Early this morning, like every other in the last 2 years, as she gets ready to leave, to escape the talcum dust floating out through the windows, she puts on her gloves.
As the maid watches on, she sifts through her morning coffee, staring in disdain into the wall through the rules of engagement. A company she wished for more than she had expected. Wondering if she can still make the pass through that coffeehouse in Michigan. Would she still be able to prance along the streets in purple fringed gowns only to get a glance at the mysterious guitarist with the Betty brown hat.
Brushing aside the drapes and onto the paseo, she joins the chaotic crowd. The freckled Asian man cringes and doesn’t hesitate to draw back into his caravan at first sight and like everyday since she moved in, peeps through the mail slot till she leaves. Well, she was not his “type” after all.
She believed she was the kaonashi, as the Japanese believed, a person with no face. Day on and out, she sits in front of the typewriter from 15 years ago, translating thousands of documents from the Russian oil spill the government deemed essential, even though she knew no one would ever read it. She never expected the red carpet to roll at her feet, or felt she would ever need the money she earns. She only regretted the misery of loneliness she has brought onto herself. Maybe she should have spliced the knife a little harder into her veins. Maybe not.
Thoughts escalating, she takes a break from the corner of her room and naps through the evening and leaves late from work. Catching every light from the thunderous rain that had caught on in the meanwhile, she gets into the next taxi. Her co-passenger nearly invisible in the darker phase of the moon.
He looks scared,like the gloom of the city was about to swallow him. She could almost feel her heartbeats electric to her fingertips. She breaks the thunderous silence filling the car, and opens up her heart to the man lost in the rain. A conversation that filled every page in the journal she dreamed up on every other day in the last 2 years. Hours later, stuck in the middle of a world that felt far away, she could feel the weight of a kiss on her lips. The taxi sways through the city all night as she holds the hands of a man with her mazarine gloves knowing this time, he was just right.
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