Party

There was a time when all the earth fell in love with the dollar, and after that was a time when all the earth fell in love with itself. But that love was corrupted by vanity and perverted by glib sentimentalities. Men whose sole purpose was to create harmony by destroying spirit had shown their cause and won. So now the earth was ruled by chaos, and private world wars raged in the minds of those men whose only enemy was his neighbor. And the heart of the earth was black with hate.

He saw, from across the room, in a simple white gown, bearing no jewels to match those firestones of eyes, her. She was, he thought, a fragile creature; he could snap her neck with the movement of his fingers.

He had come to this party to fulfill the expectations of those who had invited him. This social gathering was to be one of gaiety, modeled after those who'd come before. Yet the atmosphere was darkened by the obvious struggle within those in attendance to simply remain civil to one another.

So, as a gem of snow flake is easily spotted on a black surface, he saw her, and was drawn to her. He, curious and feeling strangely warm in a cold room, leaned against the wall, suddenly relaxed. He felt as if the sound of the room, which had been crashingly, painfully loud, had just been shut off, muted, abruptly. And it seemed like that forever.

From across the room, over the rank perfumes of overly incensed bodies, he could smell her, taste her scent on the draft blown in from the open window next to her. She was faintly dusted by a soft clean scent. He thought that he would gain the courage to speak to this woman, to invite her somewhere, to simply touch her. He walked over to the punch bowl.

He thought to himself. He played it out in his mind.

"Good evening." A draft blew in from the window, and she shivered. "Are you cold?" He took her porcelain, naked shoulders in his gentle grip. She shook her head no.

"Not any longer."

"I've been watching you," he said.

"I've been watching you," she answered.

"What do you think of this party?"

"Why do you ask?" she expressed, smiling faintly. She seemed to know exactly what he was thinking.

He said nothing, only looked at her gravely, waiting for an answer, and still holding her shoulders.

Seeing the sincere shine in his eyes, she answered, "I hate it. You can tell everyone is only striving not to lash out at one another. This party is a farce. I read that parties are to be interesting and fun, and here, the thinking mind is dead and no one is really saying anything, though they try to talk over one another. I--"

His grasp on her shoulders tightened slightly as he pulled her to him, and when he kissed her, she was only supported by his hold on her. When he was finished, she grabbed him by the hand, and pulled him after her through the open door, leaving their pasts and their jackets behind.

Her long, silvery blue car sat right outside, as if waiting for this moment. Keys were produced, and both got into their respective seats in the front of the car. The car started with a roar, and they were off down a long, dark road. They did not speak during the drive. There was nothing to talk about. He knew her mind as soon as she told him her thoughts on the party, for it was the same as his. He only watched her movements with admiration.

He slept at her house that night, on her couch. They spent most of the night talking about the forbidden things that were necessary for life, namely, Love. They were of one mind. They had decided to marry in the morn.

On the way to a secluded chapel in a forest outside the city, the two stopped at a jeweler's to purchase two simple bands of gold. There were no elaborate wedding bands; there was no need. Marriage was a matter of convenience for most.

An old, old priest married them the old way. With the pronunciation of the words, "Man and Wife," the priest, overcome with renewed joy and hope, died with tears in his eyes and a victorious smile on his lips, knowing that love was not dead. The man and wife buried the old priest in the chapel's courtyard, and marked the grave with an old wooden cross hung with a rosary.

The marriage was consummated in a warm, sunny meadow, on a soft, checked blanket beside a clear, still blue pond. Nine months after that picnic, the first daughter of the couple was born. She was of her mother's beauty and her father's spirit. She loved to run on the white sands of the beach near the house in which she and her parents now lived. With her hair streaming out behind her, she ran against the wind, and fulfilled the promise she had taunted young boys with in her youth. She married an intellectual farmer, who had lost love once before.

With their first and only child married and gone, their attentions were again drawn toward the outside world. They longed to take trips together to places of fame. So they went to see the wonders of the world, and when they were done, they were satisfied. But they learned that the earth had become worse in these days, and that wars had broken out all over the land. They were happy that they had missed these things in the seclusion of their beach side home. And they were happy that their daughter had grown up in a peaceful place, and that she was happy in the place that she was at.

The time came when their first daughter would have children. She grew fat with the life within her, and nine months after the consummation of her marriage, she gave twins the gift of life. The daughter brought her children to visit the couple, and they loved their new grandchildren. So They gave the children the benefit of their travels and of their love. And the children grew to be loving and productive citizens of peaceful communities in North Dakota and Indiana.

Presently, and after a good, long love, the wife fell ill. She came under a cough, and found it difficult to breathe. The man looked upon his love, and as he watched her sleep, he noted how much his love for her had grown over the years. Her face was weathered with the time and experience gathered in her life after she met him. He often sat still in their bedroom on the large bed and watched the little movements she made just before she awoke for the day. She liked to paint, and so he brought to her paints and canvas until she could no longer gather the strength to hold the brush. She liked to read, and he brought her books to read. When she could no longer hold the books, he read aloud to her. And when he slept, she lay awake thinking of him.

Before she knew of his existence, she thought that she was the only one on the earth to feel love for another person. Hers was a limited existence. She was puzzled by her neighbors lack of a simple consideration for a fellow being. So she was swept away with his apparent need for strong emotion, and happily agreed to marry. And she loved him.

The time arrived that the wife should die, and her passing was a source of great sadness for the man. Her funeral was attended by her grandchildren, her daughter, and her husband. He, still in love with her, smiled sadly as he lay a single rose upon her headstone.

As he glanced up at the sky, he saw her standing at the window. He looked down and saw that he had poured entirely too much punch for one person to drink and that soon his cup would overflow. He hastily placed the ladle back into the bowl and poured half the contents back from his glass. He started forward to perhaps speak to her, but shook his head instead and fell in with a group of men near the entrance.

She saw, from across the room, in a simple black suit, with no ornament to equal the luster of his eyes, him. He was, she thought, a gentle, complex man; she could love him.