Good vs. Evil by BlueBlack
Hello, my dear. Air kisses. Pregnant smiles. Please, come in. Make yourself comfortable. My house is open. My heart is open. My walls are down. Shall I take your mask? Come. Come to my kitchen table. It’s all set and ready for us. I’ve decorated it with flowers. Calla lilies. Your favorite. I bought them because I knew you were coming. Shall we sit on opposite ends so we can see each other better? Oh, the phone is ringing. Let me unplug it. There. Now we can chat in peace. And openly. We can brush all of the smoking embers inside our hearts away and watch the grey ash flutter through the air. Put your car keys on the table. Right here. Beside the vase with the lilies I bought because I knew you were coming. And let’s talk. Your life. My life. Outside these walls is the chaos of real life. But here, it’s just the two of us. We can smile. And pretend. Are you uncomfortable? Shall we leave our chairs and sit on the cushions I’ve thrown on the floor? It might make us more at ease in one another’s presence. There’s a shaft of sunlight streaming through the open blind. Let’s sit in its warmth and talk. You talk first. And I will listen. Tell me about his betrayals. Tell me everything. And let diamond after diamond drip from your eyes. I will listen carefully. I will watch the flicker of your lashes, the dance of your lips. Out of admiration, yes. But also for lies. I will listen to what you are not saying. Shall we drink coffee? I can read your fortune in your coffee grounds. Oh, please do let me play gypsy. Please do let me prophesy. You know I will say all the things you want to hear. There is a journey in your near future, I will say. And on this journey you will meet a man. A handsome man who will shower you with flowers and a ring. And you will begin to create fragments of this phantom lover in your imagination. You will do this though I will be saying other things that you should hear. I will be saying, Beware a woman with a painted face who will try to take him away from you. But you will have stopped listening. You will be dreaming of your phantom lover. In your waking dreams, you will be telling him, Eat my love. Drink my devotion. And he will be flicking his tongue over your face. So gently. So smoothly. And I will be saying, Beware the lash of his tongue. But you will not hear this. You will shut your eyes over the sublimeness of the imagined moment. And you will shut your ears to what I am saying. So you will not hear that the journey will be to a pit of fire. You will not hear that the flowers will be dead and the ring will have no diamond. You will not hear the part about the man’s tongue. And you will not hear the part about the other woman, either. We only hear from the gypsy what we want to hear, my dear. So you will sit there with an idiotic smile on your face. And I will smirk at you in my waking dreams. And I will smile as I deliver goodbye air kisses and shut my door upon your departure. And then I will laugh at you. I will go back to my kitchen table and clear it of vase and lilies and drained coffee cups. I will make myself a fresh pot of tea. I will drink the tea from my porcelain teacup – Lady Grey with a lemon twist. I will drink my teacup to the bottom. But all of this is in my waking dreams. In the here and now I say, Shall we drink coffee? And you say, I don’t want coffee; it makes me tremble. Can we have tea instead? And I say, Of course. How about Lady Grey with a lemon twist? I’ll make a fresh pot. We drink the tea – Lady Grey with a lemon twist – from our porcelain teacups. We drink our teacups to the bottom. I ask if you want more. But it seems my teapot was filled with a potion of silence. I reach for it – my porcelain teapot, handpainted with wild roses. A hairline fissure appears – a hairline fissure that cracks the pot from rim to base. And the pot splits open. And my hands burn red with steaming tea dribbling black over my startled fingers. You rise from your chair like a somnambulist. You rise, and the sun outside dives behind a cloud. I watch as you walk to the door. Silently. As if you don’t want to draw attention to yourself. As if I don’t already see you. The gypsy in me wants to tell you more. But you cover your ears. There is a fire in your face, and I want to tell you how lush you look in the colors of flame. I want to tell you I can almost smell the sulfur burning in your insides. I come closer. You strike blindly. The closer I come, the blinder you strike back. I see you know my glance knows. But you also know my glance is your salvation – if – it is colored with acceptance, painted with love. You need that assurance, don’t you? But you don’t tell me this. You don’t dare. You are afraid I will think less of you for being so needy. Oh, how elegantly we wear our façades, so nonchalant and sophisticated! But on the inside we are trembling children. Oh, this timeless charade! I dare you to remove your mask. I dare me to remove mine. I dare you to unveil your darkness. I dare me to unveil mine. I dare us to uncover ourselves. You. Me. Your life. My life. Air bullets. Loaded hearts.
This is what happens when two ladies meet for tea.