A DAY IN A LIFE ~
Love writes a transparent calligraphy,
so on the empty page
my soul can read
and recollect …
I wake up in a panic. My body trembles, sweat soaks my precious white
linen sheets, free falling tears create puddles in my ears. Quickly I realize it's
all been a dream, a very real and revealing one, one where I was about to die.
My heart is a persistent rainstorm. I shake myself back into reality. I sit on
the edge of my bed and breathe deep, until my heart slows down to Alpha
level, tuned into Mother Earth; Gaia's breath. Here I am able to think clearly
... if I would die today, would I die happy?
The house is quiet as a Buddhist retreat. I look around confirming my
existence. In the corner, a large credenza, abundantly filled with clothes,
some of which I'll never wear. Its shiny, black lacquer top holds a picture of
the twins. Across my lonely big bed lies a sloppy pile of dirty clothes. The
bamboo floor is my pride and joy; dark cappuccino brown reflects the morning
sun. Smooth as silk, tough as steel, and above all eco friendly.
I learned that when bamboo is harvested, the roots continue to live and
produce new, stronger stock. It took me years to save for this special Mao Zhu
wood, flown in from China where it grows wild. I want to be more like the
bamboo; flexible, thriving even when cut off.
My heart is crumpled; the cobalt blue pain that dwells inside, my constant
companion. I crawl off the Queen size bed and put on soothing music;
Romance in F minor, Op.11, Dvorak. Tender sounds caress my aching soul;
gently calm me down.
"Today is the first day of the rest of my life," I whisper to my Self and hop in
the shower. The cool water cleanses, each delicate drop declares my lonely
I try to practice quietude in the morning hours, since the girls left for college,
no talking, everything still and calm.
The continual sound of the phone breaks the silence. I step out of the
shower, quickly dry off and throw on a thin cotton robe. Barefoot I walk across
my spacious bedroom, toward the shrill ringing in the corner. I pause in an
instant of lunatic audacity before I take the cordless off its cradle.
"Hello..." I say hesitantly. Who would call me this early?
"Lillith, it's Brenda." I hear children's voices in the background.
Of course, Brenda! She would call at any hour, disregarding anybody but
herself. A quality I admire and loathe at the same time.
"You have a date tonight, " she yells loudly into my ear.
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"I do?" I say confounded. I haven't dated any one in ten years.
I steal a glance in the mirror, which reflects my shapely body, soft hazel
eyes, long red, dripping wet curls. My energy, self conscious, inhibited, and
distrusting, hangs over me like dark mist.
"Yes, Calvin met him playing squash," Brenda continues her babel, "we
think he's perfect for you." Her voice sounds like a jingle for toothpaste or
soap. Mildly convincing.
Calvin. That man has nothing to do but count his money all day. I covertly
call him Dagobert Duck. I envision him on top of a heap of money; big cigar in
his mouth, bejeweled fingers dripping gold. He's sweet, in a fatherly sort of
way. He means well.
I met Calvin and Brenda several years ago, at an art opening. I had a solo
show at Watermark Gallery. They'd waltzed in holding onto each other like
two teenagers, freshly in love. They exuded copious amounts of energy, the
kind that invokes envy.
Calvin bought three of my watercolors. Brenda and I became friends
instantly. Her positive & cheerful attitude has quite an effect on me. I actually
crave her friendship sometimes. Calvin, a large man, strikes me as mellow, I
can't imagine him on the squash court, running after the ball, sweating.
"Eh...not so sure I want to go on a blind date, hon," I try carefully, not
wanting to insult her; I'm no hero when it comes to dating, especially blind
I tighten the belt of my robe and walk to the kitchen. Holding the phone to
my ear with one hand, I pour myself a glass of Aloe Vera juice with the other.
"Yeah, well, wait until you meet Duncan, he's adorable...just your type."
Brenda is relentless. It is beyond me how she knows what my type is. She's
never seen me with a man. "He owns a clothing store on Main called
Kundalini. Magnificent place, he built the whole place himself, it's a piece of
art," she cackles, "Go check it out this afternoon, maybe you'll run into him,
"We'll see, " I say quietly. I grab a red curl, twist it around my forefinger, "I
have a lot to do today."
An uncomfortable silence comes between us, thick as molasses.
"Well, I gotta run babe," Brenda says cheerfully, kids' clamor in the
background, "I have to take the kiddies to school soon. Duncan will meet you
at ZenBar, that new place, at seven tonight." She clicks off before I can reply.
I sit motionless for a while. A sharp echo clings to the inside of my brain. I
keep curling that little piece of hair next to my ear.
The idea of a date is very exciting. I did mention last week, to my friends,
that I am ready for a new relationship. Leave it to Brenda to jump on it.
The morning is cool and I decide to go for a brisk walk along the creek. I
need to clear my thoughts, cleanse my aura. The creek runs along the back
of my house, but I enter the park through its front gate. The smell of freshly
cut grass welcomes me. A voluptuous landscape stretches out in different
shades of brown and green. Morning dew still lingers on the leaves. Here
and there the sun peeks through. An 8mile walk meanders the park. I pass a
Page 9 of 166 The book of Lillith
few joggers along the way. Most of them friendly enough to nod a small hello
in recognition of days past, others flat ignore me. I am not sure which I like
Embraced by many trees and bushes I find reprieve; peaceful sounds of
crickets, mosquitoes, birdsong, harmoniously join Wind dancing with trees.
I sit on a dead branch in a patch of sun, meditating. Suddenly an acute,
sharp and cutting sound startles me. I stare in the distance, squint my eyes to
get a better view through the trees. I see nothing. Then, silence encloses as
if I just shut the door of a soundproof room. It feels eerie.
Quickly I turn homeward bound, paranoid, constantly looking over my
shoulder. Sweat drips down my face again. So much for being balanced &
calm. Nervously I run my hands through my hair, and take one last look in the
vast, silent distance. Nothing moves.
When I return to the house, my curiosity about Duncan gets the better of
me. And, not for the first time, I conclude that I am slightly emotionally
I get dressed in my Lucky jeans, a soft, white, cotton T, and slip on my
espadrilles. I have some errands to run, but I am certain to cruise over to