Her Blanche Moment

Her Blanche Moment             
              
     She still remembers the night the moon rose over Esplanade Avenue with its light penetrating her soul deeper than the sun on a hot summer’s day.
     “You know how to make a girl swoon. But what a spooky night this is. Look in the shadows, John. I see ghosts everywhere. Oh, my flirty man. Let’s go to Bourbon Street and listen to some jazz. I know you don’t want to hear me babble on all night.”
     “I gave up the Bourbon Street scene long ago. Let’s go home and read together.”
     As they pass down Esplanade she feels like an apparition, a shell of her old self. She sees a group of people congregated in front of a bistro.  
     They walk in together and she notices people standing around talking and paintings hanging on the wall.  Then her eyes catch a glimpse, between two men talking, of a remake of Rosie the Riveter with black hair, bundled in a kerchief. She rides a Harley on route 66. The model flexes her bicep that is illustrated by a tattoo of a skull and bones wound round by thorny red rose vines.
     She gazes at the painting and then as her man approaches her from behind, his eyes fall on her. Their eyes lock for a few moments. She is silent.  He speaks, saying, “I noticed you looking at the painting.  I wondered what you saw in it?”
    She says, “I see a southern gal stepping out of the kitchen for a breath of fresh air.”
    He moves a little closer to her.  He says, “I see a woman giving up the barefoot and pregnant life for the nightclub scene.”
     She says, “I haven’t hit the hotspots in ages. But I know an even better place. Come, follow me.”
     They pass under the huge oaks whose presence seems to lend a sense of mysterious southern gothic spookiness to the scene.
     “John it’s Saturday night. Let’s go make love in the cemetery. We can find some soft dirt on a freshly dug grave.”
     “What a creepy scenario. Let’s go back to the apartment. I’ll show you what a man I am. You won’t regret it. Graves are for the dead. Let’s let them rest in peace.”
     “When I’m six feet under I’d like to think lovers will make love on top of me. It is a lovely thought. Don’t dismiss it so out of hand sweetheart. I know I’m loony, loco, cuckoo, bonkers, wacky, and have bats in the belfry. But follow me into the necropolis. Paradise lies in my arms.”
     “Listen. You’re leading me down a twisted path. This lunacy will not transpire.”
     “Oh, I love it when you get mad John. You are so aggressive. It turns me on. I feel like jumping your bones right here in the street.”
     “I must admit the idea is enticing even charming. Let’s just walk in the direction of the graveyard and I’ll consider your proposal.”
     “Now let’s head to the land of the dead. Who knows but that you may make me pregnant there? It is the circle of life, conception in a place of death.”
     “You spook me but in a good way sweetie.”
     “Look, there are the gates of the city of the dead. They’re open! Let’s find a nice spot. I brought a flashlight in my purse. Now I’ve got you where I want you. I’ll have my way with you.”
     “I love your confidence. This place gives me the
creeps.”
     “Lay beside me right here. There you go. Are you comfortable?”
     “I’m making the best of a strange situation. But
I’m getting to like it some.”
     “Look up at the stars sugar plum. There’s Cassiopeia.  She was a vain queen in ancient Greek mythology. She boasted about her beauty. Do you think I’m vain? Am I stuck up about my beauty?”
     “You have a lot to be proud of. You are drop-dead gorgeous. I don’t fault you for taking pride in your beauty. I am proud to be seen in your company.”
     “You sure are rubbing me right tonight. Now I’ll rub you in my own special way.”
     “What if the police caught us? That would be embarrassing. Let’s just talk.”
     “Forsooth! I won’t force myself on you. What shall we chat about? I can’t imagine what that would be.”
     “Hey, I got the cure for your blues darling.”
     “Oh, John you have the right scratch for my itch.”
     “Let’s have a picnic. I have some trail mix in my pocket. Let’s chow down.”
     “You know you make it sound appetizing. I have a fondness for nuts and berries which rivals my need for sex right at this moment.”
     “Yes, let’s start with peanuts and raisins. Great loves were born of shared food,” he says.
     She replies, “Would you say my impulse to get down and dirty here was my Blanche moment?”
     “All women have them, dear. God put men like me on earth to understand them.”
     She says, “It took a male Biblical scholar to figure out that Eve was made from Adam’s baculum or penis bone instead of his rib. Maybe that is why sex is like masturbation for men. Come hither for I am a friendly ghost.”
     “Your invitation bears a striking resemblance to that of a spider I once knew.”  
     “There are no web spinners in my proposal, at least not of the choking kind.”    
     “Then my answer is yes.”    
     She ascends into golden heaven, freed from the weight of her unrequited sensuality which held her earthbound. She flies, carried upward, beyond her earthly body, on the wings of his love.