Because of events that followed, she remembers all these long years later, what she was wearing that night. Feeling lovely….and yes, that meant something to her, because of all the time before in that failed marriage, when, under her husband’s critical eye, she just….simply…..didn’t measure up.
A soft blue knee length Indian cotton dress, full sleeved, tight at the wrists and swirling skirt, with fine long cotton pants underneath….Indian style. Turquoise embroidered satin slippers, fine silver bangles, necklace and earrings with delicate beveled pink crystal drops…..very, very feminine.
Long, wavy hair, perfumed with oil of Myrhh. Eyes softly smudged with Kohl.
She feels the pressure building, waiting to see if she’s right, if it really is him…..
And then he’s there, pushing through the door…..bold and shy at the same time….walking in amongst all the Hippies, smelling of whisky and petrol, cigarettes, sweat and his own strong male scent, clad in dirty jeans, so well worn they hold the shape of his body, a tee shirt with sleeves rolled right back, cigarette pack shoved into one sleeve….thick straight shoulder length dark brown hair, slightly lightened by the sun, heavy boots dusty from the road.
Intoxicating Masculinity!!!
She feels weak, hands trembling, wanting to claim him on the spot, fearful she’s wrong, that she’s imagined the energy pulsing between them. Face split in a wide ferocious smile, white teeth gleaming, he moves gracefully between groups squatting on the floor, passing the ever present bong to and fro…..filling, smoking, cleaning and refilling. It’s a full time job, but everybody’s happy.
He comes and sits down across the table from her, where a group of people are playing cards, smiles at her, calls her by her family pet name “Blossom”, gets involved, shuffles, deals, playing poker. She drinks whisky, gets drawn in and out of stories and conversations, and all the while, watches him, her body humming with pleasure.
Pleasure in watching his beautifully deft hands, his curved fingernails, the blue veins standing out in hands and arms against his smooth brown skin. And when his face is turned away, looking down at the card play, studies his face…..sunbrowned, high broad cheekbones, slightly slanted amber eyes, a wide full lipped mouth…..slightly asiatic.
Drawing his face, as she’s drawn people so often, but without pen and paper she draws him still, every broad plane, blue vein, graceful hands, muscled arms, shoulders…..sketching in vivid detail with her eyes. He looks up, catches her watching him and smiles….that wide….face splitting, pirate’s smile.
Nothing else exists in that crowded, sweaty, tropical, smoke hazed room, but him, standing out in sharp relief as everyone else fades into the background.

MA©️. Winter 2018
To be continued