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Thursday, July 12, 2012

The Air of Spring (Air des Clochettes 2)

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He did not see her standing there. She didn’t know how long she’d been staring at him but she was pretty sure she’d been there awhile. She was captured with the way he seemed to be following a young pretty girl in a plain grey dress. Why was this man captivated by lower class? He seemed to be well dressed and responsible. I’ll admit, she was good looking. Maybe he has a real big heart, maybe he just wants someone to love. But what did she know, after failed marriages she was beginning to lose hope in men. The spring was alive and brought about a new enthusiasm, and she was once again rejuvenated, feeling the pangs of loneliness nip at her like the insects in the garden. The young girl in the grey dress turned and made eye contact with her. What did she think? Was she judging me? Does she know he’s there? She must, for he is quite obvious in his actions. I better turn away, thinking to myself. I wonder what’s on her mind, is she thinking the same of me? Surely she must be attracted to my pretty red dress and my expensive jewellery. Her mind drifted off as she thought about her past husbands. Most had married for money or because her father was a top-notch lawyer and they wished to climb the ladders of success, and most of them had been introduced to her by her parents. Being brought up with everything she wanted she did not quite understand and appreciate the value of money, for it had only made her miserable. Now, here she was, 5 and unhappy. She often took walks in the gardens. Young men frequented the area and the sights, sounds, and scents of the gardens captivated her. She moved over to a bench adjacent to the young man. She’d made up her mind, the next husband would be her last and she would do anything at all to keep him. As she was daydreaming, the young man had risen and turned off to follow the young girl. She leaped from the bench and took off around the corner, there they were. The way he diffidently followed the girl gave her a warm feeling, so she gave in and started following. He strode so poignantly, so strong. She could see herself, strolling down the aisle with him. The way all of her friends would envy her, with her handsome rich boyfriend. They would have wonderful, beautiful babies. Soon, he would inherit her fathers house and they would live in the biggest house for miles. Yes, she could see it. She could here the people calling, there goes Misses Jaynie Brougham and her husband. And he would look at her and say, “Jaynie, Jaynie” and then she snapped to and realized it was her chauffeur calling her. “Just another minute, Roberto, I’ll be back soon” she replied to him. He diligently got back into his car, and she skipped to keep up with the man. She was thinking of a way to get his attention, a way to meet him more formally. Air des Clochettes was playing at the opera house tonight, she shall ask him to join her. She hated the show, but her father would be there and he probably enjoyed the opera, most high class people did. As she thought the words, she looked around and realized she was not in a high class area. It was getting into the brick row houses that permeated the slums of the city. She began to feel cold, so she buttoned up her jacket now. She checked her watch, almost 500. She had spent hours following the mystery man, only to follow him to his shack in the ghetto. She watched as the woman went inside, and he turned around, hailed a taxi, and was gone. If only she’d had the courage to be seen or talk to him. But maybe it was for the better, what would her father say if she brought home a peasant. Reality was coming on like the spring, and the thoughts had no sooner past than the afternoon. She walked back to the car and got in the back. “Take me home” she said to the driver, and the air rumbled with the sound of the big American car as it drove off toward the big gates of her house.


Written as a second part of air des clochettes to demonstrate use of point of views.


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