Heroine

Heroine

     The ragged souls sit round the room. They seek solace from their storm lashed lives. A woman conducts the orchestra of therapy. Her soft curves and smile soothe the tempest tossed madmen.
     In the quiet presage of session our conductress sits and gazes in contemplative beauty. Her sage words play on the piano of our hearts.  “Women and men are made differently. To deny that is to deny the truth.”
     Our calm sea of communing is threatened by a tidal surge. A former prison inmate is spooked by a patient’s eyes. He rises from his chair like a wrathful deity. He slips his jacket off prepared to smite my friend.
     Our petite therapist rises from her chair. She pinions the man with her fingers on his neck. With her other hand she presses womanly energy into his back. His eyes glaze and his jaw goes slack. Her velvet hand is wrapped snugly around his fist of aggression. She soothes his testosterone addled psychosis. Like a tropic storm, she gathers strength for her feminine foray. She escorts him gently but
firmly out the door.
     Amber, our counselor, takes me into her office for discipline. She opens, “John, if you keep being late for session, I’m going to report you to your Mama!”
     I reply, “Are you going to use the ruler on me?”
     She spanks the air with her imaginary ruler while breathing “Whosh, whosh, whosh.”
     I ask her, “Were you in a sorority? Did you get paddled there?”
     Amber replies, “John when I was in college in north Louisiana any group of seven or more women living together in a house was considered a brothel!”
     Good Friday comes. Our conductress charms me with tropic smile waves. She leads me into calm pastures where the sky streams in a blue sea of harmony. She is a counselor priestess to the mad. Her smile illuminates the dark crevices of my heart.
     Amber sits next to me on a picnic table. A lady across from us says, “John’s got a crush on Amber. I remember others who did. He’s in love with her.”
     I look up at Amber’s face. She smiles wide as Texas and looks at the ceiling while nodding her head. The old woman continues saying, “Look at John. His eyes are on Amber. You can see he’s got a shine for her.” Amber blushes like a school girl as she gazes up with a Cheshire Cat grin.
     She invites my inner child to play. We shed our shoes to walk barefoot in grass together. I feel the sensual touch of mother earth beneath my naked feet. We play one on one volley ball. The wet leaves of nature’s carpet lick my skin like a lover. The heat of her feminine flower aura melts my monastic heart.