Memories ( a real story)

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Cristina Corui Mihailescu
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Memories ( a real story)

Post by Cristina Corui Mihailescu »

Memories

Amelia had no classes that morning and the baby was sound asleep, so she could afford to spend some time with herself. Dressed in an old house- gown, after studying her face in the mirror and comforting herself with the thought that she didn't look too bad for her forty years, she decided she needed a change. What if she dyed her hair a brighter red than before? Fairly satisfied with the idea, she sang softly to herself while looking out at the frozen grey February sky and preparing the hair dye.
An hour later, the auburn curls dried and brushed, she smiled at her own reflection. ‘This shade goes better with my green eyes, for sure! I need some emerald earrings.’ She put on a stylish new green dress and danced for a couple of seconds in front of the mirror.
She was sipping lazily from the second cup of coffee when the doorbell rang. Fortunately, the baby didn't wake up.
‘This really is a surprise’, she said seeing him in front of her door. She blushed, 'cause she was obviously not expecting anyone, him the least of all.
He dropped his bag on the floor and took off his jacket.
‘How are you, teachie?’
No embrace, as always. But this time, a white rose given casually. She couldn't utter a word, unable to scold him for not having called her for half a year.
He sank in the armchair, lighting a cigarette.’ I'm not going back to college. It's simply no use.’
‘May I ask why?’ She didn't wait for an answer, heading for the kitchen to bring him some coffee. When she came back into the living room, he was smoking with his eyes closed, face whiter and skinnier than ever. She put the cup on the table and stood silent, playing with the rose.
She had been waiting for an eternity when it dawned on her it was his 20th birthday that very day. Taking the carefully wrapped present from its hiding place, she said softly: ‘Happy birthday, Alex. I hope you'll enjoy reading American poetry. This is the book you were looking for, isn't it?’
‘Thank you. You've remembered!’ He didn't spring up to look at it, but took it with both hands and pressed it to his heart. There was something new in his gestures, in his strangely tired voice that made her soul quiver. But she knew she couldn't ask, only wait for him to open up. And it took him a while to start talking.
'I am in love. And it hurts. You've never told me that it could hurt!’ He stared at her with his incredibly bright blue eyes.
‘It sometimes does, my little dear. But love is the only thing that counts.’
He began telling her about the way he had met Kelly and their two weeks together in Sibiu, followed by night-long talks on the internet. She was a Californian student of East-European history, eager to find out about our people. A scholarship allowed her to return to Romania in spring. Clever, funny, unpredictable, with a passion for reading and absolutely crazy about him, he seemed to have found his perfect match in his first woman.
‘Can you come with me to help me choose the ring? Kelly loves sapphires’.
Amelia gasped. It was too much, too soon.
’So you've already spoken of marriage?’
She braced up. With a feeble voice, feeling her cheeks go pale, she said softly:
‘I'd be delighted to come with you.’ And she realized she was indeed delighted by his request to help him decide in this most intimate matter.
A droplet of blood fell from her palm. She put the rose back on the table, annoyed at herself for having played with it, afraid he saw it and understood.
‘I was expecting a different you, I have to admit. No scolding, no advice?’ he wondered, smiling.
‘Do what your heart desires. For you, there is no other way, kiddo. It's good for you to go, you could have the chance to become famous in America. I’ll live with the hope of seeing your name on a novel’.

Amelia put the photo album back in the drawer, taking care of the withered rose. But the image of Kelly, plump and red-cheeked in her wedding dress next to his tall, bony figure lingered in her mind for a while. He looks happy, she reassured herself. ‘Love is the only thing that matters, she murmured and embraced her baby, thanking God for having a son of her own.
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Lantal
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Post by Lantal »

As an English teacher, I suppose, you write not on your daily language, Rumanian. Congratulation, your style is nice and clear. Also the topic must be close to you, a relief for me, that female teachers may also be attracted to their younger students. As a male, it was trying for me. A play of the 80ies, Educating Rita by W.Russel, has had a similar topic.
I see you employing deep POV in your narrative, although I felt a bit mislead time and again in the middle. The exposition however indicates only a neutral, everyday situation. Some early indication on lonesomeness or emotional need might help create a faker relief on Alex presence in the reader. Thus a stronger contrast creates deeper understandings in failure because of age and position. The twist in the shades of the noun "love" is a good moral ending of the earlier flop in love materialized in the son.
Cristina Corui Mihailescu
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Post by Cristina Corui Mihailescu »

Lantal, does "deep POV" mean my vocabulary is very poor? My model is Hemingway, who didn't say much either.
And no, the platonic love didn't materialize in a son, but I wanted the ending to be open to interpretations.
Thank you for your reply!
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Abi McCoy
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Post by Abi McCoy »

You did an excellent job at giving these characters life in such a short work. From the gestures they used to the adjectives you used to describe them - really lovely overall.
Cristina Corui Mihailescu
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Post by Cristina Corui Mihailescu »

Thank you, Abi, your words are encouraging!
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