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"We're born alone, we live alone, we die alone." said Orson Welles once. "Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we're not alone."
There was a long period of time in Rita's life where she truly believed in an opulent feeling called love. A fairy tale romance, a platonic plethora of an ideal that cast no reflection in reality. Probably why her mind was never intrigued with the image of a dream dress or the length of its tail. It was the allure of an overwhelming feeling, a different level of awareness to make one stop caring about existence. A cup of gluhwein's astringency with strong cinnamon (or any spice to your liking, Rita loved cinnamon) in front of the fireplace when you're snowed in. It was the fire that burned which kept you there, the warmth, the hearth. For if you took a few steps away, you would feel the cold. Truthfully, it would never be as cold as outside but we're creatures of comfort, habit and we strive for happiness all through our lives and go to great lengths in heaven and hell to find it. But the fire, quite the mischievous little thing, is a moth catcher as the idiom goes. Whether it warms the hearth or burn the house down, in the end, all depends on how strong the flame is.
Now, of course one had the choice to stay still and not put her hand in the fire but oh the charm... it's like sweet pixie touched snowy photos of trees with twinkling bokeh and alas, sometimes it takes a burn or more to be reminded that real life can't be photoshopped. So, just like anyone that ever lived, Rita also got her fair share of a reality check in the form of a burn. Not a scream was heard. She was not a woman of many words to begin with but this time, her voice was smothered in pain. And, then... again.
Rather a Pavlovian way to teach a girl to turn a blind eye to emotions but in time, she had re-found the value of solitude. A peaceful one once the inner deamons were defeated. Or... let's say, that's what she believed in.
So when the elder woman sat next to her on the beach in that warm winter sunset and told Rita about her plans, her initial reaction was confusion. Like a true human-being, the girl had her own ways of making her life complicated while everything could be so simple, especially in a place where it didn't get any simpler than that. The setting sun was weak but the sand wasn't too cold. There was a refreshing ocean breeze, hence the salt in her hair, and besides the seagulls, there wasn't the ghost of a sound around. Bless the Hamptons and how deserted it got past autumn.
"Is that why you refused to live with me?" Rita asker after that brief moment of bewilderment. There was a hint of cheekiness in her tone to cover for the surprise. Among all people, one knew, it was usualy the most surprising once it was a parent who started seeing someone. Of course, essentially, there was nothing surprising about it, even less if the said parent was on the dating scene for a long time already, but her mother?! The question had popped but she absolutely had no interest in knowing the answer if it involved any bed secrets that might cause the chat take an awkward turn than it already did.
"Of course, not! A woman at your age shouldn't live with her mother if she wants to find a man." Gia sneered back at her daughter. Despite being mother and daughter, they were as alike as day and night, in Rita's own words. They probably had more in common than the young woman ever cared to admit if one looked beyond the exterior.
Rita stared at the hound lying on his back next to him with a defeated smirk while the dog answered back with begging eyes. He was trying to get her attention for the past five minutes and wouldn't give up before he got that tummy rub, which he was about to. Rita, on the other hand, had learned not to make it a problem or a negotiation, this whole relationship matter. Ever since she started dating, if it was the right word since they were mostly random dinners, it had turned into the main dish... of cold leftovers.
"I'm not in a hurry. Following your example, I have twenty more years." she said dismissively, still with a cocky shrug. Her mother was one of a kind woman. Whenever her life threw less worries on her way, Gia would come up and serve her. Still, a subpoena would be better than all the headache that awaited her. It was one thing to deal with a heartbroken child but what could one do when it was a parent? "You should take your..." Rita would raise her eyebrows in disbelief and childish revolt to the upcoming word if it was another time but she was busy pondering the odds. "... boyfriend and come to place for dinner." And she hoped Welles was wrong and it was not just an illusion.
There was a long period of time in Rita's life where she truly believed in an opulent feeling called love. A fairy tale romance, a platonic plethora of an ideal that cast no reflection in reality. Probably why her mind was never intrigued with the image of a dream dress or the length of its tail. It was the allure of an overwhelming feeling, a different level of awareness to make one stop caring about existence. A cup of gluhwein's astringency with strong cinnamon (or any spice to your liking, Rita loved cinnamon) in front of the fireplace when you're snowed in. It was the fire that burned which kept you there, the warmth, the hearth. For if you took a few steps away, you would feel the cold. Truthfully, it would never be as cold as outside but we're creatures of comfort, habit and we strive for happiness all through our lives and go to great lengths in heaven and hell to find it. But the fire, quite the mischievous little thing, is a moth catcher as the idiom goes. Whether it warms the hearth or burn the house down, in the end, all depends on how strong the flame is.
Now, of course one had the choice to stay still and not put her hand in the fire but oh the charm... it's like sweet pixie touched snowy photos of trees with twinkling bokeh and alas, sometimes it takes a burn or more to be reminded that real life can't be photoshopped. So, just like anyone that ever lived, Rita also got her fair share of a reality check in the form of a burn. Not a scream was heard. She was not a woman of many words to begin with but this time, her voice was smothered in pain. And, then... again.
Rather a Pavlovian way to teach a girl to turn a blind eye to emotions but in time, she had re-found the value of solitude. A peaceful one once the inner deamons were defeated. Or... let's say, that's what she believed in.
So when the elder woman sat next to her on the beach in that warm winter sunset and told Rita about her plans, her initial reaction was confusion. Like a true human-being, the girl had her own ways of making her life complicated while everything could be so simple, especially in a place where it didn't get any simpler than that. The setting sun was weak but the sand wasn't too cold. There was a refreshing ocean breeze, hence the salt in her hair, and besides the seagulls, there wasn't the ghost of a sound around. Bless the Hamptons and how deserted it got past autumn.
"Is that why you refused to live with me?" Rita asker after that brief moment of bewilderment. There was a hint of cheekiness in her tone to cover for the surprise. Among all people, one knew, it was usualy the most surprising once it was a parent who started seeing someone. Of course, essentially, there was nothing surprising about it, even less if the said parent was on the dating scene for a long time already, but her mother?! The question had popped but she absolutely had no interest in knowing the answer if it involved any bed secrets that might cause the chat take an awkward turn than it already did.
"Of course, not! A woman at your age shouldn't live with her mother if she wants to find a man." Gia sneered back at her daughter. Despite being mother and daughter, they were as alike as day and night, in Rita's own words. They probably had more in common than the young woman ever cared to admit if one looked beyond the exterior.
Rita stared at the hound lying on his back next to him with a defeated smirk while the dog answered back with begging eyes. He was trying to get her attention for the past five minutes and wouldn't give up before he got that tummy rub, which he was about to. Rita, on the other hand, had learned not to make it a problem or a negotiation, this whole relationship matter. Ever since she started dating, if it was the right word since they were mostly random dinners, it had turned into the main dish... of cold leftovers.
"I'm not in a hurry. Following your example, I have twenty more years." she said dismissively, still with a cocky shrug. Her mother was one of a kind woman. Whenever her life threw less worries on her way, Gia would come up and serve her. Still, a subpoena would be better than all the headache that awaited her. It was one thing to deal with a heartbroken child but what could one do when it was a parent? "You should take your..." Rita would raise her eyebrows in disbelief and childish revolt to the upcoming word if it was another time but she was busy pondering the odds. "... boyfriend and come to place for dinner." And she hoped Welles was wrong and it was not just an illusion.