Sudden Moves, Part 1
You dangle on the leash of your own longing...your needs grow teeth.
Margaret Atwood
The old library was dead center on the main thoroughfare of the small town town Bliss was living in at the moment. Thirty seven years ago, her nomadic and free loving mother thought Bliss was the right name for her only daughter. Bliss Rita Levinson was her birth name. She would never know her father and his identity was never disclosed. A fact that should have haunted a young girl and cause her to look for love in the wrong places.......eventually. Not even when she looked in the mirror and saw thick raven black hair, huge blue eyes and dimples was she at all haunted. Her mother was a redhead with freckles and an aquiline nose. Bliss was pretty certain she wasn't part of her either.
Opening the heavy doors of the library entrance, she was met with the strangely familiar scent of a building whose rooms hadn't breathed in years. A slightly medicinal smell that reminded her of some ancient doctors office but with the aroma of dusty pages in the mix.
Bliss R. Levin . A name change and a new life.
Bliss loved the small bucolic hill town she was renting a home in. It suited her and where she was in this particular stage of her life. A recovering alcoholic, a cancer survivor and freshly divorced. Contributing short stories and essays for glossy magazines, writing her novel and working at a local bagel shop in between to pay her bills. Meager means for a woman who didn't have much anymore.
Two pleasant librarians greeted her. Both with excellent wit and warm smiles.
Pat, the more talkative of the two, handed her the pile of books they had been holding for Bliss. One was a giant coffee table book about New England Inns. Chatting for a few minutes about the local elections with Pat, Bliss made her way into the cool Autumn breeze. Air so fresh and sweet it took her breath away. God. I feel so good. So light. So...centered.
Sitting in her favorite booth at Joe's Pizzeria, Bliss ordered a diet cola. Her stomach grumbled for a slice of greasy pepperoni pizza. Both the cola and the pizza would hit the spot on this glorious afternoon, she thought. She opened the crisp, colorful new book before her.
The pages were filled with gorgeous, nostalgic, historical inns. Winivan in Connecticut, The Red Lion Inn nestled in the Berkshires, Eben House in Cape Cod.
All the reasons she was madly in love with New England. Bliss smiled and looked out the window onto the town's green feeling shamelessly happy. She continued to run her hands on the shiny pages.
The Colonial Inn.--just 15 miles from downtown Boston, Revolutionary War history lies thick on the ground in Concord.......
Bliss's heart sank deep into her gut. There it was. She'd almost forgotten.
The mustard seed colored walls. The Lincoln portrait over the table for two by the window. The exquisite lighting, the handsome Windsor chairs. Her love. Sipping wine. Just the two of them. He held her soft hands in his. Their romance was at it's pique and the world seemed to belong to them and only them. All lovers think that when they are drunk with foolishness.
Bliss was completely in love with him even though he was old enough to be her father.
Even before the salads could arrive, her lover was scrambling abruptly, wildly, nervously from his chair and trying to find a place to hide---in a hallway adjacent to where they were sitting--eyes wide with fear, his cheeks red with embarrassment. The man she desperately loved was running from her...hiding like a child caught stealing.
In the distance she heard a woman laughing gaily with her girlfriend at the inn's entrance. One of them was his wife. Surely, she noticed his flashy Jag parked out front? The one with the silly vanity plate?
Her love left her that day at the very table she was staring at in the coffee table book before her. A day she remembered driving home alone leaving The Colonial Inn in Concord, Massachusetts--a deeply wounded woman. A day she went home and vomited in her toilet until she felt like nothing was left...leaning against the wall in her Summer white dress.
Feeling foolish. Humiliated. Empty. Childish. A day, sadly---that the affair did not end.
The old library was dead center on the main thoroughfare of the small town town Bliss was living in at the moment. Thirty seven years ago, her nomadic and free loving mother thought Bliss was the right name for her only daughter. Bliss Rita Levinson was her birth name. She would never know her father and his identity was never disclosed. A fact that should have haunted a young girl and cause her to look for love in the wrong places.......eventually. Not even when she looked in the mirror and saw thick raven black hair, huge blue eyes and dimples was she at all haunted. Her mother was a redhead with freckles and an aquiline nose. Bliss was pretty certain she wasn't part of her either.
Opening the heavy doors of the library entrance, she was met with the strangely familiar scent of a building whose rooms hadn't breathed in years. A slightly medicinal smell that reminded her of some ancient doctors office but with the aroma of dusty pages in the mix.
Bliss R. Levin . A name change and a new life.
Bliss loved the small bucolic hill town she was renting a home in. It suited her and where she was in this particular stage of her life. A recovering alcoholic, a cancer survivor and freshly divorced. Contributing short stories and essays for glossy magazines, writing her novel and working at a local bagel shop in between to pay her bills. Meager means for a woman who didn't have much anymore.
Two pleasant librarians greeted her. Both with excellent wit and warm smiles.
Pat, the more talkative of the two, handed her the pile of books they had been holding for Bliss. One was a giant coffee table book about New England Inns. Chatting for a few minutes about the local elections with Pat, Bliss made her way into the cool Autumn breeze. Air so fresh and sweet it took her breath away. God. I feel so good. So light. So...centered.
Sitting in her favorite booth at Joe's Pizzeria, Bliss ordered a diet cola. Her stomach grumbled for a slice of greasy pepperoni pizza. Both the cola and the pizza would hit the spot on this glorious afternoon, she thought. She opened the crisp, colorful new book before her.
The pages were filled with gorgeous, nostalgic, historical inns. Winivan in Connecticut, The Red Lion Inn nestled in the Berkshires, Eben House in Cape Cod.
All the reasons she was madly in love with New England. Bliss smiled and looked out the window onto the town's green feeling shamelessly happy. She continued to run her hands on the shiny pages.
The Colonial Inn.--just 15 miles from downtown Boston, Revolutionary War history lies thick on the ground in Concord.......
Bliss's heart sank deep into her gut. There it was. She'd almost forgotten.
The mustard seed colored walls. The Lincoln portrait over the table for two by the window. The exquisite lighting, the handsome Windsor chairs. Her love. Sipping wine. Just the two of them. He held her soft hands in his. Their romance was at it's pique and the world seemed to belong to them and only them. All lovers think that when they are drunk with foolishness.
Bliss was completely in love with him even though he was old enough to be her father.
Even before the salads could arrive, her lover was scrambling abruptly, wildly, nervously from his chair and trying to find a place to hide---in a hallway adjacent to where they were sitting--eyes wide with fear, his cheeks red with embarrassment. The man she desperately loved was running from her...hiding like a child caught stealing.
In the distance she heard a woman laughing gaily with her girlfriend at the inn's entrance. One of them was his wife. Surely, she noticed his flashy Jag parked out front? The one with the silly vanity plate?
Her love left her that day at the very table she was staring at in the coffee table book before her. A day she remembered driving home alone leaving The Colonial Inn in Concord, Massachusetts--a deeply wounded woman. A day she went home and vomited in her toilet until she felt like nothing was left...leaning against the wall in her Summer white dress.
Feeling foolish. Humiliated. Empty. Childish. A day, sadly---that the affair did not end.
In just that instance,the young waitress interrupted her grave memory with the greasy pizza slice. Bliss was startled for a minute but neatly composed herself and asked the waitress to please bring along a glass of wine too.
CJ Ellis
CJ Ellis
(*art by Michael Carson)
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