Embraceable You

I feel empty, wrung out. And yet there's something waiting, hanging in the air like perfume. Someone passed by, left a trace. It feels exotic, full of promise. It is lifting my edges, which feel flattened. I've been keeping low to the ground. My head down, my nose in the earth. My wings pressed down, brittle thin from lack of flying, pressed flat, avoiding notice, shallow breathing. But now there's a stirring. 

Wind rattles the windows. She pulls her shawl closer around her shoulders, rain spatters and then pours, streaking the glass, turning the red and orange trees into water colours. She's glad to be inside, grateful for the warmth from the fireplace, her hands around her mug of tea,  her nose inhaling the steamy liquorice aroma. If only… she thinks,  if only, and then she stops herself with a shake, be happy with where you are. You’re lucky …alone…yes, but lucky.  

She hears her mother's voice in her head. “Alice, get down on your knees and thank the Holy Virgin. You've got two legs, two arms, and you're  not starving. Plenty are.” 

She smiles and remembers her mother's simple creed. It made her life livable, in spite of so many hardships, Alice would find little scraps of paper,  backs of envelopes,  covered in her mother's squiggles— shorthand from her years as a secretary. 

What does this say, mom? 

Oh, stuff and nonsense. 

Read it, mom. 

Okay. Okay. Embrace me. My sweet embraceable you.  It's just…it’s just a song. That's all. Sit down, eat your soup before it gets cold. 

Don't be a naughty baby. Come to Papa, come to Papa do, my sweet embraceable you.  Her voice low,  almost imperceptible, but it was there. The notes sweet and sensual, as she ladles the chicken noodle soup from the big iron pot into Alice's Melmac bowl, the faded blue one, her favourite.

And now Alice hums the old song to herself. As the rain falls more gently, and the wind dies down. A red leaf sticks to the window as if saluting her— so beautiful, just before it's gone, before it crumbles and dies. If only…and there it is again, the longing. it's okay. Alice, she says to herself, you're still embraceable to some lucky guy out there. Maybe even today. The silly thought is enough to bounce Alice out of her comfy chair, pull on her raincoat and boots and stride out into the wet street to take deep breaths of clean moist air and feel her wings shiver.

Written on November 5, 2020