The Portrait of Love

After research and a date with imagination I am glad to present one of my all time favorite works of fiction.  Although there are truths here, kindly remember this is FICTION; intended only for fun for you using my quirky mind with the SOLE intent of muddying waters and making you smile.  I hope you enjoy it. 

For a quick brush-up (pun intended):

Mona Lisa's identity has been suspect for years.  In 2005, it was believed to have been uncovered as Lisa Gherardini del Giocondo wife of Francesco del Giocondo a much older silk, wool merchant in Renaissance Florence.  The work was commissioned but unfinished and unclaimed. Lisa was an extremely lovely but young bride having been married off at a babyish fifteen to Francesco who accepted a pittance of a dowry for his blushing beauty.

It is implied that Leonardo knew Lisa when she was much younger, as her home was in close proximity to da Vinci's. This also hints that it was more of favor than a commission from the silk merchant looking to mark his territory in the hierarchy of society.

Suggestions have also whispered that Leonardo's long time (rumored) lover and apprentice Gian Caprotti de Oreno served as the model for the facial features; leaving some scratching their heads in uncertainty.  Although there is another assistant/companion on record; Melzi, he did not particularly interest me ~ joining the House of da Vinci in 1506, he was the main heir to Leonardo's papers, paintings, works and majority of estate. Theirs is a relationship of less turmoil and fodder, though no less important on an historical or artistic point.

A copy of the Mona Lisa has also been unearthed in Spain with tongue waggings that it came from the Giocondo family archives. The copy was painted at the same time and has less of a veil, allowing the student to see a different background, observe subtleties such as the blanket she holds and see a brighter more defined overall portrait.  

I am no expert on the matter.  There are many other views, many other facts, arguments, accounts, and perspectives.  I cherry-picked and manipulated... remember... this is for fun... and so here we go...

It was to be an heirloom..  In the 1500s, portraits were rare and so to have one conveyed status within the nouveau riche; the merchants. Lisa Gherardini, daughter of a once wealthy family was married off to a much older silk merchant, Francesco del Giocondo.  A portrait had been commissioned to Leonardo so he could create a masterpiece. The added benefit was that Leonardo had known Lisa as she grew up not far from his own home, so it was a pleasant, special reunion, indeed.  He had been fond of her as a child into womanhood; treasured her from afar and was all too glad to spend time with the exquisite, young model.  Their conversation had been instantaneous, light, and fluent.  She loved that he sought her "unconventional womanly"  opinions and perspectives on the times in their robust, corrupt, and raucous empire.  His kind attentions were devoured, cherished and returned and although they were rarely alone due to his apprentice, Lisa was undaunted; unrestricted in her honest affections.  Gian was invisible to her; in the beginning.

It was not uncommon for an artist to have an apprentice and for more than two decades Gian Caprotti da Oreno was that to the great da Vinci.  He served as a model, companion and suggestions include a tender lover to the artist.  Salai, as Caprotti signed his own work, arrived at the House of Giocondo early; prepared the room, the supplies, the model easily; having served as one so often. He understood his mentor's moods, preferences and needs in order to create such incredible works as the world would come to know and treasure.  The two spoke not initially ~ the noble woman seeing him as less.  But as the hours and the days stretched on and they found each other in company for long periods.  Conversation was inevitable and centered around their common and favorite companion; the master.

Lisa was unsure as to when  she fell in love with Leonardo.  She may have confessed to God that it was always.  When he began to seek her out, to speak on less formal occasions and then dared to touch her hand; the married business widow melted to the core.  The union of their skin burned like the Phoenix he would send her in the few gifts he bore or the poems she wrote proclaiming her desire. Even though she sinned, she did so willingly and kept the secret from all but her God; even the trusted apprentice did not know of their torrid, passionate affair until it was too late. 

Gian matched his ward's painting stroke for stroke; creating a nearly identical copy; one he was sure would stir the kind of praise he found himself craving from his recently neglectful lover.  As Leonardo painted and worshiped the young woman, Gian became jealous; noticing all too clearly, the times that his master WOULD have gladly spent an evening with him, discussing future plans, enjoying food and drink; but now, he was put aside for this young girl who flirted shamelessly with da Vinci.  The beautiful boy lover was dejected and felt there was only one way to handle such a pathetic competitor. He began to steal again.  This was how he came to Leonardo's care in the first place.  So angelic were Salai's features, that the artist always defended, took pity and fixed whatever muck Gian created allowing the alluring young man to take spotlight on da Vinci's life's stage.  But where once he would commit petty crime and receive lavish attention, not even this seemed to put him at the forefront of Leonardo's affections.  He had no choice but to confront her.  And so as usual, he arrived early on that day, though instead of setting up, he waited.  When the young girl arrived he rushed to her and demanded that she quit the sitting, decommission the project; leaving master and apprentice to their bliss forever.  But of course she could not.  Her lover was about to discover that she was pregnant with his wonderful child, considering her husband's absence and infrequent conjugal intentions she concluded that it must be Leonardo's.  It was the reason for the blanket to be painted across her belly; to hide the beginning bump though she had declared a chill from the drafty room where they worked. Disgusted and hurt, the beautiful young man became loud and childish; throwing a tantrum of galactic proportions which in turn, brought the much older, rarely present husband exploding into the room and upon initial glance, saw only a young poor apprentice molesting an aristocratic noble woman.  The struggle wasn't much;  though it brought much volume and many crashings as the two tousled about the room.  Banished from the home, the beaten young man left, battered and shamed crawling back to the refuge of his ward's residence. 

Leonardo was embarrassed and humiliated by his charge's behavior able only to apologize profusely.  Such an incident could ruin the Master.  The husband at once declared the sitting terminated.  The artist and the model soothed and pleaded but to no avail.  The irate customer refused to be approached; perhaps shaken by more than the young apprentice's treatment of his young and lovely wife, seeing Leonardo and Lisa argue on such a passionate and united front. 

And so it was that the affair that brought so much happiness in this age of Rebirth was killed. Leonardo was not to see Lisa again nor was he to ever discover the birth of their son in 1507, Giocondo, her last child; a son she treasured until her last breath.  With the work unfinished and unclaimed, it was left to the inventive, clever maestro to create what would become the most famous painting on Earth.  He needed a model to masterfully compliment the already painted, delicate hands of his Lisa, her aristocratic lace, the delicate blanket she had insisted upon for some reason.  He used a model he knew well;  loved in his own right.  He finished Lisa with Gian's appealing, delicate face.

 The apprentice was only too elated to sit for his friend, mentor, and love.  He had defeated the enemy threatening his livelihood, life and heart; only too proud to smile about it. In the painting, it would be his eyes, nose, lips and smile destroying the impression anyone could have of it being Lisa.  He continued to work his rendition of the painting that Leonardo finally finished and secretly sent it to the family as an apology (and vindictive insult to his former nemesis)

After carrying the portrait for years, it was sold to Francois I where it would begin to captivate a people, a nation,  later a world.  It is described as innocent, lovely, and mysterious. But with such a tumultuos history, it does stir curiosities about the final portrait.  Was it the original model's gentle smile directed at her love for the child they so passionately created or was it the spiteful smirk of the jealous, childish student?



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CITATIONS:
 http://www.npr.org/2012/02/02/146288063/painting-sheds-new-light-on-the-mona-lisa
 http://arthistory.about.com/od/leonardo/ig/Art-in-The-Da-Vinci-Code/Portrait-of-Leonardo.htm
 http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2014/08/09/the-life-of-lisa-gherardini-del-giocondo-the-most-likely-real-mona-lisa.html
 http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1352915/Mona-Lisa-model-man-Was-Leonardo-da-Vincis-male-apprentice-model.html
 http://www.mrdowling.com/704-social.html
 https://www.google.com/search?q=leonardo+da+vinci&ie=utf-8&oe=utf-8&aq=t&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&client=firefox-a&channel=nts

The REAL Winter Wonderland

Ah yes, being on the east coast we heard that we were to get smacked right-hard on the fanny with some winter weather.  The original forecast called for upwards of six inches of that four letter word... S-N-O-W.  Indeed, it inspires shivers in those still frozen from the shenanigans of last winter.  I don't mind it. I don't mind shoveling it, playing in it (especially sledding ~ wooo HOOOO) I learned to drive in it so it's okay, bring it on Mama Nature.  Although it is the other insane "bread-milk-egg buyers " who fly from their driveways like an angry heard of NASCAR drivers pulling from the pits only to apply the "Rubbins Racin" attitude as they blow through lights; can't stop;  fish tail and perform a frightening ballet of icy skids and over corrections that make me a chilly skittish. The thought in their heads that: "Hurry! Hurry!  Buy all the staple foods before society collapses and the gouging street trucks rip up man-hole covers and sewer grates to create a winter gauntlet!" forces my only reply: "Yes.  It DOES look dangerous.  You SHOULD go first."  Then I usually crank up a Peter Paul and Mary Christmas song and  (as you all know) sound JUST LIKE EM.

But this did not happen.  We got rain. Awww okay. I wasn't ready for winter anyway... stupid ole Doppler Radar. Old Man Winter was getting just a few more winks before heading to work. Or so I thought.  To my surprise; however, it was not the case up at Promises.  No.  THAT is where the spanking occurred.  We were all set to head up Wednesday night and enjoy several days together away from the hubbub.  The  weather just was a little too brutal, so we waited, giving the those big gouging street machines time to bite through the snow/ice mix so we could at least SEE the gauntlet we were going to run.  Happily, I report we made it successfully and promptly treated ourselves to a Thanksgiving to beat them all.  Everyone cooked at least one dish and I must confess that I have a house full of talent.  My expand-o-pahnts were sought and happily found.

Not to side track too much, let me come back around: when we arrived we had about eight to ten inches of snow so I had to shovel.  It's my thing.  I shovel the back porch, the toddler habbi-trail and a path to the wood pile.  It was good.  My lungs burned just a little from the wind that whispered temps plunging lower than a neckline on one of Beyonce's dresses.  I shook off my shovel and came in; more than grateful for the roaring fire and the wonderful Barolo wine waiting for me.  It was perfect.  I drank deeply, not just from my wine glass and enjoyed my Winter Promises.  Today, Cheech is making sausage and I am doing some light cooking which will serve as the last for the weekend and writing.  I have two to grind up, marinate and get posted in the coming days.

 Yet Mother Nature wasn't quite finished with us.  Nope.

She sent a little snowy treat; more than a flurry less than a squall.  It was still enough for me to have to go outside and shovel some more... just the porch.  No biggie.  But we had trampled a little icy path and so I had to work a bit to get it to come up after I shoved the new stuff around.  Again, no biggie.  I welcomed the warmth under my six layers (and for those who have been up north with us... you KNOW six is not unusual) from the exercise and enjoyed a little huffing and puffing.

But when I was done? I wanted to be done.  I stopped after the last shovelful and surveyed my tiny although immensely satisfying winter wonderland.  I loved the trees with winter-white gloves and the lake with its coat of snow...

And Mother Nature blew me a kiss.  A gust of wind marched across the lake, dropping snow from the sagging branches and kicking up the fresh, loose powder from the lake into freezing cold biting white out.  It rushed across the water, up the dock and onto the porch.  Oh wait, I forgot to mention it also blasted my face, crammed flakes in between my eye lashes before I could blink, stuffed a rude number of those "not one is the same" crystals down the collar of my coat, inside my sleeves and packed a few extras around my nekkid little ankles; almost drowning my appendages in aching gnawing flakes. Brain freeze that sprung a leak and got out...  Imagine getting caught in front of a snow blower that is cutting out the deepest drift in your driveway. Yeah. AWESOME is right.

And yet I saved my daughter who was almost an iThing zombie until she saw the great white cloud swoop up the porch, beat up her mom and escape over the roof leaving me stiff, bright red and pulling a "Randy" from a Christmas Story "Help me RALPHIE.. I can't ... GEDDUUUUUP!" .  She almost fell off the couch laughing at me which was the instant call to her brother to jump up into the doorway and watch as the woman who carried him for nine months was turned into an instant snowman.  I am grateful to God that he was able to stay upright by leaning on the door jam once the laughter started.

Thank you children.  I am fine.  My  blood has crystals, my eyes won't close and let's not discuss what is the actual content of the icicles dangling from my nose but thank you for asking.  And no, I'm not going to write you out of the will but to receive your inheritance, you will have to perform the equivalent of a keg-stand with a Slurpy machine stationed inside a butcher's walk-in while cloaked in cheesecloth as a ski-resort snow machine blows in from the doorway.  Oh and did I mention everyone in attendance will be in the warm room BEYOND said walk-in, sipping my favorite grog?

Stupid snow.
Dumb Winter.

Oh... wait... SLEDDING?

I'm totally in, let me get my gear... 


I hope that your travels were and will be safe on this holiday weekend.  May you enjoy those that mean the most, laugh uncontrollably and relish a good food coma while crammed into those pants that truly love you and "forgive" if you overeat.  Welcome to the holi-daze.  Get ready. 

I'll see you soon.  Thanks for spending some of your precious time with me.  I appreciate your thinking to stop here.

The Strength to Choose

Sitting quietly allowing silence to gluttonously fill the spaces between them, she wiggles her toes under a thin but warm blanket.  She turns to look at his still thick, dark and curly hair smiling at how handsome he still is after all this life together.  He's sitting on her right, the side where she hears him the best; so thoughtful.  Now he hangs his head looking forlorn and... frightened? No, Devin has never been afraid in their life.  He's held her hand and marched through the fires of Hell to get them to such a wonderful place together; one she'd thought she would never have again.  She is grateful that he saved her. With a sigh, she turns back, to the window against which a tall white haired man leans.  He does not speak.  He does not look frightened.  He's simply there and she's happy to see him.  He has brought an extra beat to her heart and a warmth she had forgotten.

"I love you" Mia whispers to the room.  Most of her comments have been reduced to that; whispers; aggravating little wisps of air failing to convey her colorful passionate... vavoom.  That was what she was; what she had ~ VaVOOM.  She laughed a little too loudly, drank a little too much, enjoyed a good dirty joke, cared for many and cared not if they told her she was inappropriate.  She was dynamic and fun with an ability to listen to problems and somehow, with just a few words,  provide the strength and encouragement to move above it, around it... to survive it. She was supportive and loving.  Now, her voice, her vavoom and her life have been reduced to a whisper.  The two men smile privately, ignoring each other. 

Machines beep and hum as cords replace her once vibrant outfits.  A plain pale blue blanket  the only thing remotely close to a shock of color on the now frail woman.  The mechanical spaghetti seems to capture her like a web; demanding to be moved in order to touch her, which both men longed to do.  No one speaks.  There is no polite conversation  between the gentlemen but they were painfully aware of each other.  Mia drifts off to a busy sleep filled with twitches and scratching though she barely feels this thanks to the medication from one of the chirping menaces.

Devin stands, leaning over his Mia to smooth her hair.  He whispers softly to her of their years together, remembering for her the passionate nights of her hands on his skin and how she called his name in the night.  He recalls the trips they took and the laughter that swallowed countless days.  As if childishly telling a secret, he leans in even closer and reminds her of her promise to him; to be there.

Without a word, Mia opens her eyes to focus, smiling and bringing his hand to her mouth.  She gently kisses it.  He traces her cheek and now dry, thin lips.  Her affection still raises the hair on his arms.  He blinks back tears and says "Please choose me"  Without a glance toward the window, he wipes his eyes, hangs his head and tucks his hands into his pockets.  He aches to feel her arm through his as he turns and walks out into the hall.  There is a pang of guilt salted with anger at their choice to ignore the headaches- their increasing frequency and intensity until now.  He regrets listening to her reassurances and dismissals of getting them checked out ~ until too late.  But maybe he could have just a little more time.

The man at the window watches the traffic glide by; undaunted, uncaring, ignorant to the burning in his chest as he waits; for his turn. Marcus told himself he wouldn't grovel or beg.  It was unbecoming of a gentleman. But to see her and want only to hold her close, care for her and make the pain that has robbed him of his only love's vavoom; making it stop; for good.  He understood Devin's selfishness.  He was young (-er) and afraid.  There was a time when Marcus was the same way.  But no more.  No, with age came wisdom and he ultimately knows what is best for Mia.  He steps to her left and takes his turn to persuade.  He whispers her name for the first time in more than two decades.

She hears him and welcomes the warm tingling fire surging under her skin.  It is startling and wonderful.  Her smile is as deep as the flush rushing to her cheeks.

"Oh Marcus.  You came."

"Of course I did."

"You silly old fart.  Why did you do that?" she scolds but huffs a giggle or so he thinks; painfully unsure.

"Because Mia.  It's time to choose."

"Choose? I don't want to choose." she pouts and the respirator puffs in accordance.

"Mia." his voice drawls out softly as the most gentle reproach.  She looks away hoping Devin is there to save her and take her side.  "It isn't fair Mia; to anyone."

"Me. What's fair to me?"  this causes the little lights on her mechanical friends to skip and jump; summoning a nurse to peek in.

"Miss Mia?" the voice is concerned.

The small woman waves and puts her thumb up.  "All good Carrie.  Sorry. I must have gotten tangled in my myself."

The nurse smiles and checks her patient's vitals, moving wires and straightening things.  She brushes passed the white haired man saying nothing.  He has backed up so she can take care of his love.  He returns to her side when the machines settle down and the nurse has drifted out.

"Fair?" he starts again.  "Mia.  Fair is painless."

This sparks the first tear.  It is hot and stings her cheek.  She angrily wipes it away and glares at him.  Another follows and another.  Her smile collapses as she becomes obsessed with ridding her face of the wet salty assailants.  "No. No. Stop." she commands but she is losing the battle.  Marcus takes her hands and kisses away her villains.  Then, he bends, allowing his warriors to meet hers.  He wraps her in his arms and holds her as tightly as the wires, the blankets and the cancer will allow.  She relaxes in his embrace.  His heart is breaking; again.  But not as badly as the first time he left her.  He pulls away and looks into her gentle green eyes, clouded with medication and pain. His breath is ragged and trips over all the things he wants to say to her.  It is not time yet.  She has to choose.  And so with all the strength he has left, he stands and blows her a kiss.  

"My heart is yours Mia.  I will love you  this much regardless of the choice you make. " And he raises her fragile, cool fingers to his heart covering it with his own. 

Her mouth falls open and there are new tears; unstoppable and steady. "Marcus." she pleads and clutches his hand; feeling the beat of his heart.  Her eyes close and she greedily absorbs the rhythm in his chest.  "Please.  I'm so afraid."  Her breath sounds like a brittle Autumn wind; crackly and dry. Her bones are heavy and hold her prisoner.  She wants to strike him; hold him.  She knows now.  The choice is clear.  Marcus puts her hand down and walks away.  Through the door.  He uses the wall to support himself.  His knees are threatening to give out.  His chest is heaving with sobs and he fights the urge to scream.

Across from him stands Devin.  He is cradling his head in his hands; shoulders shaking as he cries.

Marcus begins to walk slowly down the hall. 

There is commotion and a screaming ~ a steady whine.  Marcus does not look up.  He does not stop.  

Devin is up and bolts for the door crying Mia's name.  Nurses and doctors hustle in behind him.  The machines are warning them; no telling them, it's over.  She has made her choice.  Mia's second husband is led to a chair where the pain crushes him. He is lost.  He has lost.  Holding her hand, he kisses and begs but she cannot hear him; anymore.

"Marcus?"

The ghost stops in the hall.  He turns to see the most beautiful woman he ever loved standing for the first time in months.  She holds the wall, unable to understand that she can walk now.  Her hand reaches for him. 

"It doesn't hurt." she whispers glancing cautiously around as if it is said too loudly all will rush back as a horrendous punishment.

"No. It will never hurt again."  he smiles and wiggles his fingers, beckoning for her to join him.

Mia hesitates and then, like a child, discovers the strength to move.  Her soul warms.  She smiles as he hugs her for the first time since his death.  Turning to look back, she sees Devin standing in the doorway looking at her; hurt and confused.

"Mia?" his voice is wounded.  "I love you. Will you be all right now? Better?"

"I will." she cries still walking with Marcus toward a warmer, brighter haven.

"You were strong Darling.  I miss you." and his voice breaks as does his heart.

But she is gone; having made the only choice she could.


Well, we all need a good cry now and then.  I cried when I wrote this, edited, proofed and finally let it go.  Whew.  I guess my heart needed a sweeping out.  I have extra tissues if you need them.  Thanks for keeping me company.  I like seeing you here.

 

It Never Occured

I just ran.  I gulped at the air and felt it singe my lungs; grateful for the pain.  I pumped my arms until I thought I would punch my own mouth and I'd have welcomed the bruised or bloody lip.  I heard one word spewing in a ragged pant from my mouth in a panicked verbal chain:

movemoveMOVEMOVE!!!!!!!

I did not look back ~ I would never look back again.  My mind scrambled to wad up what I had seen; tearing through the images as if they were pornographic pictures tucked inside a Doctor Seuss book. I wanted; no NEEDED, to forget what happened.

The streets tried to choke me with random trash cans, narrow bending streets and barking dogs forcing me to jump and juke on top of my already raw, fragile state.  I hopped curbs and took side streets to make it back home.  I just wanted to be home; in my bed, under my blankets with all the lights on and the doors locked; then maybe I could cry.  My porch light softly winked between breezy branches and drifting leaves like a buoy bobbing in a sea of fear and evil; dark.... drowning.  I half laughed as I hit the door, fumbled the keys and let myself in.  I locked it; four more times.  I slapped the switch and extinguished any flicker of welcoming glow outside because I wanted NO visitors...at this point... EVER AGAIN and pulled the drapes.  I grunted and gasped as I stumbled around to close them all, lock the back and check the front once more for good measure.  Finally, I knelt next to the couch, resting my head, not wanting to risk signs of life or movement from the street with my shadow. I felt my heart settle into my throat with a slightly more regular rhythm.  I was able to command my hands to rest on my knees in that balled up position wedged between an end table and the side of my couch.  I began the task of collecting myself.

She was dead; my friend Shannon.  My brain chose to flash memories of us laughing, telling secrets and crying together from the more than fifteen years that made up our friendship.  I cupped my mouth and felt the hot stone of loss expand under my ribs.  Part of me wanted it to explode out of my chest, then the pain and fear would be there for all to see. "Have at it folks! I'll gladly share" I thought cynically.  The sobs stabbed at me like thick wrenching hiccups.  The tears could barely squeak out passed my squinched eyes.  I bit my cheek to stop the scream that bubbled at the base of my throat.

There was nothing left to do but wait.

Slowly, calm edged in, returning to me like a slow creeping tide as did the understanding of what had to be done.  I was amazed by the crisp matter-of-factness and clarity with which the solution presented itself.  "Of course.  I see." I mumbled to my own company and found strength to rise, move and prepare.  I felt an urgency knowing the opportunity would all too soon arrive.  I was right.

The knob jiggled.  The shadow rocked back and forth, trying to peek around the drapes, followed by a harsh whisper.

"Harper!" came the hiss.

I swiped my hand along my moist upper lip and took hold of the door handle.  That sense of calm glazed over me and made me numb.  I opened the door to the most horrible evil I had ever known.  My boyfriend Eric stood on my porch hugging himself.  He shook as I had.  I smelled it immediately; Shannon's blood.  I sucked in my lips to hold back the sick stirring in my belly. 

"Eric"

"Let me in." he said, brushing by me; carelessly; not tenderly as he had always done before.  There was no kiss hello, no hug.  Just a shove and he was there; pacing and bloody inside my home.  I closed the door.

"Eric.  You can't stay here."

"The Hell I can't. Get me some clothes.  These are ruined."  He pulled at his grey tee shirt that was now smeared brown and growing stiff as my friend's blood dried.  The stench of warm pennies cloyed at my nostrils.  I sniffed and looked away. 

"You will look funny in my Hello Kitty nightshirt." I said coolly and sat down in the chair, smiling slightly as he mirrored my actions and sat at the edge of the couch folding his maroon crusted hands between his knees.

"Sit with me."  he patted the cushion next to him.  I slowly shook my head.  He looked wounded. "Why not?"

"You know why Eric.  Don't you?  Look at yourself.  Don't you understand what you've done?"

He was silent looking down at the floor letting his long fingers tap each other like bloody dancing spiders.

"What I've done." his voice was flat.  The hair raised on the back of my neck at its tone.  I smoothed the front of my jeans and tucked my hands in the sides of the chair as if sitting on them.  I felt comfort at the blade's playful bite on my fingertips.  

"What I've done." he said again; and again.  It became almost a chant.  His voice sounded distant and tight.  I wondered if he had spoken to Shannon that way before he killed her; smashing her head with a rock after crushing her windpipe with his bare hands and bashing her repeatedly against the ground .  I shivered as the sound of Shannon's blood soaked hair clapped against the dirt echoed in my ears.  Such senseless violence.

"Why Eric?"  The moment the words left my mouth I knew it was a mistake.  My body stiffened in anticipation.

"WHY?" he hysterically squeaked jumping from his seat.  He was in front of me before my eyes could focus.  His breath was salty and sour; hot on my cheeks.  He grunted through gritted teeth.  "You don't remember?  You lie to yourself as much as you lie to me Harper?"  he tilted his head side to side like a puppy failing to understand a command.  

"Eric" I said softly, soothingly in an attempt to hold this madman on my side of sanity.   "She was my friend.  I loved her like a sister.  I wouldn't ever want anything bad to happen to her." My eyes found his and I willed him to understand and feel my hurt; the hurt he caused

He rocked forward, our foreheads almost clunking.  My fingers clutched the knife so tightly they ached but still, I hesitated.  Maybe I wanted to believe he didn't do this; that we could still love each other.

Eric leaned in, his full lips that used to drive me crazy, almost kissing me; playfully.  He smiled sweetly and traced my mouth.  I tasted metal and felt my mouth quiver in sadness, revulsion. His fingers cupped my chin and tilted my face to see him and with a childish giggle he said it.

"You did this."

My eyebrows raised and I felt my jaw drop.  My hand did what it was supposed to and jutted forward with the knife.  The blade struck his sternum and I just yanked down and pushed in farther when the resistance stopped. The cut was deep and long.   His blood covered Shannon's and cascaded thickly into a pool on my floor.  I never moved.  I just kept cutting.  He grabbed my hands and tried to pull them out but I was strong.  I held my ground.  Mine and Shannon's.  He frowned and mewled like a kitten.  He crumpled to the floor and I simply let the knife cut whatever flesh it came into contact with as he did.  I sat there holding it for several minutes and listened for him to stop gurgling; living.  Still clutching the weapon I dialed the police.

They came and flapped notebooks at me, asked questions. I barely heard them.  I just stared at the floor.  Why would Eric do this?  I shook my head in dazed confusion.  I couldn't imagine.  I cried then.  They took me to the hospital, checked me out all the while asking more questions.  I was finally allowed to go home around lunch the following day.  They would contact me soon.  Their voices were soft and gentle.  They wanted to understand what had happened but since Eric was dead, they had to tell me we might never know. They apologized and looked at the ground almost embarrassed.

That was fucking fabulous news to me.  I had to put on the weak, scared little girl act for a while longer but I would triumph and emerge as the strongest young woman they had ever met.  I was certainly stronger than that cheating bastard Eric or my slutty fake bitch friend Shannon ever dreamed.  Did they really think I wouldn't figure them out?  The pathetic fact that they thought I wouldn't DO anything about it dumbfounded me.  Even after I asked, warned them... they really left me no choice.  I knew he loved her more than me when he cradled her dead body there in the woods rocking back and forth whining her name.  She had thrown me for a loop by calling him and telling him we were meeting out there at the old quarry to make amends.  But I was faster, smarter... than either of them.  I won.  So I will wear black and cry off my make up; be an Oscar winning actress and then go on; find a new BFF and a perfect boyfriend almost as if

It Never Occurred.


Well, I'm not thrilled but I did at least break the block.  All things considered, it DID feel good to finish and have enough twists and turns to create that pouty "Hmmph" nod as I edited and prepped it.  I am happy to see you came back and stayed with me for a bit.  Your company is always comforting.  Dare I say we could be BFFs? LOL

I hope you are having a nice week.  I will try to rework a couple of the fragments I have hidden away.  

See you soon.
Much love,
Tessa