The only thing worse, cont'd.

Her hair flowed like a copper river coursing down her back. She was inclined toward twisted ankles, and spates of depression.

*

One day, after shopping relentlessly for clothes to take away on vacation, she lay on her bed, still wearing the black, gray, and white finely checked, perfectly circular taffeta skirt with the hem that measured nine yards around, which rustled seductively when she walked, as taffeta does. There was magic when she spun around and around like a dervish in front of a mirror, making the skirt stand straight out from her body, holding her in a ring of silver.

The pink organdy blouse she wore showed lace covered immature breasts through a haze of fabric, and her skin was pale, like milk. She was quite young.

The bathing suit she had bought was a firm and serious deep tone of aquamarine. It too rustled seductively. That was the year of taffeta.

Her new sunglasses had pale pink pearlized frames, and very dark lenses. She was mysterious behind them.

She lay on her bed with the new things spread all around her.

She wanted to be loved. She believed in love and was sure she would one day have some, like cookies along with the teacup filled with life she was drinking.

*

A storm came up suddenly. The room was gloomy and all the light went out of the swimsuit, the skirt, the painting above the bed….

The rain was torrential; a mid spring shower that soaked through the earth, and brought out that sharp smell of wet concrete she liked so much because she was a city girl. Wind battered the world.

Then it was over.

*

The doorknob rattled, causing a stopped heart, a withheld breath, and a clutch of that terror which makes adrenaline fly through the system. The knob turned infinite slow, and life seemed to be near the final moment. The door opened just a crack, slowly, slowly. The entire universe went about its business while her time stood still.

*

The crack widened only enough to admit the narrow form of the cat that had taught herself the art of breaking into places she’d been shut out of. With that cat triumph sound in her throat, and the greeting of erect tail quivering at the tip, she jumped onto the bed, and settled down amid the yards of taffeta, purring in her pleased accomplished cat way.

In the silent apartment, she made the only sound.

*

Sudden sun broke through the gray clouds, and it’s light was caught in hundreds of droplets of rainwater on the window panes, which in turn spilled onto the glass wind chimes hanging there, moving slightly in the draft. The room filled with flying prismatic diamonds. They were everywhere: on her skin, her skirt, the walls, the ceiling. This was to be one of the most beautiful moments of her long life.

*

She knew that even then.

*********