The following story was
prompted by the writer choosing a pair of black, vintage women’s
shoes and a bottle of Avon Rapture perfume from a group of various
objects:
I have a story to tell but I’m
not here to tell that story. As you can see, my shoes are well worn.
They were not the most comfortable shoes to wear, but they seemed
to fit the bill at the time. They were dressy and proper enough,
not overly so but the heal was low and therefore not too hard on
my feet and back. See, it was important in my life for me to play
both roles: put on a good outward appearance, yet be practical and
useful.
I’m dead now. It’s
been awhile since anyone in today’s world has even thought
about me. I was, you see, an ordinary woman. I was “good”
by most people’s standards. I raised my children. I was a
loyal and dependable wife. I was in good standing at the church
and in my community. I was proud of how I sacrificed for others,
so that they could shine. My children always had a meal on the table
to come home to at night; my husband always had his shirts clean
and ironed. The house was always clean. I was a valuable contributor
to the PTA and women’s group at church.
What you see in the plainness
of my shoes, reflects basically the plainness of my life. I died
at the age of 60. There were many that attended my funeral, there
were tears, but their lives went on as usual when I was gone. I
left no big holes in their life.
I had you pick the Rapture perfume
because it was something I wished I could have picked for myself
during my life on earth. There was a small part of me, shoved deep
down inside, that longed for the opportunity, just once even, to
have cause to buy that perfume. A part of me that longed for passion…longed
to Rapture a man. Longed to dress up in a sexy black dress, with
fancy unpractical high heels, and be romanced and dined. To feel
the butterflys in my stomach before he was to pick me up. To feel
the passion in his eyes as he looked at my sexy curves in that dress.
To strut down the hall to the dance floor in those sexy heels, that
made me feel wanted and desired. I longed to feel that I had that
man totally in my Rapture. That his muscles were tensed in anticipation
of undressing me in the moonlight and finding my sexy red negligee
under that black dress. His sweaty hands on my body, burning in
passion.
But alas, I never bought that
perfume. I never even allowed myself the glimmer of wondering what
this perfume represented. You see, that perfume was sold in fancy
department stores, on expensive item shelves in my day. Young, thin,
beautiful, sexy women shopped at those counters. Not 40 year old
mothers and wives. At least that’s the script I adhered to.
I wish it could have been different. I wish I would have put these
shoes in the closet, bought myself this perfume and the black dress
and heels and allowed my son’s dance teacher to have more
than a quick furtive glance in catching my eye. I wish I would have
allowed his eyes to linger with mine, locked in an unspoken message
and allowed that invitation to reach my soul.
I don’t want others to
miss this chance in their lives. Don’t you get caught up in
the day to day, the practical., the responsible and the reasonable.
Buy the perfume, let your gaze linger and live through your passionate
soul. Take it from me, you will never look back in one ounce of
regret my dear…for these black shoes will always be waiting
for you in the closet when you return.
By Chris, November 2005
