|
|
|
She was... ephemeral. Numbers of lovers haven't been able to explain, though they've tried. Believe me, their fumbling hands have tried to define and defile the beauty. Nobody could describe it, but some have dared to try. They've said she's quirky. Bubbly. Off-beat. They would all be wrong. She didn't try too hard, which appealed to all of the sexes. She had an endearing lopsided smile, that always touched my heart. It made me want more of it. It could be compared to the Mona Lisa's smile, not in it's mysterious beauty, but in the everlasting quality of the open and fresh grin. Wanting to take on the world. She had ideals, she had a goal, and she knew how she'd succeed. With a laugh and a flip of the hair, a comforting pat, a weekend away. She could make laundry seem like a race for survival. I remember when I met her. The clothing she was wearing could have placed her at #10 on a worst-dressed list if it hadn't been for that smile, her hair in a messy bun, the way her shining face made you want to be with her. Made you want to be her, if you weren't male and in your twenties yet still hormonal, and if she wasn't so pure. Wholesome. You could bring her home to mother, but at night, in between the sheets, tossing and turning hotly, she wasn't the same woman. We'd travel all over in this beat up mustard coloured Volvo, which I think she bought off a friend for $200. She wouldn't change for days on end, saying that that ONE shirt defined her entire life with you. With me. She made me feel like a king, she made me feel like a jester, she made me feel like a worthless peasant, and she was always queen. She was queen of everyone's hearts until that one day. She was late... she was late for something. Cello concert, likely. Or another 'philanthropic endeavour' as she would call them. Taking from the rich (herself) to give to the poor (orphans, of course.) I wish I could say she made it... I got the call late at night. She'd been dead hours before they found her, in the wreckage of the old mustard coloured Volvo. I'll always miss her.
I still believe there's some magic in her... some unconquerable part of her personality that lives on, that can't beat death. Every day I'm thankful she lived, thankful that she touched us all in this way. Nobody will forget her. Not her mother, her father, her college roomate, her high-school best friend, her kindergarten teacher, the old woman at the grocery store that she would chat with daily. Not me. I'll never forget. Goodbye Penny. I love you.
|