She walked through the crowded supermarket (although really, walked wasn't the right word, it was more like an idea sliding elusively through a tired mind) and chose the oranges she'd come for. No nonsense today, no shopping, no wasting time. She had too much to do (no time to actually live today, more like the day was for creating other days) and places she had to be.
But a stray flash of red caught her attention from the corner of her eye (the part of the eye that finds beauty even when it doesn't want to be found, out of the side of her vision that saw shades of pink instead of gray), and she stopped so abruptly that a man bumped into her. Hastily apologizing, she turned and headed back to the display of flowers.
They weren't much, but she didn't have money to spare. She knew it...and still she hesitated, seeing how the sun caressed the blush-red petals and lit the cores with fire. She rejoiced in how lovely they were (as you often do when your sense of wonder has not yet died, and hers was so alive that it danced when she ran a finger over the lillies), and it was done. Choice made.
With the flowers in hand, she realized that there was no vase to put them in. Her feet stole off down an aisle and deposited her in front of the champagne bottles (not the kind that leave you flushed and giggling, no, these were the kind a priest would bless and then ignore because really, what self-respecting priest doesn't drink wine?). She had one in hand and was gone, off through the doors, returning smiles directed at a happy girl who looked like she was going to a party, incandescent with a secret.
She locked the door to the apartment behind her. It was quiet and dark, and when she pulled off her dress clothes and replaced them with jeans (because nobody can study in dress clothes, you know), she gleefully put the flowers in a temporary pitcher of water and sat down with her glass of wine-that-wasn't-wine, and while normally she would feel the silence (and the weight of past and present and future and possibilities and mistakes and life getting in the way of her concentration)...those flowers glowed from the kitchen counter next to the candle, and she held the glow close.
2 comments:
For you, a passage from a book I've recently read:
Eutopians considered Alyssa one of the finest beauties in the land and would get angry if a European suggested otherwise. The dressmaker did not have large curves, but most people noticed Alyssa’s hair before they noticed her body anyway. Her hair sparkled like gold when light reflected off of it. It fell to the ground in a sparkling cascade of honey. Alyssa loved to wear it loose or to weave it into thick braids that fell past her waist. Eutopians considered Alyssa beautiful not only for her outer looks, but also for her gentle personality and her artistic and creative fashion.
Because everybody needs a pick me up once in a while. And besides, I've never seen "Robby" as a character in a book, and this is pretty cool.
I like the idea that there's a corner of the eye that sees beauty.
This is just wonderful. :-)
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