Summer of the mermaid kiss

- flashuser.net

image: flashuser.net

Completely, totally free fall. Only correct words enough so reader can guess intention.

Closed my eyes when I typed, keeping the image vibrant on the back of my eye lids. (As a trained “secretary” we used to test ourselves at not looking at the keys or the paper. Yes – typing onto paper!)

So, do you remember, Amice. Those days when all that mattered was that we mattered. Nattered. Mermaid year in your rich uncle’s pool.

Laughing bubbles til our food tasted of chloride forever.

Your red hair framing your face like flames licking your cheeks. Refracting, reflecting. Birthing the artist in me.

I look at your picture, our ideal summer, your most perfect moment, and imitate your smiling face. Place my chin between open palms.

Room becomes watery space. I hear your giggles. See him smile over to tickle you. Pull your mermaid tail downwards, toes touching the concrete, buried in my rug.

The bliss of that first kiss fades in your eyes. I try to reach you, to kiss your breathe back.

Then I break the barrier, gasp for air. The water is still; my flailing movements make no waves. No bubbles bursting into laughter. Pool becomes my room again.

Autumnal equinox pilgrimage time. I will wear my remembory dress of white on white. Slightest breeze creates a misty haze of foamy layers. For 6 weeks my blunt cut, red-dyed hair will make my shadow yours.

Visit the places of your dreams, leaving an offering at each inuksuk shrine.

The route may alter, but the end spot can not be changed. Open the arthritic gate while silent sententials greet me. Yes, it has been another year. There, under the farthest pocket of trees, a patch of wildflowers. Set down my  knapsack and tote monogramed with our initials. I clean the stone. Collect the seed heads. Spread out the quilt, worn by my years of sorrow. Sit top-over cross-legged as we did, learning forward to share secrets. Like dreaming of that first moment of a mermaid kiss.

Open the ice cold sauvignon blanc wine. We are too old now, I tell you, for Kool-Aid. What toast this year?

Your giggling voice whispers: “To who you are and what I am not. Raise the glass, and to the days before mermaid kisses led to death.”

Summoned from the depths for Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Photo Challenge #79

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