"Paris is in twilight and Madame Annabelle is on the couch, breathing the warm breeze that is blowing through the open window. Her cat, Courbet, is on the balcony, and looks down curiously : some people are arguing there. Madame Annabelle canont resist a break in the annoying evening and goes to peek.
A man and a woman are talking loudly, their words are sharp and something like hate is sparking between them.
Madame Annabelle smiles. She's remembering a night many years ago, and furious words, and tears of hate, and the passion behind them; she smiles more, remembering those kisses after all that yelling, and two young bodies making peace.
She returns to the living room, picks up one of the fresh red roses she always has on her table and goes back to the balcony.
The man and the woman are still there and seem to have no intention of stopping their quarrel. Madame Annabelle smiles once more, separates petals from the stalk of the rose, throws them down on the two heads below, then calls Courbet and comes back to her couch.
The lovers don't talk anymore; only the usual sound of Paris at twilight enters from the open window.
Madame Annabelle likes to think they're kissing now, maybe planning to make peace in the best way possible."
Feb 25, 2005 2:15am
