FirstLineFiction beta

from Contest #9

It was the thing he'd always loved about her. That she left him at the Alter – he came so close to truly being the luckiest man on earth. But she fluttered away nimbly as a hummingbird. So he resigned to the rumors and the gnawing truth in his heart: that a woman as wildly beautiful as Flor would never settle down to the likes of him.

That day, Henry was too defeated to resist being the laugh about town. He kept his eyes on his folded hands as he listened to the apologizing guests, the well wishing friends offering encouragement or repudiation. And what made his botched wedding even more precious was his burly father making the rounds in a traditional Scottish kilt. Nobody dared besmirched Big Paul MacEwen no matter what he was wearing – no matter who showed up his son.

“Aw, don’t worry lad. She’ll come back. They always do.”

“Thanks, Dad. But I’m okay.” Henry loosened his bowtie. “I could go for a Dewar’s, though.”

“That’s ma boy!”

Their laughter reverberated in the arches and aisles of Queen Of Angels church as they departed for the nearest watering hole. Henry put up such a good show for his father’s sake, that by the end of the evening he was as drunk and exhausted as he expected he would be on his wedding day. Only the night ended with loneliness instead of euphoria. He knew his father was wrong – she got away.

For several months Henry preoccupied himself with work, women and whiskey. It was a paltry alternative because regardless of what he achieved, what she looked like or what condition he was in, they were all part of his fruitless search. His quest for Flor’s affection, her soft giggles and fierce laughter, her long, auburn locks that curled at the ends and her half closed eyes that always appeared to be filled with clouds.

The more time passed, the less he could forget. He found himself chasing apparitions – a woman in the same dress, a scent trail of her perfume. In the times between distractions he pondered all the possibilities for her desertion. Did he love too little – working extra hours to secure a comfortable future? Did he love too much – proposing in the middle of Grand Central Station surrounded by his father’s battalion of Scottish bagpipes and drums?

Every day since she fluttered away, Henry would stare into the morning paper, drinking his coffee in his suit and tie, hoping to stumble on some news that would provide explanation. But there was nothing. That was until the day Flor’s mother showed up.

On what would have been a first wedding anniversary, Pilar Gabriel Medina marched into the office of Lawson & Dunbar, where Henry was working his way up as a financial analyst. In a smart cream-colored suit, her small figure looked weighted down with her parcels. Armed with a box full of homemade Pastel de Natas and a thermos of strong coffee, she was escorted into a private office to see Henry. As she waited she hoped to see that time had diluted the hurt her daughter caused him

“Surely, a man as handsome and successful as you hasn’t given a second thought about that foolish daughter of mine,” Pilar said.

Henry wanted to say that he honestly didn’t. Instead he asked, “Have you heard from Flor at all?”

And with that he revealed his torment. Pilar was not a stranger to it. She raised three children on her own, because their father was a worthless charmer. With virtually no talent other than integrity she pulled herself and her family clear of the debris. How could she have known that one of her children would inherit the knack of spreading disaster? Pilar’s expression saddened.

“Henry,” she said sternly, “you mustn't carry that torch. It gets you nothing but trouble. She’s a gypsy, like her father and they care about nobody. They give you joy but not happiness because happiness for them is making you miserable.”

She plucked the words out of the deepest thoughts in his mind. He kept his eyes on his folded hands and used all his strength to remain a man and keep from crying. But Pilar was a seasoned woman. Before the dam had time to break she reached over and ran her thumb over his eyebrow – something Flor used to do

“Hurry up and marry somebody. Anybody. It’s the only way to break the spell.”

It took six months, but Henry did manage to get married. Michelle was nothing like Flor – Michelle was comfortable. And as Pilar had promised, it seemed the spell was broken. She omitted to tell him, however, that his spirit would be broken, too. But she figured he wouldn’t miss it and that it was better to live in idle complacency than in tortured desire.

Henry and Michelle were an amicable couple that produced life in a time line: the house, the kids, the promotions that led to a bigger house for the bigger kids and more stuff to become the crux of their conversations: “Honey, will you take the girls to the bake sale – Yes, did you remember to buy the cake pans – No, but I’ll get them when I pick up the tickets for the game – Oh, forgot to tell you I have a meeting on Saturday –”

It was the morning of their thirteenth anniversary. As usual, Henry drank his coffee and scanned through the newspaper in his suit and tie, although this day he was subjected to hear Michelle’s dinner plans for them.

“Reservations are for six pm,” he heard Michelle say. Henry finished the financial news and folded the paper. “Let’s shoot for five-thirty so we can have a cocktail on the patio...” she continued as he picked up the National section. He skipped the front-page story – an ongoing murder trial in Knoxville, Tennessee. He looks guilty, Henry thought. He turned to page three and noticed a related story of a murder trial titled, “Cold Beauty Sentenced”.

He studied the color photo insert of the prisoner. In an orange prison jumpsuit, her long auburn tresses were tied in a ponytail. Her back was towards the camera and her face was towards the ground, the only flesh Henry was given to drink in were her slender arms. He traced them with his finger and felt resurrected.

Suddenly, he stood to leave. Stopping in mid-sentence, Michelle watched him tuck the newspaper into his briefcase. As he silently straightened his tie and smoothed his hair, she wondered if he had listened to a word she said.

“You’re going to make it tonight, right Henry? I’ve been planning this evening for weeks.”

“Of course. Have I ever stood you up?”

Michelle smiled back, satisfied. She helped him with his jacket and buttoned the two over his slightly stout belly for which she received a kiss on the cheek. It would be the last time she saw him as the man she married.

Henry wasted no time seeking as much information as he could on the “Cold Beauty” – and there wasn’t much. She had been convicted of murdering her boyfriend. Although she had evaded the death penalty, she received life for poisoning him.

She had stated that she did not regret her actions and nothing more, which inevitably earned her the label as “Cold Beauty”.

Henry had to see her.

The rest of his day was spent in making arrangements to fulfill this wish. That evening, as planned, he met Michelle for dinner.

“What’s got into you,” she gasped when he announced he would be leaving her. He was invincible and nothing she said could deter his decision. He felt a detached pleasure seeing her go through the same phases he had gone through so long ago. Her disbelief, her anger and then her resignation – as if she always knew this were coming.

In all of three months they became strangers. Even his daughters, who were already preoccupied with tween socializing, rarely spoke to him. Am I that easy to forget, he wondered? But as his father used to say, “The tree doesn’t always fall at the first stroke...unless it has no roots,” and Henry had no roots in this family. Now that he was fallen, he was free and felt light – as a hummingbird.

He felt an unusual serenity all the way to Gatesville, Texas where the Warden coordinated his visit to see Flor. The irritable guards at Mountainview Unit gave him no trouble despite their mood. They checked his driver’s license, his pockets and his shoes and secured all of his belongings allowing him to take only a Ziploc bag of quarters for the vending machine. Finally he waited in a moderate sized room devoid of color. The gray concrete and even grayer uniforms of the dozen guards who went about their job with grim expressions could make an audit from the IRS seem cheery.

Flor was escorted in shortly. She was visibly thinner with hallowed cheeks and a protruding jawbone that made her appear sickly. Her hair was cropped short and unflattering with straight lines, like a man’s. But underneath the wear and made more potent with time, Henry could still detect the wildness that he once tried to contain.

The guards unceremoniously released her handcuffs and sat her down. She looked up and faced him with her half-closed eyes that were now vacant of clouds.

“Hello, ‘enry.”

He remembered how her Brazilian accent only came through when she called his name. Henry’s lips tightened and he stiffened to the answer of a long asked question. “So you do remember me.”

“Oh, don’t be unreasonable, love. How could I possibly forget?”

The words in her voice soothed the uncertainty of years past, though it was far too late. Henry looked into her hardened face and he wasn’t quite convinced that it was made that way just being in prison.

“What’ve you been up to?” He asked as gently as he could. He felt as if he were cornering a wild animal. She would either be provoked to strike back or cower down.

“Oh, you know...this and that. Survival mostly.”

Judging by her circumstance, he had to wonder what hell she faced in prison to survive. You wouldn’t be in here if you had let me take care of you! Was what he thought, instead he asked, “Did you think that you wouldn’t survive with me?”

She laughed her fierce laughter and caught the guards by surprise. It took a few minutes before they deemed the situation “under control” and when they stood down, she and Henry finally relaxed. They smiled a familiar look at each other.

“I did not...mean...to hurt you,” she said softening her voice. “I’m sorry, ‘enry.”

“Don’t – I can’t accept your apology while you’re in here...in this God awful, stinking place for criminals. How could you, Flor? How could you wind up here of all places?”

“Oh, my love...” she sighed and sat back and twisted her arms like a little girl. Ironically, she revealed the dark bruises on her upper arms obtained by one rough encounter or another with the guards. And the lines on her face deepened as she strained to explain it all.

“I wonder that myself, all the time. How did I get caught – I’m ashamed, really. I was always afraid of being trapped...trapped in a car, trapped in a room –”

“Trapped in a marriage?”

She nodded and laughed. “Yes, I suppose. But I’m trapped for good now – so, tell me how are things with you? How is that giant of a father of yours?”

Henry’s gaze trailed off and fixed to a crack in the wall when she mentioned his father.

“He died last year,” Henry whispered. “He was furious at you until the bitter end. But he’s Scottish. They’re always furious.”

“You mean, they love to be furious and you are no different Mr. Henry MacEwen.”

“FIVE MINUTES,” yelled the exceptionally surly guard. Henry thought of all he could do to keep Flor from having to go back through those gates but he thought to himself what he knew throughout his visit, she’s at home, now.

“Well, maybe we love the ones that make us furious.” He said.

“Then...it’s what you will always love about me. Goodbye ‘enry.”

She stood to go but he didn’t look up. He heard her being handcuffed and escorted away and he kept his eyes on his folded hands the whole time.

back to Contest #9