the white dress, a story

the last place that i saw caroline was at the cafe in front of the inn on the square. there, they called it a plaza. but it was a rather grand name. the square was large, but i think it was for the kind of race this town had never held nor supported.

 

an ambitious city father in the frontier days made such a space, in anticipation of a colony and its pastimes and sacraments that never occurred. for a horse race and a festival and a college of neighborhoods that never materialized. the first catholic colony quickly became dour and industrious, the dancing and carnival, icons and hell, gave way to good deeds and protestants.

 

so it was mostly empty with wire chairs and iron tables to fill the space, made larger by the absence of a number rarely more than a minyun in a clandestine basement.

 

she sat there, caroline, placidly, in her white dress, sweating i’m sure, but i could not detect it, and naked too, i’m guessing, how else could she look so crisp and cool. this group calls someone like that crisp as a cucumber, but that is attached to men too, older men, with hair on the backs of their hands, so that is not such a distinction. no, she was naked under her clothes, but we all are, and that is how i want to think of her, but i am getting away from what i wanted to tell you.

 

she was shrieking at the top of her lungs, that is what she said, but i did not hear it, this is from what she said, and i was there most of the time, only getting up to refresh the drinks, what they call it, but the ice in those refreshed drinks is what normally refreshes the drinker, before they turn maudlin or violent, one after the other, or the specialty, one or the other, each person a specialist in their oiled state: to cry over lost love or to pick up an iron chair and crack someone’s else's head with it.

 

so she was screaming, but i did not hear it and even if i was inside for the merest moment, with the intention of refreshing people, i would have heard it, the only competing noises, a fan behind the bar, drunks mumbling to themselves, a radio or jukebox, it came from another room, but i saw people rummaging for coins, they could be trying to summon money for drinks or condoms found in the male restrooms, i cannot speak for the women, their contraception opportunities, for what is their strategy, though most women i knew used the ring, the pill, or resort to luck and those saints days. and a parrot, too. more noise competition, i suppose, but he was a mordant creature, more whispering than screeching, and, at that, stock quotes, maybe he wasnt a parrot, but he was some kind of talking bird, prodigious and feather-hairy, but i did not get a good look-see, i was in the bathroom, so missed jukeboxes, causes for coin summonings, and contraception purchases, and so on, so it was possible that i missed her screaming then.

 

but then it could have been the (just) momentary distance, the flushing of the urinal and the john, the washing of hands and towel dispensing and the distraction of the man selling drugs, not sure which, uppers or downers, i bought one and had it in my upper pocket under my light jacket, which enhanced my sweating experience, which is when i heard her, a high rich scream, milky with a rich daquiri without the alcohol like some of the pious cubanos drink it, whose faith is their mortal health, not their souls, very healthy, though there were no cubanos that i know of around, she screamed a high deep rich green sound, the color of limes mixed into milk, the swirl remains before the green ship sinks, preceding the inevitable blending before it begins for serious.

 

that is how she screamed, though i don't know what over, she was gone when i got back, and when i produced the drug, the pill, more a capsule, and because it was smooth, i did not need the non-alcoholic daquiri for it to go down, i could smell her perfume and followed its scent to the corner, the parrot or its aural cousin, louder than i thought, i could not hear her long high scream, but it was her scent i was following, until i came to the corner, and began to run, it must have been speed, and now i was afraid my heart would explode in my chest before leaving it entirely, which i had never heard of but seemed entirely possible, my heart would explode and like a booster come out my nose, like the egyptian embalmer style too, the heart, mine, not my brain, though that might follow too, as her scream was very easy to follow, yes my brain could leave my body too, morbid preoccupations the english call it, at least the ex-pats i run into, i don’t run with, but encounter, that kind of running.

 

and this too, running and running after her disappearing perfume a choice at every corner, every kiosk, every shop she could have ducked into, i was missing her call, and missing it too, in a nostalgic way, how i loved to hear her long cry that i had never heard, but had imagined so hard, and retrospectively anticipated, that the wish was so strong, i had plowed her future into my presaging past, it was possible, that how my heart was exploding, i must love her so, though the running and the drugs must have something to do with it, and me being in my late 50s with a paunch and a stupid wide-brim straw hat and greying beard and pony-tail, so silly, if anyone cared to notice, out of shape, wearing a suit, light linen, but still a jacket and even the open collar can make an out of shape man discovering too late that he is in love, a pause to accompany his skip-beating heart.

 

i loved her and would follow her scream and her perfume, if i could smell or if i could hear her, but she was silent on both counts, come back little caroline, i am sorry that i invented your name and am chasing you down and had never properly met you.

 

i was not stalking, i was running anyway, this was hardly lurking or prowling, this was love not plain and not simple, but when is it, even with the cultural differences, we could have one of the inevitable mediators from both families, the famous middle child, mediate, dammit, they are so cocky about this, what are they good for, besides picking out vegetable from their miserable birthday plates, and others’ birthdays too, it is always an opportunity for the miserable middle child to try to steal some of the limelight whatever that is, reputation without earning it yet, though like a race horse the middle child had the blood lines and history for diplomacy.

 

disguised as the sunny peacemaker, not a care in the world, always laughing affectionately at the out-there extravert drama queen older sister and picked on left out youngest brother, the middle one is a trouble maker waiting to happen, all those angers harbored and built up and built upon, all bottled up, a regular rocket man. earn your keep, match your reputation, show that it would be earned, anticipated like being in love such as i am, burying the plowshares or whatever, beat the farmers over the head into plowshares and then get on with this peace business, i want my peace.

 

well then, there she was, standing in the church doorway, waiting for the inevitable tuesday rain i suppose, crying, now i heard it, i introduced myself and said i was the older gentleman who had been running after her so, let’s skip all the courtship and families and the inevitable petty bickerings over flowers and musicians and which relatives and drunk friends will get left off the invite list, and the ones that remain after making the the cut, put up at the seedy rundown hotel, now with bed bugs so rampant, and TB too. it would have to be up north, no flowers, no rum, no musicians of the street fluency and family lineage of africa, it will be someone named burt or fred or earl or orville.

 

let’s do it now, i have enough for the flowers and the musicians if we don’t wait too long, i will still have it, but hurry hurry out of the rain that will surely come, marry me now and forever, marry me every morning in your white dress, let me help you with your sheen of sweat, it’ll be raining all the time, you’ll be wet, you’ll be so wet.

 

my name is ralph, but here they call me rafael, rafe the magnificent, i wont tell you why, but you trust me, you do trust me, i know my mind in such things, since i have never been married before, i am unspoiled, marry me. are you carolina, carolyn, caroline, carol, jane, what is your name, what does caroline mean? singing singing, bells.

Done