Dancing in the Earthlight

Dancing in the earthlight

         I don't care — anywhere1

The sky river floats above us, goes places we've never been. Can you meet me tonight? Look up at the Moon, whisper a prayer, soft, so the neighbors don't hear.

Can you meet me on the far side? More private there.

Not like the last time.

You picked me up. We went to the airport to see a friend off. I had told you to bring a passport to get through security. You laughed and asked, which one?

It was a long wait. You wanted lunch. So we saw our friend off and then I suggested breakfast in Lisbon, waving the tickets I had bought that morning.

It was fun. Off on the wings of a jet, going somewhere we'd never been. Who cares if the seats were thin and our legs were cramped and you found the food to be so-so. I thought it was lousy.

At least they didn't lose our luggage, you quipped. What luggage? We hadn't brought any. We went on a shopping trip in the Baixa, O Chiado, Bairro Alto.

You wondered where we were staying.

         I don't care — anywhere

I sang it, as you roared in delight.

Luckily The Independente had a vacant suite and dinner at The Decadente was superb. That night we sat in the rain at the promenade looking over Lisbon gazing at the lit castle and Alfama. We didn't care... until lightning warned us to go back in.

It was a delightful night, a delightful week. Breakfast every morning listening to Lourdes sing as she dispensed orange juice and coffee with warm milk, croissants and pears, ham and cheese. One can get use to a cheerful Brazilian face entertaining us with "La Vie en Rose", especially when sung in French, and on-key. Oh, to visit Brazil some day!

We met guests from here and there. You spoke. I listened. Mostly, I was just enamored by your voice fluttering under that mop of red hair.

But, Portugal wasn't private enough. I thought it was. Sorry about that. Great time pounding the pavement in Lisbon; until, it pounded back. My legs were so sore! It's what you wore that caught their attention. Flaming red hair the color of carnations on the 25th of April. A dress festooned with carnations. Did you know it was the commemoration of the Carnation Revolution2. You seemed so joyful as you joined the parade and danced to the video-cameras. Did you know that Leftists are considered Commies back home? Did you care?

I didn't, but your colleagues did.

Word had gotten out. They were in an uproar as they watched you prancing about. They melted like snowflakes on the plains of Spain... in July. Nothing you said mattered. At least they only fired you, only denied you any compensation, didn't complain to the President or the Pope... yet. And they saved the rope for me. Thank you for the warning.

         I don't care — anywhere

So, let's meet on the Moon this time. Fly to China, see if they have room on the next flight of the Stellar Delight. I can afford it. Freeing the bank of its capitalist burden, the day before they came after me, paid off. It helped to be a trusted employee with proper connections — and keys to the vault. It's all been properly laundered. No worries. And no hurry. I'd just like to see you, red hair aflame, dancing in the earthlight.

© Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [179.51] (31 juli.2022)

Prompt:

"La Vie En Rose": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-NK9zdPj-os

Word count: ~595

Footnotes
1  From "Drive" by Ben Rector
2  Revolução dos Cravos, April 25, 1974. Barely a shot fired. Especially celebrated by leftists that overthrew the fascist regime.