Lady in Red

She was tall and lovely, a scarlet dress cascading past her ankles. I met her only once at one of my mother’s many office functions. Being 12 and completely out of place, I wandered around the grand ballroom the party was held in, looking at things that interested me. Interesting looking food, interesting looking people, what have you. I remember spotting her; she stood out like a sore thumb, yet somehow fit in perfectly with the scenery. She was all alone sitting at a corner table, delicately holding a dark syrupy looking drink in her hand and swaying with the music issuing from the little jazz ensemble on stage. It was her eyes that caught me, drew me to her. I walked over and sat next to her. I stared at her dress, her hands, the jewelry that sparkled from her neck and ears. Just looked her up and down and up again, almost in a trance. She smiled at me, laughing quietly. How queer I must’ve looked! But she just kept smiling, her eyes alight with some fire I have yet to completely understand. She then reached for me, and taking my hand she softly whispered, “sweetie, whatever you do, stay away from broken people.”


That was it.
No small talk about what she did for a living, or if I was enjoying the party, or any of those trivial things adults always seem so compelled to talk about. A few simple words. Then, she just stood up, leaned on her chair briefly, and glided away.

I never saw her again.

The next week my mom spoke of one of the office temps who never showed back up for work after the night of that party, and I often still wonder if it was my mysterious woman in red. But that doesn’t matter I suppose. Her words have lingered on. Maybe somehow her clairvoyant eyes saw into my future that night, knowing that one day her words would ring like a bell for me.

But if she knew I would need them, I wonder if she knew that I wouldn’t heed them?