Lily Dale had feared dying alone. She’d speculated scenarios. Who would find her, when, and in what state of decay. It’s better this way, she thought. In a ditch by the side of a flowered, rutted road. Far from home, where nobody knows my name.
Much ado, then nothing to do.
For so long she’d lived like a refugee—giving, supporting, sublimating. As if she were at the bottom of the food chain, of any chain. Not that anyone had relegated her that role. Yet by doing the job so well and for so long, she’d grown expectations, developed muscle memories strong as heartbeats. Until, after decades, all obligations slipped away.
At 75, with sufficient funds and a dearth of dependents, Lily found herself unchained. She could do, be, go wherever she chose. She’d danced beneath the inky firmament of a dozen distant shores. Looked people in the eyes and met a few who looked back. She’d discovered the perfect pixie haircut and winnowed her travel wardrobe down to ten coordinated, natural-fiber pieces, plus accessories. And it all fit into a magical, buttery leather rucksack that had taken her from Bakersfield to Brixton, to Venice and Queensland . . .
. . . to this ditch at journey’s end. Lily admired herself from above. Hair a mite mussed, but still a darn good cut. Toned legs askew—what she could see of them beneath the terry hotel robe.
How, why am I here? Ah yes, Guido.
They’d spun round the cobbled courtyard. He’d gazed into her eyes, fingered the silky shawl draped over tanned shoulders. “So fine, this fabric,” he’d murmured, his breath warm puffs in her ear. “Like a pastel rainbow. The coral linen pant. This cap-sleeve blouse. Perfection.” He’d felt them all—linen, the softest chambray cotton, silk ribbon.
They’d gone to her room. Quaffed fruity cocktails on the veranda. Exchanged chunks of mango and pineapple from ruffled toothpicks, languished on the duvet, sleek as seals.
“Your taste, it is exquisite,” he’d whispered, unbuttoning the little white blouse. “If I were a woman, I would trade places with you.”
And now she was here, in a ditch on the side of the road—nothing hurt, and the pose was not unbecoming. Ah, Guido. She supposed it had been foolish to think he’d wanted her, desired her. Yet he had seen her. If they’d had sex, it was soft sex, slippery, silky, hairless sex.
Lily Dale drifted up, up, up. The island now a pear, rising from an undulating turquoise sea. And there was Guido, barefoot, shushing through the sugary sand. In the cap-sleeved blouse, with the straight linen skirt, gray and white pinstripes. He’d found the inside zipper compartment where she kept a few bits of jewelry. The silver pendant with a chunk of Brazilian Alexandrite flickered in the sunlight on his firm, fragrant chest.
No regrets.
hi dorothy,
thanks for sharing this. lily starts the story wanting to not die alone, which is ironic, because that’s exactly what she’s doing by the end of the first paragraph. the open is a quick rug-pull, tumbling into a flashback. it has a nice motion to it all.
i do think guido got off easy, but perhaps guidos do, more often than not.
i like that the stated fear in the opening sentence is the thing that lily has most readily overcome through intentional action. i like that she is dying without fear.
Dorothy!
I love this. The details are so interesting and slightly off center which is why I am drawn to it. The ditch, “…then nothing to do”, the toned legs in the hotel robe, the admiration of the fabric!
The visual of the “exchanged chunks of mango and pineapple from ruffled toothpicks” for me shows the exchange between the MC and Guido.
The undertone is sadness and it is cut with that last line.
Great work here! Thank you for sharing.
Tammy
Hi Dorothy,
Strong piece from beginning to end. You develop a very interesting character who carries the piece.
“If I were a woman … trade places with you.”
“Soft sex, slippery, hairless sex!”
And the last two paragraphs are perfect.
Kudos! Love this,
Hello Dorothy.
‘Ah yes, Guido…No regrets.’ this is my takeaway, the fulcrum I feel in your story, properly placed maybe 1/3-2/5th’s through the story.
By then you’ve taken us across your anticipatory spectrum – the fear of dying alone, low on the food chain, until that celebratory travel & experience phase takes over and tops off what sounds like a beautiful life full of experience and a joy – and, probably unexpectedly, Guido!
Your writing is beautiful and the flow is seductive. Death – likely initially perceived as a slow descent out of a labored life and solitude as a ‘refugee’, turns around into this glorious dream of travel, experience and love.
I’m impressed at how this holds together so neatly despite the emotional flipflop of expectation and reality. This scenario where death must have been so sudden and unexpected (absent long suffering illness) and rewarded by the vision Guido with bespectacled with you jewels at afterlife is perfect.
Lovely!
j
Hi Dorothy, this is exquisite! The journey of letting go of more and more, and I love the line between “reality” of Lily Dale and abstraction, the ditch, the going, or paring down and the letting go of the very little we think “matters,” then possibly realize WHO CARES?!!! I like the composite of a woman toward the end, the inner journey here, explored through the other, Guido, who does not quite satisfy Lily. Such an intriguing piece. Great use of details throughout. And that last line changes it all- I went back and forth about wondering if we wanted it. Hmm…
now that you mention it – I’m going back and forth on that final line too!! so often, less is more, right?! Thanks for the comments.
I like the pace of this story and the narrator’s voice. The story is toldobjectively — no self-pity from Lily Dale, and we see her consciousness leaving her body to observe the scene below, including the miscreant Guido: “The silver pendant with a chunk of Brazilian Alexandrite flickered in the sunlight on his firm, fragrant chest.”
Dorothy: This is an ethereal, wistful scene that switches lenses from wide angle, to close up with blurry periphery and, finally, into a field of vision that is larger than consciousness.
“Lived like a refuge.. and all obligations slipped away.” I followed the narrator from a life of obligation and giving to a smaller world that offered a prison of freedom. Beautiful. I channeled my own personal experience and it helped me see (perhaps) that my own life is part of the trajectory of others as well.
“Magical, buttery, leather rucksack.” Sweet. I felt that item becoming an extension of the narrator.
Desire for connection and Lily drifting up, up, up. Beautiful.
Thanks Matthew! Yes, I see myself in Lily too – to be seen is worth quite a bit, even if you end up in a ditch. Maybe?!
Dorothy! It’s so good to see you here! I love how I had no idea where this was going. Guido stealing her clothes is quite the twist! The lush descriptions of her things make me understand where Guido is coming from. He even says he’d trade places with her. But I never thought he would actually do it. Sell her things? Sure. Wear them himself? No. I like that she has no regrets.
Chelsea! I was excited to see your name here. It’s been a few years since Spain. Philippa is back there right now. Sort of envious though I bet it’s HOT.
Yeah, I want her wardrobe too lol. Thanks for commenting.