For a year, I was
close to this woman from Gautemala. She was married, but we started meeting
secretly on Friday mornings and Sunday afternoons while her husband was at work.
We became very close and we shared our hearts, minds, spirits and bodies. We exchanged Christmas gifts and birthday cards and purchased love momentos for one another.
Once when she was
on vacation with her family up in Tennessee,
she brought back a set of wind chimes. When she gave them to me, she said: ”From now
on, whenever you hear these chimes, you’ll think of me……”
With sincere gratitude, I thanked her and hung the chimes from the wall light on my patio.
Now, two later, I
am involved with a different woman. I’m madly in love with this woman and, like
with the Latin woman, we share your hearts, minds etc.
Some hot summer nights
when I’m lying in bed with her and can't sleep, I’ll get out of bed and go out to the patio
with a cold green tea to feel the night air.
Very softly, I
will hear the wild chimes and I will hear the Latin woman's voice calling
my name. And my innermost soul will
start to sob. It is the wail of a demon lover and, for a moment I will imagine that I am with her and we are bathing in one another's souls again.
Great dark atomic clouds of sadness will begin to accumulate in my intrinsic soul. It’s the part of me that recognizes just how fleeting life is and
how that ultimately, all living things are nothing more than dust in the wind. No matter how
great or small, all things come from this earth and all things return to this
earth.
Poets have called it ”that exquisite melancholy....”
Moments later, the
new woman will appear at the patio door, drowsy and naked, and ask me: “Why
aren’t you in bed?”
Startled from my
reveries, I will snap back.
“Oh, I was just
thinking,” I will reply innocently. “Just thinking…..,” I will say again as if
the repetition added credibility to the first statement.
“Come back to
bed!” she will bark with simulated anger.
Then she will turn and retreat back to our
bed.
For a moment, I will continue to ponder
the impending mortality of all living things, then I will get up and go back to
bed.
Once back in bed, I will snuggle up behind her sleeping body and softly stroke her tummy.
As I doze off to sleep, I'll start humming Bob Dylan's: "Oh, where are you tonight?"
I guess I’m just
another Walter Mitty.
One of those poor souls who will never reconcile his
fantasies and his realities.
What’s the Thoreau
quote: ”The masses of men live lives of quiet desperation.”
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