Adonis Diaries

“My name is Marie”. She said

Nte: Re-edit of “Marie of my youth: Introspection. March 30, 2009“

Addendum # 11 of my autobiography 

 

“Marie”. She said

It was a time when I was about 16 or less.

By early dawn, I was on the balcony, the first floor of a ten-story building, facing Main Street.

By early dawn, I was reading or studying on that balcony,

But my heart was looking out for this young girl

Soon to show up on the front steps of her building, facing mine.

 

She was olive-skinned, large dark-eyed and hair done in two ponytails.

I was waiting for her to step out of her apartment building, opposite mine.

She would wait for her school bus with another schoolmate girl.

 

By early dawn, I am sitting or standing on that balcony,

And my heart is swooping down on that school girl about fifteen.

She is in her school dress, white shirt and blue short skirt.

Her blond and chubby schoolmate waited with her for the school bus.

 

Within two years, that blonde blue-eyed chubby girl metamorphosed

Into a blonde Nordic beauty, a svelte Prussian tall.

My dark-eyed girl used to lower her head, and raise her cunning eyes up toward me.

 

It was a game for her.

I was to her that stupid bookish young male.

In that game, she was the Beauty Queen and she was pleased of the attention.

 

She must have got used to me.

Maybe she started to like me,

Or she appreciated the stubborn care that I generously bestowed upon her.

 

Her errands increased in the neighborhood so did my heart beats.

For a year, my overriding shyness

Could never muster enough courage to step down this one ridiculous floor,

Cross the street and start a chat with her.

 

One day she was waiting for a taxi.

I rushed down the stairs and waited by her side for a taxi.

I could not speak, my mind went blank and I barely was breathing.

 

Taxis made themselves scarce for an eternity.

I clumsily blurted out with a dry, unfamiliar voice:

“What’s your name?”

“Marie” she said.

 

That is how it started.

From then on, “what’s your name” is all the conversation

I could have with a girl I like.

 

Returning from a long stay overseas, I was told that the local militia ganged up on her.

They used her as their love slave.

She has gotten married.

 

It was a time when this womanhood was blossoming in roses and rainbow colors.

Fluttering in front of that manhood, shy and dazed with pallor.

 

It was a time when this womanhood was leaping in bounds, raw.

Looking at that degenerative manhood, crawling and craning his neck in awe.