Guard petals [minutelovestory #70]

Posted by on Apr 18, 2013 in minutelovestories | No Comments

At the precise moment her father’s final exhalation resolved itself on this earth, she’d decided that the proper wardrobe of an orphan included, unquestionably, a corduroy blazer. It would serve her in the same way that a rose’s guard petals protect the precious ones beneath it, growing brown and streaked where too much stasis and leaning occurred with the other roses. The rest of the flower continues on, unharmed, with the protection of the guard petals. This would be like her future corduroy coat. She would wear it for three seasons out of four. She would be an orphan with protection. She would take on a different identity.

This was not the first occasion on which she’d taken on a new persona in the event that life had offered her the opportunity to do so. At the age of 20, she’d fallen in love and subsequently played Bob Dylan’s “Lay Lady Lay” over and over and with alacrity read Kierkegaard’s “Diary of a Seducer,” glancing from its pages often, distracted by what her new lover could be thinking. She hoped his thoughts were of her, assiduously studying the cafard of intimacy with a furrowed brow and suspended breath.