One Reply to “8.6.2013 Journal Prompt”

  1. It wasn’t lady-like. The way she was sitting, with her legs splayed and so much showing. It just wasn’t decent. That’s what her mom would have to say. She could hear her mom’s voice in her head and she could see her mom, too, shaking one pointed finger and looking stupidly cross. She laughed and shook her mom out of her thoughts.

    Maybe it was the sun and being in another place and she could hide behind a pair of sunglasses and not be known. Maybe that’s what made her so different, and it felt good to let go, really let go.

    Or it was the gin she’d had with lunch and she felt a little light-headed and silly and she laughed and would not look at the camera – not till he asked her to. Then she tilted her head and stuck out her tongue and he took the picture anyway.

    Maybe it was just being with Daniel instead of Paul.

    Daniel, twenty years her junior. A boy really. That’s what the newspapers would say when they found out. And he fussed over her like she was a girl. And he was so careful, which was sweet. He was the one who suggested separate rooms in the hotel, in case they were discovered. Not that he minded; he was thinking of her and what others would say and how it might affect things. And so they started out careful and in rooms on different floors and a decent space between them when they were out walking.

    Then Daniel was in her bed on the first night and it felt bad and good at the same time and she said she didn’t care who knew, really she didn’t. ‘I need this,’ she said. So they were seen together. Holding hands over breakfast, and touching each other like shameless lovers, and kissing in the daylight.

    They were both a little breathless and giddy, thinking this was more than it was. And they said things they’d later wish they hadn’t. Not promises exactly, but their hearts revealed. And she told Daniel that she couldn’t go back. Not to Paul. Not now. And daniel said she didn’t need to.

    But she’d been here before. And her publicist understood. He gave her a week at the most. She’d phoned him and told him this time it was different. But she’d said that before, too.

    ‘It’s like a whole different world,’ she said. ‘Like the perfect world.’

    ‘A week, maybe two,’ the publicist said to his partner, ‘and then she’ll be back.’

    If truth be told, which it rarely is, she knew it, too. A part of her did. Even when her head was spinning and he was holding her like he meant it, like they were the only survivors of some calamity, and even though she felt something more than love or the body’s need, wanting to be so much a part of him that she lost a part of herself, even then she knew it wasn’t enough. It never was.

    But for now it was everything, which is all it ever needs to be. And so she sat, not like a lady and not listening to her mother’s good sense, and not caring what anyone said. And just for those two weeks –and it was just two weeks as her publicist had predicted it would be – just for those two weeks she felt that she was happy.

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