Lost
in Love
By:
Sarah Hoyt
Chic
and uncomfortably modern this uptown apartment holds in the sounds of
a young woman's obsessive crying. A worrisome sound echoes from
behind the brilliant frosted glass shower door. With her knees to
her chest with the only comfort of her arms embrace, this soaking wet
young woman in her thirties bares the epic expression of heart break.
Her marathon of sadness is cut short by the sound of polite knocking
at her bathroom door. From the other end of this wooden barrier the
only sounds heard was that of the shower being silenced and that of
physics from the opening and closing of the magnetic shower door. He
stood there this man in a tuxedo, this man of comfort, this older man
of eloquence and wisdom. His face bares the expression of concern and
understanding. Only guessing what's taking place on the other side
of the door. The search for truth and strength, standing in front of
this fogged picturesque mirror she stares at herself as if staring in
the eyes of a stranger. Sizing up this person in the reflection,
wandering what type of person they are. Finally grabbing a hold of
her composure with a mask of confidence and absolute acceptance of
all that has taken place over the last month. Realizing that those
tears that were washed away with her body scrub were in fact the only
evidence needed, it was real. What she felt for this man, this Mr.
Wonderful whom fate dropped in her lap unexpectedly, the feelings,
the emotions, the joy and the LOVE, it was all real. A concept that
up until then was very new to her. Letting out her final sigh this
young woman steps out of her bathroom with the taste of artificial
confidence in her mouth which pairs very well with the glass of a red
blend which was handed to her by the well groomed middle aged poet of
the city.
“You
are welcome,” he says with his British accent.
Closing
her bedroom door, she goes to ready herself for the evening of all
evenings. Within a blink she reappears in front of him in formal
attire, Cinderellaesque with a modern Venetian touch. Still without
the right words, she receives a reassuring kiss on her head and the
two leave.
Despite
the sounds of the city: the Rolls Royce driving through traffic,
mixed voices of an entire city carrying on with their lives and yet
with all this distraction she found herself composed in a wandering
state of mind. Composed because she knows that she can't settle on an
emotion, should she be relieved because now she's the women she was
meant to be, distraught from the loss of true love, angry because he
should've understood and he should've came back. Glancing over at her
friend, in search for some form of relief she asks,
“What
am I suppose to feel CK?” she asks with great severity.
“Welcome
to the world, Kristine, the biggest conflict in human history is that
between the head and the heart.” he says with sympathetic words.
Mass
emotion, turning through the past and present all comes to a sudden
halt as the car arrives, the doors to a grand room are opened and the
masquerade begins. Over a hundred masks are seen, that of animal,
saint and sinner alike all bearing various emotions as if her late
father's charity event was being hosted in the vast privacy of her
mind. A familiar hand grabs hers and she's swiftly moved to the
sounds of orchestral strings with an uptown sound. Whirled into a
waltz she finds herself following the lead of her best friend, who
in his own Jerry O'Connor style. Managing to pull off his peacock
styled tuxedo Felix holds her close and gives her two words that
instantly recalled every single tear that was shed.
“He's
here.” Felix says softly with means of giving hope. “Ah, don't
look right away; what’s the matter with you? Make him work for it.”
he says as his hand is unknowingly replaced by that of her father's.
The two hands meet and everything around them go dark; the only light
in the room is the one that's on the center floor.
“Because
my daughter, you finally know you're worth it.” Said this tall,
dark haired dapper man who shares Kristine's eyes and smile.
And
so they danced, just as they danced in the pub in midtown where his
spirit lingered. Where she faced her father for the first time in
fifteen years, as a drab automaton lost in her own existence and now
a beautiful, confidant woman, with her own sense of direction. All of
this was compliments of the local voodoo Queen who in her own grace
and beauty is always the ideal woman to straighten the proverbial
“shit out”. A tall ravishing black women in a gown of royal
purple steps into the light and continues to watch. Standing there
as she did in the pub, watching the effects of her work take shape
within Kristine. Like her personal Fairy God Mother whose Cajun born
background gave her the inspirational means to become very successful
in an unforgiving city. Standing there, watching as she gives
Kristine her final dance with her father.
Two
worlds collide as the footsteps of reality blend in with that of this
final moment of closure. Fates footsteps, a pair of polished black
shoes, walk in stride toward them. A voice belonging to the man she
never stopped loving is heard,
“May
I?” he asks humbly.
Wearing the last
smile Kristine will ever see, he hands his daughter's hand to this
man. Clasping their hands together he gives a relieved nod. Before he
steps into the crowd he blows a kiss to his daughter for the last
time. Giving a subtle wave she watches as his spirit vanishes.
Music begins and as their hands connect, it was as if every ridge in
their finger prints aligned perfectly. Slowly they begin to move,
“Nick,
I” before she could finish he speaks ever so softly and sincerely,
“I'm
sorry, I'm sorry for not understanding, I'm sorry that we were both
blind to what was important.”
“What
made you come back?” she asks rushing through the words.
“Emily,
she opened her father's eyes to the notion that his insecure and
childish behavior was upsetting the universe causing him to shut
himself off from ever truly loving someone.”
“Smart
girl.” she replies with a smile
“She’s
very fond of you and it’s nice to finally have someone who can
influence her in such a way as you have.”
As
they dance the light expands illuminating familiar faces as they
reappear in the crowd: every one she had a connection with through
this journey of hers, leading her to this man, this Mr. Wonderful.
Music begins to grow louder and more upbeat others begin to dance
around them giving both Kristine and Nick a sense that this reality
no longer is filled with uncertainty or a sense misdirection.
Watching
as the two of them dance as if they were the only ones in the room CK
hands Felix a drink and they toast.
“Felix
my boy, may we all be so lucky to have such confidence having come
from being such a crumbled ruin of a wretch, only to brace the
unknown with hope, faith,” CK says with eyes all a glow.
“And
blind optimism,” Felix adds
“That
could lead us down such a glorious path, to those who lead, to all
those that came before him, the actor, the affair, the chef, the
painter and the poet”
“To
THEM?” Felix asks.
Nodding
his head towards Nick and Kristine agreeing in an absolute, “To
them.”
