Other Bubbles

I did a search of my archives for 'bubbles' -
'butterflies being being covered. I found two meaningful pieces --
one of which I posted on 'Abby'. The other is a Lemora Gate story
you may enjoy.

faucon
...............................................................

MELLON SEED

Limora had been told not to go to the park alone, but in terms that allowed evasion. "Good girls don't go to the park alone -- there are strangers there!" She was old enough to have seen the word "good" used in many contradictory ways -- most have which had to do with actions with friends, not strangers.

"Besides," she thought, having just found that she had accidentally stepped off the bus at the wrong corner. "If I don't speak to anyone they will still be strangers, and that is said to be good also." Earlier that morning she had decided that all of her friends and relatives were completely boring -- at least a stranger had some chance of being exciting -- or mysterious -- or funny. Just then her Sally self issued a thought of caution and tucked the eighteen dollars of 'mad money' inside her training bra, which wasn't holding much otherwise. She let down her ponytail and rolled up here socks and began skipping down the gravel path, looking all of 10 years old. Limora didn't see any strangers -- just lonely people.

Oh, many of the scattered users of the park were grouped as couples or triplets, never more, though she imagined that the kids wading in the fish pond belonged to someone. Everywhere people seemed to be talking at each other -- all at the same time, no less. She sat in a swing -- motionless, and just watched for a while, imagining exciting scenarios for their lives. One couple she imagined holding hands because they weren't, he shuffling along with hands in pockets, she waving hers about like pulling taffy. Shyly -- hesitantly, Limora imagined herself reaching into the beams of lights filtering through the branches of the swaying firs. She spun them into a glimmering ball and sent them to the young woman. "Let her make some cotton candy instead," she whispered to Sally, who was trying to make the swing move. Next she imagined that the sullen boy was searching for a coin all along. "A quarter will be enough," she smiled. The couple stopped walking, both looking about furtively -- as if hearing a familiar tune. The older girl laughed and looked at her hands, now still -- open and silent. The young man took one of her hands in his and pretended to take a kiss from his sudden smile -- place it in her palm and close it tight. They ambled away, arm in arm -- their other two hands still close held. Had their eyes not been only for each other they would have observed Sally suddenly swinging higher and higher -- and singing.

A few minutes later in Sally time, but a couple of hours in Limora's, she was thirsty -- swinging is almost work! "Don't drink from public fountains," echoed in her ears. Sigh! By chance there was a one-legged man selling watermelon slices by the fountain. Uncut globes bobbed about like gigantic bubbles in the cooling spray. She had no idea of price or need to haggle -- and couldn't speak anyway, so Limora held out a palm full of change. The old derelict appraised her -- at least she sensed his eyes dancing over her -- understanding. He selected three coins, then arranged the remainder into a symmetrical pattern. A napkin magically appeared and he handed her a luscious section of Christmas colored happiness -- or so it seemed to today's little girl. Problem was -- it seemed far too large for her alone.
Man or boy -- young woman -- Limora wasn't sure. She just knew this person was very lonely -- and far from home. She decided to think "he", though his features were fine and delicate, with incredibly long eyelashes and a single heavy braid hanging down to his waist. Maybe it was the way he reclined against the stump. Perhaps it was the sturdiness of his sandals. Perhaps it was that no young woman this lovely would ever be by herself. Anyway -- he was sad. Limora walked across the stretch of lawn unafraid. The offered broken section of melon was accepted without question or hesitation, and the offered thanks was in a language unknown to her -- his voice deeper than expected. Black eyes flashed even against his walnut skin and he rose like a flower unfolding. Together they walked to the edge of the stream to perform a ritual that she suddenly guessed to be universal -- they spit seeds into the swirling eddies!

Limora won in distance and he in accuracy, and both of their clothes lost to sugary stains and dribbled laughter. He took the rinds and placed them on a boulder for the squirrels, while she splashed water on face and hands. Then he did the same, but also washed his feet which Sally would have thought weird, but Limora did not. Then the ageless man touches his forehead, his lips and his heart; and picking a single seed from his caftan sleeve, placed it in her hand. Then he turned and glided away -- forever a stranger -- gone!

Limora placed the seed next to her grandmother's garnet bead -- in the tiny wooden box -- within the shredded Teddy Bear -- on the ruffly child's bed --
near the edge of everything.