Chapter 1
To Ray Else
I still feel the surge of Milan’s love when he took my hand into his, shoved them into the pocket of his shabby leather coat and locked our fingers in a skin tight bond.
I still feel the blast of his breath on my face, his subtle body of a dancer folding over mine when we made love in the glitter of the iced-over mill wheel at the Devil’s Island stripping bare two lovers blending into one.
We should have feared the name of our love grounds; we should have seen the storm clouds gathering on our horizon forecasting a boding evil closing up on us, we should have listened to the chiming of the church bells reminding us of the passing time. They were tolling for us.
Last night I dreamt I was at the Devil’s Island again waiting for someone, waiting for something; waiting in vain. Mr. Milan regrets he can’t love me tonight. He died of a broken heart in a stagy melodrama with me as the leading lady and him in the true lover’s supporting part. It was a close to a perfect art house story; its only flaw was that I entered into my part so deep that I became what I should have just performed; a mishap that made my urge for love confusingly similar to my need of easy living.
Last night I dreamt I was at the Devil’s Island again; my ground zero after our love’s explosion. I crossed the bridge shutting my eyes before our love’s miscarried fetus spewing the promises I didn’t keep into the blooded water surrounding the island.
Last night I dreamt I was at the Devil’s Island again to scream my breach of love loud enough for Milan to hear and take his love away from me before it killed him. Milan didn’t hear. Milan couldn’t hear. His heart blew out under the clang of the Wedding March when my easy living’s provider walked me down the aisle and I made die the only man whose love I have ever craved for. A barefaced lie! All I have ever craved for was to be loved without loving in return as love is a high interest loan that my bankrupt heart could not honor.
Last night I dreamt I was at the Devil’s Island again, weighed down by my easy living, to patch up my tattered life with a romance of two lovers walking hand in hand into the sunset shown at the Open- Air Cinema. The program must have been changed tonight as they gave an art house drama about love propelled from the sweetness of kisses into the bitterness of tears, a sentimental journey lapsing into a horror trip.
I went into the projection room to claim my right on a Hollywood movie scheduled for tonight. Alas the film ran on automatic so there was no staff responsible for this mishap.
Last night I was at the Devil’s Island again to laugh at love lolling in the comfort of my mink. Blinded by the sparkle of my diamond ring, my neck-breaking Louboutin’s stiletto heels got caught in the breach in the wooden bridge leading to our former love grounds. I staggered, my feet lost ground, I went overboard, down and down into the blooded river landing in the ever-ready Milan’s arms.
In spring two water-lilies, woven into one blossom, rose to the surface under the old mill’s wheel; one blood red, the other pristine white.
The body of the missing spouse was not found. The diamond ring was rescued by the divers and returned to its rightful owner.
The smothered with mud mink was brought up from under the rotten branches of a willow tree. It couldn’t be reestablished to his glory and was burned with the other trash in the city heating plant. A speck of its dust landed in the eye of the missing wife’s spouse when he walked hand in hand with his fiancée to enjoy a lovely spring day. It made him shed the only tear he ever had for his dear departed.
Epilogue: the only ever-lasting loves are those we lost.
