Women Bleed

Of course, there are many women aspiring to be good women rocking in the cradle of a transit bus in the city who are able to transcend the soul, speak philosophy graciously, who are willing to believe that there is a world composed of either happy transit fools or transit fools deep in despair. The best of these need not sink with the myth of the cosmetics, the glamourous clothing, the hairstyles for their own private survival. Some women grant themselves the benefit of watching all things and give passage to a new breed of ideas, demanding air to breathe in matters of making ends meet. If I were to assume that Alex was always waiting to catch the eye of such a creature, he would win his fragile position in this story. I admit that he had been a serious confidante in the city for a considerable length of time. As school-girl chum, he had too many pretty women who offered him great company for me to have mattered. What is sad is, I offered him a few too many question the field of intelligent flirtation and instead of flaunting my charms with a sensible pinch of finesse, I went pig-headed.

It was as if I remember myself running across the cow fields at my grandfather's dairy farm in my dungarees-- barefoot, wanting so much to be the first to milk the cows. Of course there was too much mud in a heavy rain and it had tired me out and I suddenly became excitable and brazen,like an animal, selfish-looking with the way my fingers had locked the edges of my back blue jean pockets. So it was with Alex. How quickly I attempted to achieve a vantage point, early in our acquaintance,caught up with his good looks and his uncanny knowledge of the state of politic as experience. I need only draw upon that summer when the season was ripe for joy rides for me, as they multiplied along the highways like days feeding the goldfish,to keep that summer alive, a gem, for me. It as, as well, a wealth of boy problems. What was an imense setback at the time was how clearly I had become infatuated over Alex and how unbearable I had become to be with. However interesting it is to be kind to a woman at a young age, it is an obvious regret and as tough as an elephant to forget, when it comes to a woman's vicious act of demanding a man's love. I need to get retrospective with that summer, as well, for the memory of a good-natured woman who will remain nameless, but cleverly an exquisite jewel. With both of us in a desert storm with parched throats and burning, swelled heart we searched for the inevitable mirage, the Fourth of July as it was launched by Alex and other young adults; a time to speak our minds, a chance to let the Man begin to worry about men themselves--men who were welcoming sets of opinions beside their own and the rise of a greater collective consciousness backed with the nature of a refined Johnny Rebel in a crowd of eager political reformers.

All in one glorious holiday, the fantasy of a better tomorrow became lost in celebration. "I must find myself.", Alex had told me, "I have had a good bit of regard for traditions in some sense of the word. Change frightens me. I believe that now I need to go on some sort of journey of observation. I may only encompass a small set of ideas for a young man, but I have to build a future somehow, don't I? I had the most uncommon notion to become a taxi cabbie, the other day." The day started out with me up and pleading to go by telephone call to Alex's divorced mother's home in northern Pennsylvania. He finally said if I wished I could go along. He had described in detail the sort of woman she was--sensitive, intelligent, attractive, attentive to conversation, not especially fussy, selective with friends, wary of socializing, but gracious at hosting family gatherings, efficient at housekeeping, a faithful writing correspondent and a woman who only engaged in a good, stiff drink if things went sour. In short, the perfect woman. It was apparent that at an earlier date,she had devoted her life to him.




A bond now existed between them, even though he lived with his father only. He told me that, when he said goodbye to her, her eyes had a low burn to them,an eternal unforgettable burn. It took us a few hours to reach her home had a terrible penchant for buying her expensive gifts of which I only dreamed about. He had visited shop after shop before choosing an item for her on this particular visit. It was an item worth forty dollars or so--a painted pair of Hummel figurines--one which depicted a young boy holding a bouquet of balloons. It would have to do, he said.

If somehow it does not seem justified to speak of the blood of women now, let me explain that it all previous to even the anticipation of a sex encounter with any man, on my part. Alex and I had only become acquainted. Alex allowed me only the joy of the fantasy, the illusion of a fascinating lover, the wet magic of wanting a first biting plunge. As a rationale, I told myself that if I were to indulge in sex, and go wild like rose tatoos over him, I would no longer be Daddy's little girl. Even more importantly, though, I was occupied with intrepid things in my head--about how to do it and be done with it with Alex Some women had no fear of bleeding. They bleed from the time of initial adolescence and it is a part of them. They develop stamina during cramp days and willingly go about their business efficiently as if nothing different had happened out of the ordinary. Clots of blood exist, and are erased away with the thought of unburdened days. Yet what about a bleeding over men? A mental torture of some sort. An uncanny way of stewing over men, like a bloody cutthroat. What about the unnamed woman, the jewel, I had spoken of earlier? Our friendship had fired up with a quick start that summer, as in the dream of painting a picture of a woman who would give you a good solid reason for staying away from a man who didn't need or want you. It could have been just that. Years later, I noticed her in the city in a small Italian pizzaria. We engaged in a quick cautious look at each other as I overheard her philosophizing with someone strange to me. I had a Lemon Blend and a sandwich of fried fish on a bun, taking only that meal to realize how much older we were by now. And still, she was doing the same thing. Battling a man across a pizzaria table. Alex flashed in my mind, even then, later, as I thought: What an easy way of regarding Alex as my fling in the heat of the city concrete streets I had used.

Alex, that day, finally arrived at his mother's home in the late afternoon. With a strange attempt at being adept at prizing his body, Alex jumped over the row of bright red impatiences and striped petunias and looked eagerly into the glass of the front door. As he rang the front bell, he brushed his hand across my cheek as if to tell me that he wanted so much for me to be happy, yet. . . he just didn't want me. Did I know what it mean't at all even? At the front door we were met with the strange sullen face of Alex's Uncle Guy who laboured over his initial greeting. "Alex, my boy. You certainly arrived on time. Come in, come in." It was awkard for about fifteen minutes. Finally, Alex all of us sudden realized he was waiting for his mother, where was she? "It's hard for me to tell you this. It's a little out of the ordinary, Alex.", his Uncle Guy told us. "Your mother isn't here at present." "Oh, yeah?" "A drink? Would you two like one?""What have you got?" "Why, your Aunt Lea's tea." "Of course, of course. Okay." "And you?", he said, gazing over at me, blindly knowing I was a bit of an oddball in all of this.
"Love some.", I answered. "Now Alex.", Uncle Guy went on. "Relax a little. I'm going to be here for as long as you need me. Your Aunt Lea too."

"Uncle. Has something happened?" Alex sensed an explanation was at hand, polite with the question, innocently looking up at him, clutching the paper bag with the Hummel figurines in them.

"Yes, something has."

His Aunt Lea walked in suddenly. "Oh, darling, darling, how good of you to come to visit Gina.Here's the tea. Camomile? It will clear your head."

"I'm sure the tea is fine. How about telling me what is going on."

What had happened. To this day, I have no reason to be unreasonable about saying I shouldn't have been there. I am also never sure that I did anything but play the fool, pretending to be a girlfriend. "Your grandfather's died in Old Country. Gina is busy making plans for you and her to go there to be at the funeral. Are you surprised? "Oh, God.", Alex said, a bit flippantly. "You'll feel better when she returns I'm sure,won't you?", Uncle Guy had said.

It is a minor thing, to stay out of Alex's rush to get me home and call his mother from hisfather's home, it is a major sense of things to say that distant starlight is better when left in the closet. I was in the company of Aunt Lea and Uncle Guy only once. I just want to tell you that,he finally handed the china Hummel figurines to his Aunt Lea as I imagined grabbing a green and pink balloon from the inanimate boy's hand--perhaps, something Alex mean't to keep for himself for a memory.