My Reprieve

A momentary absolution.

On the Rue Moderne, nestled snugly and warmly between two fine restaurants like a contented cat, was my cafe', Le Epoque Perdu. I was there watching the solid, hard shadows soften into malleable shapes on the sidewalk outside when she entered.

The malignant joviality died down immediately, and all looked upon her with perplexed hostility. She did not belong. But her eyes showed no deference to such considerations. With a will that cast off their protruding stares, she sat at the only available table in front of the large entrance window.

There, I saw her silhouetted against the soft yellow lights, a statue of classical beauty, warding off the darkness by virtue of her being alone. I raised my glass of Montrachet and as I drank she became ephemeral through the gold liquid, dissipating with the hints of peach and apricot. Their meticulous silence ceased. Oblivion overtook me.