rights Reserved