"Pegasus' Inspiration"

Or Clementine's Giggles of Life He hid it behind the one hand he had cupped around his chin. One could almost see the disdain peer between his slightly spread fingers, though, barely held at bay by his hand. And while the giggles of those around the white-linen table in the Greek restaurant fluttered like confused geese above a sun-drenched mediteranean beach, he just sat there. She had managed to swallow the mediocre food, washed it down happily with the good dry, white, Greek wine, as the waiter had praised it. Now, she almost choked on his shreds of intolerance their laughter had made of his disposition tonight. She didn't want to see it, and turned her head into the direction of the cause of all this silliness at their table. It was Clementine, again; Clementine who can take a mundane moment of life to the mountain top and have it gush volcano-like for hours with her knack for embellishing. There had been this opening at the BSD gallery tonight. A modest not-for-profit place in an upcoming neighborhood that would soon be too gentrified to welcome the work of artists like Clementine and their friends. Filled with passion and desire, these artists anticipated the sparsely attended shows every so often with great caring. And even if the art work was not much more than a showing of love for life, it hung proudly on white-washed walls to punctuate the conversation among those seeking companionship in their journey. Clemetine was one of those. An evening with her and their friends always held surprises. It was never quiet. Nor was it sophisticated in the conventional way how they cluttered the expanse of the Greek restaurant with their laughter, more than the diletant murals of windmills and sea gulls on its walls had already done. The food had been overcooked and rather tasteless. He lamented about the cost for such a meal. She smiled and pushed the bread basket closer to him. The bread was good, crisp, and speckled with sesame seeds. He methodically spread butter on the slices so that each was covered thoroughly. At least, he wouldn't be hungry after eating enough of that. Clementine's friend had picked up the bill for everyone. So she went to hug her to thank her for the gracious treat. Fetching her coat, she saw a beautiful terra cotta bowl with mints at the hostess' podium. She scooped it up and passed it to everyone in the lobby. A wink from the owner of the place had given her as much permission to do this as her joy about this group of people, each so different from the other; each not unlike the pieces of art that still hung at the BSD gallery walls in the dark now. It was storming outside. Spring time in Chicago has no meaning aside from confusion. He grasped her hand as they braved the two block walk to his car. She was freezing in her thin dress and short coat, and chattered about the fickle weather in this city. He stiffened, partially against the wind that pushed wet, near-frozen raindrops into his stern face. She loved seeing the shiny dark of wet pavement as he cautiously maneuvered the car through the city's night streets. Slowly soft memories of the giggles with their underlying joi de vivre warmed her enough to study his profile. He was determined to get home safely. The cats welcomed her, and hightailed it into the kitchen. She spoke to them softly and opened a can of cat food. Amidst their greedy meows, she remembered the plants she had put out onto the deck early that day when the morning had promised warmth. Outside, the rain had metamorphosed into slush that was hardening. As she stepped onto the deck, she felt crunching under her slippers. One by one, she rescued the pots of plants. Setting them down on the kitchen floor, she glanced into the living room, where he sat, quietly, smoking his cigarette and staring at the coffee table. She spoke to her plants and to the cats, and she smiled at him across the distance, grateful for knowing that she is able to feel life under her feet and hear poetry in the giggles of her friends. - Gabriele Strohschen

[Back]