Eve

No, I didn't recognize her, I hadn't seen her since I was a kid, maybe ten or so?, and she was not a very close friend of my parents, more an acquaintance that lasts over the years for one reason or another. ``Remember Eve?'' my mom asked, and I didn't say yes or no, just said hello and kissed her, while amazed by her looks. How old was she? Certainly more than fifty, and she looked beautiful; I'd hardly say that she was more than forty; she was not only beautiful ``she looks good for her age'', but beautiful turn-heads-around. I wondered how she must have looked when twenty. Deadly, I suppose, but later I wondered: perhaps not, perhaps she had been plain but continued to be plain all this time, not aging, taking care of herself, dressing and dying her hair, and age suited her, one in a million. No, I think she did all that but she was deadly pretty. I noticed later, passing by her, a tiny fuzz of white hair on her neck, where her very short hair ended; you could only see it if you were two feet away; perhaps the dye has not reached them, perhaps they had grown faster than the rest, but it was very sexy, somehow; it made her look younger, more natural, and not older. She had a wide smile that was too good to be real: she was faking it. Social events and all that shit. She talked to me like people talk to their friends children: ``oh, you've grown so much!''. Obviously, I'm twenty-six, not ten anymore. It would be surprising if I was the same size. I talked politely, telling her what I was doing, my career, those sorts of things. She was a widow, had lost her husband a few years before--I didn't ask that neither she told me, my parents had commented when it had happened. I had met her husband last time I saw her, I think, but I didn't remember him either.

The party didn't get better as the night passed, but I was not there to enjoy it anyway. Many guests started to leave as soon as they could; probably only a few close friends and family would stay later, enjoying the reunion to relive the past, the good and bad past. She came to say good bye to me, I was talking to a cousin. ``I'll see you to the door,'' I said. I did, and went with her to the car. She said that I was a man now, and more of those sorts of things. When we were distant, I mentioned that I didn't remember much of her.

``You look so young that I could never have guessed who you are.''

``Thanks, you are very charming, but you shouldn't lie like that.''

She was by her car, the door open, and she looked at me. I think she realized I was not lying, because she blushed. ``Well, it was good to see you again. Have success with your life.'' I kissed her goodbye; I wanted to take her right there, but I didn't think she would have accepted, not because she didn't want to. ``You could stay longer, you know.'' It was the best I could do without risking a slap and big trouble if she didn't like it.

``I have to go.''

Maybe I should have pushed it more, be blunter, maybe I should have grabbed her, kissing her lips while one of my hands went below her skirt. She drove away, and I came back to the party cursing the world, its rules and judgments, and wondering if Patty, the cousin that played doctor with me when we were twelve, was up for some playing.