ANOTHER TIME

“If I were older or you were younger, would we make love?”

“That’s a brazen question.” Flutters swell inside, flattery is welcome at any age, especially mine. 

“Apology extended. I didn’t mean to offend you.” He grins and shifts his gypsy eyes toward me. 

“You didn’t offend me. You know my story. If we make love, I hope you won’t take it personally.” I keep my voice low. He moves closer. “Sometimes a flowery smell excites me.” A whiff of Brilliantine lavender is vaguely noticeable. “But, good old sweat does the same thing.” 

He sits curled forward, chin resting in the palm of his right hand. “What do I smell like?” he whispers.  

 “Like no one else.” I smile. “Go to the window. Look toward the left.” Sunrays glisten on his ebony hair sending off tiny points of light.

“Do you see the wedding?”

“What wedding? I don’t see anything. Come, look for yourself.”

“There’s a wedding going on out there, somewhere. If you try harder, you’ll see it.” 

The walking stick heavy against my thigh burns its message through my thick cotton dressing gown. I trace the carved boar’s head grip with an index finger. Standing beside him isn’t an option.

 “Why should I try so hard to see something that isn’t there?” He turns abruptly. I gasp. Traces of citrus cologne float across the room. 

“That’s the point. Don’t you see?” I stall. Lately, my thoughts stagger through my mind half finished instead of parading by in a harmonious cadence as they used to.

“If I did see, I wouldn’t be challenging you.” 

 “Where’ve you been all these years?”

“In the attic, standing in the old chifforobe.” He flashes an enigmatic grin and sits down on the edge of the coffee table, his knees almost touching mine.

“Why did you come out?” I smother a giggle.

“To see the wedding.” He leans forward, face close enough to kiss.

 “Let’s celebrate with tea and cake.” I close my eyes and imagine the silky smooth skin along his spine and taut muscles of his buttocks.

“Celebrate what?”

“Your emergence from the chifforobe.” I tingle inside. I’ll bring out the banana bread first, pretending that’s all I have. Then go for the tea, and surprise him with his favorite, rum cake.

His laugh ripples up his throat and bursts from his mouth roaring like sea waves smashing deep against a cave wall. His powerful laugh always startles me. I want to devour his laughter, feel its fullness crush against my heart.

“What do you do when I’m not here?” His finger traces the veins on the back of my hand.

“Kiss the moon through an open window.” 

* * *

“How are you this morning, Clara?”

“Absolutely wonderful!”

“Who are you talking to?”

“A friend.”

             “Here’s your breakfast. Where’s your friend?”

             “In the chifforobe.”

I stare at his youth for a long time, then, for an even longer time, at the empty space he left behind.