Chapter 2 – @Valerian
Once Mom had exited
I fell contentedly into
Wondering:
Who would Mirabel be now?
When I turned ten
I followed her face &
Body through
Inter-space but in
Three long years
But there’s been nothing to see.
I fully comprehend
That shiny airbrushed people
Don’t resemble that really. But
Mirabel was always gorgeous;
Swimming through some
Different air; her
Huge eyes and Roman nose teased & promising
Cavernous depths of soul.
We all want to believe that beautiful people
Get everything they want out of life;
Otherwise what’s the point –
Yet the Mirabel I’d known
Deliberately evaded us;
Abjuring the fold
Unless needing something.
At eight years old I had learned
She was a mysterious gift-giver
Like Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy
In whom it would be unwise to
Believe.
So, as my train slid into the darkness
Of Grand Central tunnel I texted the number
They gave me with “Train on time” &
Happiness emoji.
Of course I wanted to delete it
Immediately;
But as the sole bridesmaid –
Wasn’t I
The real Maid of Honor?
Obligated to planning
If not excitement but
No response from Mirabel.
Someone called
“@Valerian” tweeted: “I’m meeting you.
M. otherwise occupied as usual.
Look for red hunting coat.”
Who was Valerian? Where was Mirabel?
Did fiancé have charge of her phone?
Possibly he cloned it;
My friend Derek does that.
Forced fresh perspective:
If parents had known
There wasn’t a Mirabel
Would they let me come?
That was the emotion Mirabel engendered
I well remembered –
She was a genius at
Preparing the faithful –
“Softening us up”
For future hard times.
This means never forthrightly
Telling those Inconvenient truths.
As the train lurched to stop I vaulted upwards
Greeting myself in the
Mirroring windows. The girl
“Valerian” would see
Passable in gray skirt, shiny thigh high
Pink leather boots, subtly highlighted
Nut brown hair. Nothing to compete
With Mirabel’s blond goddess-hood.
Free from Mom’s diminishing thumb
I could exaggerate my eyes –
Outline my cheekbones
Use lips to suggest
Goddess potential all my own.
The sight of my made-up face
Makes me feel hopeful.
I didn’t answer that text:
Stranger-Danger ever-present;
If I didn’t like the look of him
I could Uber myself –
Once I knew where I was going.
I bet on my chances;
There were other girls on this train –
I had a hat and sunglasses
I’ve been melting into crowds
Once I learned how to walk.
Problem; my idiot mother
Sent pictures
Proud as she was –
Cross-eyed in her fearfulness –
If he was the one trying to
Friend me –
He’d already seen me grow up.
Ugh!
How the past follows us!
Tortures us; cramping our style!
How I long to be known
Yet forever undiscovered
Wild virginal territory
The better to project myself
Into the brains of others –
Ultimate Observer.
I’m aware
It makes no damn sense
To wish for admiration and
A the same time
Disappear – could it be
We’re all the stalkers of our dreams?
Threw diary, book, magazine
Into my capacious carpet-bag –
Diaries take one
Only so far –
Scribble scribble
Ratcheting up while
Tamping down
All the sharp points of life.
Fell rather than walked
Down ungainly steps and My God
There he was-
Guarding the escalators, in his famous
Red coat.
Mirabel would NEVER come
Way down here
“To the tracks” –
Hoi polloi, déclassé –
But this sharp face looked eager
Gladdening to see me.
Was he
A sight for eyes too young to be sore?
Tall physique; you’d say
“Distinguished,” but
Foreign looking, really, in spite of
American jeans and that red down parka.
The closer I got the more
Startlingly handsome appeared
That knife-planed face –
Curly undisciplined black hair –
Couldn’t stare long because
He grinned at the sight of me.
No possibility of escape –
Nor desire really
Wasn’t this more fun
Than forging some raw
Uncomfortable relation with
The long-lost sister?
Alysse Aallyn 