She has bought into the myth. She believes she has found her prince and he didn’t come riding in on a stallion but that’s okay, a red bike instead. He is lovely. He brings her vitamins even when he is mad. This, she believes is love. She believes, perhaps she can be loved so much that nothing else matters. She buys into the myth some more. She marries even though her stomach tells her not to, she has it all planned out, she sees the kitchen, the kids, the flowers in the garden, the Christmas mornings, all but the white picket fence. The house is decrepit, it is not even theirs. Her Prince calls her spoiled for wanting cabinets in the kitchen. She works so hard. She tries to fix it all, she is scorpionishly determined to make it work or die trying. The children are giant band aids on a bleeding heart and get her through. Her skin crawls when she feels her prince’s touch. She has turned him into a frog perhaps? She stops believing in everyone and everything and the sunlight is slowly all squashed out of her as well as the dreams. She dies trying.
After Katrina there is nothing left to lose, all is lost already. An entire city emptied of song. “You see”, she says to her prince, “the rug can be pulled out from you. “ She is out of control with rage. The red headed beast has possessed every part of her and it is time to move out to move on to move move move as fast as she can. There is no light here, no air to breathe, her heart beats fast with fury. Finally she is free. She is awake. She breathes deeply. She cries herself to sleep over the time lost, the energy lost. Her children are no longer band aids, they are salt.
He is tall, dark and handsome and he makes her feel alive again. He is funny, fun, vivant. The sex is tremendous, who knew? She is trying to resist each and every day the desire to plan it all out....again.