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 silly, “Will I die if I make
love to you?”
Marcy giggles, “Only If you forget to breath!”
Tragedy replaces the fear in Felique’s eyes . “Breathing reminds me
of my mother.”
“Is your Mother still alive, dear Felique?”
“I was ten. Mother chased some wild geese and drowned in the Seine. This is why my love for you is so painful. Everything reminds me of Mother, which makes me cry. Oh my 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 replied.
“I do nothing but need.”
“Lamb.” Marcy repeated.
“Have I told you of my Mother?” Felique asked.
Marcy’s head throbbed with love; she gripped Felique’s shoulders: “Did your Mother drink?”
“Wine…White.” Felique replied.
“Alcohol has wrecked your life!”
Felique offers a dry cackle: “Ah, that it was that simple my wise, merciful,
long-suffering woman. She said she loved me.”
Marcy was strong yet gentle: “Denial! Make love to me now!”
“In the road?”
“Nothing sullies those who love!”
“Not even history?”
What it is about love? As if a conquered people had gathered to rewrite history.
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.
To be continued…
(c) Rob Goldstein 2017 All Rights Reserved