Red
Red hair. Such pretty hair. Wish she would look at me. She’s staring at her date.
As she spoke to her date, he turned away. He glared at her image in the window and clenched his fork.
She’s trying to convince him of something. I can’t tell what. He looks like he’s ready to attack her.
The man stabbed at his meat, still refusing to look at the woman who was pleading with him. He continued to only look at her image framed by the dim lights that draped along the edges of the window.
She’s noticing it too. She looks terrified. Surely he wouldn’t attack her in such a public place?
The woman said something else, and the man sprung to his feet. He raised his arm as if to strike her
Cerise. Crimson. Carmine. Coquelicot.
but instead turned and walked out the door.
The woman had turned pale and stared at her image in the window. She looked relieved to not see the man’s image across from her own.
“Can I sit with you? It looks like your date has turned sour.
That man was no gentleman.”
“Yes, I like to think of myself as a gentleman. Can I just say, you have the most beautiful hair I’ve ever seen.”
Our conversation starts out trivial. Filled with mostly me complimenting her, trying to cheer her up. She seems so sad. She keeps applying lipstick. Over and over and over, until her lips become such a pale pink that I fear they will disappear altogether.
But as the night progresses, I see the sadness start to dissipate. She starts looking at me in the eyes instead of at the window. The laugh lines that graze her face dig deeper as I tell her about my pet chameleon.
I take a sip from my glass. The amber liquid burns my throat. Scorches it. But I can’t say no. I don’t want to.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
I kneel down beside her. We are sitting at the same table at the same restaurant where we first met. I open the rose-colored box and display what’s inside.
“Be with me. Forever. I’ll get you far away from your crazy ex. We’ll move to Puerto Rico and have ten kids and grow old together. We’ll paint our house a crazy color. Maroon. Coral. Ruby. We’ll nestle our toes in the sand, and watch our grandkids build sand castles. We’ll learn Spanish and eat fried plantains. We’ll dance in the moonlight. Whatever you want. Just be with me forever.”
I can’t believe the nod and smile that she gives me. I kiss those lips, now the color of lava. Against her pale skin it looks like her lips are too hot to touch. I kiss her anyway.
My lips are scorched. So much fire. So much pain. But I can’t say no. I don’t want to.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
“I don’t understand. You can’t do this. He’ll kill you this time. You can’t go back to him!”
Cerise. Crimson. Carmine. Coquelicot.
“Why are you doing this? Can’t you see that he’s just manipulating you? Cerise. Crimson…”
Carmine. Coquelicot.
“Don’t leave! Please! I can’t do this without you. Remember when we met here? He had just left you. He was about to hit you in public! What’s going to stop him from doing again and again in private? You know I would never ever hurt you. I love you. Can’t you see that?
I reach out and grab her arm as she gets up to leave. I think that I grab softly, but the imprints of my fingers remain on her pale skin as she walks past. Scarlet lines that seem to mock me as they remain emblazoned on her skin. They can remain with her when I cannot.
Cerise. Crimson. Carmine. Coquelicot.
Cerise. Crimson. Carmine. Coquelicot.
Cerise. Crimson. Carmine. Coquelicot.
So much fire. So much pain. But I can’t say no. I don’t want to.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
“Poor guy. Every night he comes in here, and every night he has the same one-sided conversation. Can’t tell if he’s crazy or what,” the waitress tells another customer.
“Cerise! Crimson! Carine! Coquelicot!”
I know people are staring at me. But if I keep talking, maybe someday she’ll come back. Maybe someday.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
“Can I sit with you? It looks like your date has turned sour.
That man was no gentleman.”
