Black Baccara

  Black Baccara
1/2007


I watch her move oh so eloquently. The dimmed night lamp that her mother bought

at an old garage sale radiates a gentle frame of light that encircles her upper body.

Next to the pink laced lamp is a small vase with a single dark rose. The rose is a

Black Baccara which appears to resemble a black velvet fabric. Each delicate petal

so small in comparison to a regular rose reminds me of my beloved. I love how

angelic her skin appears when she wears her cream night gown. The left spaghetti

strap loosely falls off the ridge of her shoulder to land above her small biceps. I

adore her. Despite our lack of a conversation, I know when I tell her she is mine

that she will willingly surrender. Tonight I surprise her with a romantic gesture of my

love.

I watch her as she softly places the straggling hairs behind her petite ears. Her

pallid skin - untouched by the sun’s ruins - calls to me like a blank canvas primed

for life. I’m aware that she hasn’t formally declared her adoration for me but tonight

she will. She sits up against her canopy bed, sheltered by the off white veil that

drapes to the floor. In this sanctuary she reads with a bashful laugh which fills me

with a desire that only she can soothe. She closes her book, rests it on her night

stand and the home is vanquished of all light.

The first day I saw her at the park, I knew we would be more than friends and from

her glance so did she. Every day since then I craved to be part of the rituals she’s

so helplessly fond of and tonight I will be. I’m blessed, you see. Though others

might be against our tie, I remain in focus of my duty. She exhibits an innocence

that I envy. Women now are nothing but used toilet tissue and they possess only

dominance. They have lost their gentle nature and obedience that I deserve. Not my

angel, she is still naïve to pain and the drive for control. Tonight, age means nothing

and before dawn I will prove it. The Love that I have fills me with eagerness; I hunger

for every moment and every taste of her.

Tonight is perfect. I hear the faint sounds of the crickets and feel the cool breeze on

my newly shaven face. For seconds I drift into a dream where the wind is her slim

finger tip that slowly traces the curvatures of my jaw line. I picture her touch

lowering my body temperature as the tranquil night does. I’m awakened from my

plans by moisture leaking into my shoes. I look down and realize the Black

Baccara bush remains glistened from drops now illuminated by the murky rays of

the moon. The bush sits adjacent to her bedroom window, it’s her favorite. I remove

my skinning knife to carefully detach a single rose from its brethren and vow to

place it in my angel’s hair. I realize how absorbed I’ve been. Anticipating the right

moment of surprise, much time had past. I quietly stand and dust off my pants and

feel a firm stain on my pant leg and remembered my excitement from a few minutes

ago. My heart races pumping louder than the outside sounds that surround me and

then for a moment my paranoia causes me to pause. I stand against the brick of

her house, encircled by shadows, scanning for anyone other than myself. I laugh

under my shortened breath, convinced of my destiny and remind my conscious

about how perfect tonight is.

I look into her window one more time to ensure myself that she’s asleep then I grab

my duffle bag and begin my strategy. I mastered my plan when the smell of freesia

filled my senses and the breeze faded. I close the window quietly not to startle her

from cloudland and feel my skin saturate my clothes. My heart races with fury and

this time I am afraid that it will betray me. I feel a breach in the skin of my palm,

look in my grip and see the Black Baccara. I walk slowly to her and kneel beside

her. My eyes fill as I realize how close I am to our eternity. I know when awakened,

she will feel the same. I place her chestnut colored hairs away from her face and I

cover her flush lips with my hands. Her eyes widen wildly and our stares unite. Yet

her stare is one of fear. Her small, pure hand attempts to wrap around my wrists

and pull me away. Her resistence makes me outraged. Her legs raise then slam

to the mattress as they contort. Confusion quickly morphs into disbelief as I ask

where her devotion is and why she is being so disobedient. I whisper to her, “Don’t

fear me, this night I have planned for you”. Regardless, she resists and I feel her

tears soak my hold. I feel my vision of our love transform into darkness. Her body

shakes and begins to tire as I press my body weight against her mouth. I, for a

moment, refuse to do what my anger advises me to do, so I lift my force. Just

before I watch her pupils fade to smoke, with a broken, small breath she

cries, “...Help me, mommy.” I place my hands on her young face and our eyes

meet until her stare drifts. I lift my hands and know what I have done. I kiss her

mouth the way I envisioned and explore the places I only viewed afar. Happiness

fills me again and I am reminded of my love. I whisper my promises and know it is

right. I re-dress us both and cover her with her hello kitty sheets. I lay beside her,

hold her hand, place the Black Baccara in her hair, take out my knife and join her in

forever.