Sadness is Generous

Romance In A Beat Up Chevy


I

She wasn’t what you expected when you wrapped your Cajun blanket around her hope, slipped your hand down, touched her breast. Told her your life story; she heard this one before but she listened anyway. Girl, I've been runnin’ my entire life and I ain’t gonna quit, don’t be 'spectin nothin’ from this man. I got places I got t'be women I want t'see. Hear what I’m sayin’ hm? Baby don’t be cryin’ on me, you women want to take a piece of me string my balls hang 'em on your Christmas tree. What’s that you got in your hands, hey you writin’ one of them poems ‘bout me? Let me take a look. "That man thinks he’s a gift, he doesn’t know that sadness is generous, he hates everything that isn’t about him. I want a man who isn’t afraid of feeling." What? I ain’t afraid of nothin’. You ain’t thinkin’ ‘bout leaving me are you baby? Don’t leave me I need you baby, let me give you a ride home. Damn, she gonna' go...

II

She wasn’t what you expected when you wrapped your Cajun blanket around her hope, slipped your hand down, touched her breast. She reached over, turned on the car radio, Leonard Cohen was singing The Stranger Song, she sang along with him, knew all the words to the song and you were impressed. She looked into your sad eyes and asked you if you ever saw the ocean. Then she told you that she was headed to California, was going be a real hippie, wear bell bottoms and weave flowers through her hair. She took her shoes off tossed them out the window, her blue eyes were lit up with mischief and joy. You just kept on driving, and all the way to the ocean she sang The Stranger Song. You didn't know that this would be the best time of your life...

III

She wasn’t what you expected when you wrapped your Cajun blanket around her hope, slipped your hand down, touched her breast. She told you that she was going off to college, and you felt sad about her leaving you behind. You cuddled in the back seat, kissed and touched each other. She was wearing the sweet necklace that you gave her, the one with the pretty abalone seashell. You asked her if she would make love with you and she told you that she wasn’t ready to have sex. You didn’t hear her, you ripped her clothes off, she pleaded with you, begged you to stop. You raped her, you raped the girl you loved. She cried, you said you were sorry, and told her that you loved her. Sobbing, she asked you to take her home, which you did. When you drove off you felt something sharp sticking into your side and pulling at it you saw that it was the necklace you gave her, the chain broken...

IV

She wasn’t what you expected when you wrapped your Cajun blanket around her hope, slipped your hand down, touched her breast. White as winters' first snow fall and warmer than a day in the month of August. She leaned her head against your chest and listened to the beating of your heart, hummed to its rhythm and you thought you'd weep into her long hair smelling of chamomile; Sadness is generous, a giving of memories and regrets come to remind you. You can find sadness anywhere; When walking on a beach, pick up a seashell and hold it against the sunlight. It nudges your heart to let the tears come, to bring home lost images of times you left behind or reminders of mistakes you've made along the way. Romance in a beat up Chevy, a broken chain, the smell of chamomile, a special song; The sound of your own heart beating.. .. .. ..


Carol Brown ©