As Mirela walked the streets in a daze, she imagined his nurturing eyes, framed by modest wrinkles at the corners. That set of eyes was realistically etched into her memory just from the few moments they had spent together in passionate silence. She searched back deeply into her detailed reminiscence to interpret his every movement. What had he been thinking…and feeling? He had looked at her with honest curiosity and concern, almost as though he hadn’t looked at anyone in that way in years. Unfamiliar stirrings occurred in Mirela, as she hesitated to trust what her heart was telling her. The man had been nearly twice her age and was even old enough to be her father.
Finally, a break in the sunlight tore through her daydream, pulling her back to consciousness of the present. Mirela looked up at the overhang of the once magnificent town theater. Bright, new posters were plastered up on the walls. Apparently the old theater was of new use. Flyers and brochures were being given out at the ticket booth. Mirela slipped one of the glossy brochures out of its holder, and traced her fingers under the bold letters as she read. A local group of actors were having several fundraising plays benefiting the renovation of the town theater. Oedipus Rex, The Dumb Waiter, and Othello were some of the plays that were to be performed. Mirela was more than happy to stumble upon the doorstep of the theater because she enjoyed any sort of theatrical performance. A play was perfect to ease her mind because she had been contemplating everything far too much lately. As she flipped through the pages of brightly colored masks and men in tights, she looked up, having the sneaking suspicion of being watched.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
Sitting at his fine desk in the living room, glancing down at the little card he’d bought at the pharmacy, Eros couldn’t exactly discern why he had felt the need to write to Jenny. Perhaps he just wanted to say something in thanks – after all, he would never have found Thallow Flats had she not, albeit unintentionally, told him about it.
Still, he wasn’t sure what to write. He couldn’t very well say ‘thank you,’ as that would reveal why he was interested in the apartments in the first place. And Eros didn’t want to merely talk about his life, as that could inspire her to write back and he didn’t want that. So he was content to scroll a few well-meaning phrases and head down the stairs to place the card, in an envelope with the name of a fashionable Parisian hotel on it, in his mail box in the atrium for the post man to pick up in the morning.
In the atrium, Eros glanced at the door marked “Utilities/Basement.” He began to ponder the history of this building, of the second half now destroyed by flames and lost forever, but whose treasures still waited safely underground. At one point, this building and the other would surely have been connected underground as well as above ground. Surely there would have to be some tunnel, some underground passage for utility purposes, which would still exist and connect the two basements? Eros knew that he would have to talk to Mr. Wok about that. Still, it would be suspicious for a resident to be asking about the plans for the apartment, Perhaps if Eros could secure some public documents to read? Those would certainly have the information he required. It would just be a matter of heading down to city hall and collecting them.
Eros had planned on going into the city anyway, so he proceeded out of the atrium and down the marble stairs in the front of Thallow Flats. Every day it was getting colder and Eros was glad he had on his leather jacket, which he had even begun to wear indoors – the gas was highly variable in his apartment and overpriced anyway.
At the parking garage, Eros waited on the man in the security booth, who was listening to some American jazz music Eros. He seemed engrossed in the rhythm, so Eros tapped on the glass to get his attention. The guard looked awkward and surprised for a moment, but he pulled off his head phones and looked out the booth. “Yes?” He said. “Can I help you?”
“I need you to open the storage gate. I have to get my Vespa,” Eros replied.
“Oh.” The garage keeper plucked some keys off a little board and walked out of the booth. He led Eros to a corner of the garage where a chain link fence sequestered the motor bikes from the cars. Eros’ white Vespa was next to a large motorcycle. Eros wondered which of the Flats’ residences felt the need to compensate thusly.
The garage attendant calmly inserted the key into the lock and opened the fence. Eros paid him for the garage space and gave him a little extra as a tip. The attendant smiled sheepish and hurried back to his music.
Eros leapt on his Vespa and sped off into the city towards city hall.
He spent the next few hours sifting through dry manuscripts and old plans. He was able to find a few old floor plans for the Barnaby Hotel, Only one of them showed the subterranean layout, but Eros couldn’t discern which room was which. He knew he’d have to look further into the problem, so he checked the documents out from the city hall, leaving behind a near ruinous deposit to guarantee their safety, and he packed them gently into the side storage compartment of his Vespa.
When he reached the parking garage, Eros found the parking attendant engaged in rearranging the keys on his poster board – he seemed to be grouping them by the number of teeth they had. Eros stopped the sputtering Vespa near the booth and nodded. The attendant rushed out, grabbing a key, to unlock the little alcove. Eros noticed the motorcycle was missing – its owner must have been out joyriding. As he left the garage, Eros looked at the plump crimson sun, which was just about to set.
Eros carried the documents under his arm up the flight of steps to the seventh floor. He wasn’t walking as much as he had in Venice and he was beginning to worry that he might get out of shape. Eros despised gyms, there were just too many sweaty people all congregating in one place, so he relied on personal fitness to stay in shape. Hopefully, seven flights of steps would equate to a solid walk.
On his floor, Eros was about to open his door when a saw a woman leave her room and stride confidently down the hall to its far side. Eros recognized her as the woman from the book store earlier, the elegant, sensual one.
From some juvenile romantic impulse, Eros felt the need to follow her. He quickly opened his door and tossed the plans on a chair. He glanced at his cell phone, which he’d left on the table near the door, and saw he had one missed call – it was from Everett. Eros made a mental note to call the man back then he went back into the hall and went the way the woman had gone.
At the end of the hall, there was a flight of steep, vertical steps that led up to the roof. Eros saw that the hatch was open, probably by the woman’s hand. He ascended.
On the roof, the blazing sun cast a crimson shade over everything. The woman was standing on the edge of the roof, gazing out across the city. Eros stood still, watching her.
Suddenly, she said “You don’t have to stand there by yourself. Come here.” She turned to him. “I don’t bite.”
Eros tried to chuckle and approached her. “I didn’t want to frighten you – most women don’t like having strange men sneak up behind them.”
“Oh, I don’t think you’re a strange man.” A radiant smile lit up her face. She looked back to the setting sun and said “What’s your name?”
“Eros. Yours?”
“I’m Mirela.” She looked back at him. “Eros? Really? Like the Greek god of love?”
“Yes.”
“How romantic. Although with a name like that I imagine you’re more of a card than a romantic.”
“Perhaps – I suppose I get around. It’s probably a bad habit.”
“Well, at least you recognize your faults. I assume you’re one of those men who get bored with women easily?”
“I wouldn’t say ‘bored.’ My relationships just never last very long.”
“Any theories on why?”
“I suppose its because I can’t really love anyone anymore.”
“That’s terrible.” She sounded genuinely upset.
“I used to be a romantic, but there was some … unpleasantness.”
“Really? Get your heart broken?”
“Hardly. It wasn’t even a relationship to begin with. I just loved a girl and she could never find it in her heart to love me. I met her at a party and we talked for a while. In three weeks, I knew I loved her.”
“Are you sure that’s love?”
“It was. I couldn’t get her out of my head. She never was cruel to me. For two years, we stayed friends – me adoring her, her putting up with me. Oh, every now and then she’d offer her same ‘I don’t want to lead you on’ or ‘I like you as a friend.’ But none of it mattered – I was content with worshipping her.”
“What happened?”
“She left – she went to some university in England, I think.”
“And she’s why you can never love again?”
“Yes. And I’ve spent my entire life trying to forget her. That’s why I am the way I am in relationships. I have to scream the names of countless women just to drown out the whisper of her’s.”
“That’s terrible.”
“Perhaps, but I loved loving her. She gave me the perfect romance.”
“How?”
“Because it will forever be pure and majestic in my mind. Because we never shared anything, we have infinite potential for greatness. It shall always be that love which could have granted me unending happiness because it is free from the taint of reality. Had we shared a love, it would have ended, I’m sure, perhaps well, probably badly. But with her I can treasure what might have been and perhaps still could be.”
“That sounds like a terrible way to live – always hoping for an impossible dream.”
“It’s the impossible dreams that are really worth hoping for. Because if you can attain one impossible dream, why not another?”
“You have more than one impossible dream?”
“Yes. Although my other one is far less meaningful than her.”
“Will you tell me what it is?”
“Maybe later. It involves finances, so you may not like it”
“I like romance much more than money.”
“I though you would.” Eros could not discern why he was telling his secrets to this woman. She held some sort sway over him – it was an ethereal power, like the one Everett had alluded to when he had spoken to Mirela in the book shop.
They stood in silence for a time. Eros watched the sun sink down into oblivion as the world turned black around and he prayed, fervently, to himself that realizing one dream could make another come true.
I awoke to rain the next morning. I slipped out of bed and threw on my running shoes. Heading down the stairs I found Mirela walking up with her mail, "How are you dear?"
"Quite well thanks!"
"You should stop by for some tea when you return. It's about time we did some catching up."
"Sure thing, see you soon!"
I stepped outside. The cool breeze sent a shiver down my spine. The rain came hard and felt good. I couldn't tell the difference between my sweat and the rain. I felt clean. Thinking back now I can't remember what I was thinking about. I had no plan as to where I was running. I enjoyed those runs. I liked not knowing where I was going, how long I would be gone for or the distance I would travel.
I returned 10 pounds heavier. The sweat and rain had penetrated every pore in my shirt. As heavy as I should have felt, all I managed to feel was the air pocket between the sole of my foot and my watered down shoe pulling me to the ground.
I returned what felt like minutes later. I hopped in a quick shower and headed up to Mirela's room. Walking together we headed down to her shop. It was a peaceful place filled with intricate art work. Not yet open, we had the place to ourselves and whatever conversation would fill our minds for the day. Shortly into our conversation I had a sudden urge of wanting my fortune told. Mirela, even in our fresh friendship, had never been the one to 'work' on me just simply one who I could talk to and vice versa. As she pulled the cards out she looked up at me with a hesitant look. She needed reassurance that I really wanted to try her magic. I think a part of her knew that I didn't believe in readings. But I new how to read facial expressions and I should have been able to read that one. My mom was one who I always had to make a remark, with her face. The first three cards she flipped over represented pain, passion, and peace. All of which related to my life a bit to well. The next card flipped would represent my future. Death. I looked up she was already staring at me. I saw a red light flashing behind her head in the window directly behind her. I knew that light, not often seen in this part of town. But I knew that light.
Post a Comment