Monday, April 23, 2018

She gasped. So did I

Just my luck! It was too late to prepare myself now, because two things happened at once: first, I spotted the slender outline of a girl up there in the window, combing her long, red hair. And second, the front door opened, letting out her Mama. 
Somehow I managed to bring the car to a stop. She took one look at me and with menace in her eyes, set her hands on her hips. 
I fumbled to pull up the brakes. “Hello,” I said. 
And she muttered, “Not you again.”
The woman was wearing a square-shouldered jacket, in the style that became popular recently, which also featured narrow hips and skirts that ended just below the knee. With so many men leaving for military service, magazines and pattern companies advised women on how to remake their suits into smart outfits. The alteration idea must have appealed to Mrs. Horowitz, because her husband, the famous conductor Benjamin Horowitz, had passed away only a few months ago, and the cloth would otherwise sit unused. Looking rather substantial in it, she plodded heavily forward, overtaking the milkman and heading in my direction.
I turned off the ignition and leapt dashingly out of the open-air convertible, which was the moment her expression changed. I could tell, by the way her jaw fell open, that the impression I made—or rather, the impression the vehicle made—was the best I could possibly hope for.
“Mrs. Horowitz,” I said. “How are you this fine morning?”
To which she said, “It’s already noon.”
I went around the car to the passenger side and from there, took out the bouquet I had bought earlier. Red roses. 
Opposite me Mrs. Horowitz leaned over the driver-side door, perhaps to examine the plush leather interior. It was then, in the face of her curiosity, that a question suddenly occurred to me. I asked myself, did I—or did I not—turn the front wheels towards the curb, to make sure the car won’t roll? 
And before I could make up my mind either way, I heard a low rumble as something gave way. The brakes must have become disengaged, which sent the car rolling downhill, letting a single red petal fly out of the passenger seat and swirl into the air.
I took a step back. So did Mrs. Horowitz. 
She gasped. So did I.
Stumped by not knowing what to do with the bouquet I was holding, I shoved it into her arms. 
“For Natasha,” I said, and took off running after the car.

★ Love reading? Treat yourself to a love story ★
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"Words can be melodic, and author Uvi Poznansky's book at times reads like a symphony. This is the music of love, elegantly written with an essence of bittersweet romance. It is a celebration of the wonderful feelings people experience during the early days of getting to know each other, written in the heartbreak and shadows of later years." 
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