galabia
“Who has not sat before his own heart’s curtain? It lifts: and the scenery is falling apart.”
The man did not want to serve the girls. A wooden table laid with glasses and trays, empty. Each pulled the chair a little ways from the edge of the center and leaned back, hands at a lap. Dim lighting darkened the room, the flicker of shadows moved on the wall in long lines. His silhouette announced the waiter before his physical appearance.
Have you had enough time?
The gap between the women and the host was small, provoking irritation. One of the middling sisters, prom to fits under duress, waved her hand sporadically. She was unapproachable at the worst of times and the one others sought for guidance. Her compassion had no limits; the result was inexplicable outcries of angst. A loose pink tunic and tiny white pearl glowed in the candlelight. Her hands leaped fretfully from her lap to the air like birds fleeing an empty nest.
We’d like a few more moments.
Long strides took the man away from the table. He shook his head at the cook, disgruntled at the duration of the girl's stay.
Never mind, said the eldest. She sat across from the upset sister and stroked a hand that landed loudly at the table, clattering the silverware to the floor.
Let’s look at the menu and select a few things.
Leaning over the menu, the youngest pointed at the beverages. Coffee, she lip-synced to the sister across from her. Rubbing her kohl-lined eyes, just coffee.
Daughter number three sat beside daughter number one. A relationship forged by antagonism, the two peeped sideways at each other and gestured at the breakfast items.
Bread- yes? Eggs- obviously. Tomatoes- no, I don’t like them. Mushroom and spinach with feta? Yes. Salad or sausage. How about bacon? No. Yes. Yes. No. Let’s do two with meat and two with salad.
Flicking her lashes toward the waiter, the eldest perched a little taller, her cue that she was ready to order.
Sit still; he’s coming. You don’t have to wave. It’s rude!
I’m not!
Daughter number two was getting ready for another fit and closed her eyes. The youngest put her hand on her back between the shoulder blades. Breathe deeply; take it slow. Take a deep breath into my hand. I’m here. I’m with you.
The waiter arrived in his dour mood. The girls ordered, the two who didn’t get along sniping at each other through the host. It all happened so quickly, as things tended to move within the cadence of the sisters. Having grown up distinctly, they knew each other intimately, for their recollections were linked. They shared the same childhood memories and happily tasted the pleasures of the dunes, jungle, forest, and sea.
Boats roared in the distance. The fishermen were off before sunrise to tempt the best catch. Motors rumbled and the girls heard the calls of each guide as they pushed the small blue boats into the water and hopped in. The tide was high and the sun was still so very low.
Their coffees were placed accordingly once the sky had become bright as the Red-Bellied Black Snake.
Daughter two had the curliest hair she tied back in a bright yellow band. Her fingers were coated with gold rings. She dressed all in black. Her palms flashed as she took small sips of the hot beverage. Her twin by birth though not blood, wore all red with a blue scarf. The eldest beside her clashed in purple and navy. Three green stones presented themselves from a silver ring on her middle finger.
Only the youngest wore such heavy liner across her eyelids and the other three girls silently judged her for it, not understanding the markings as tribal.
I want to go; I’m not hungry.
We must eat. It’s a long walk.
What did we order?
Really? You were right here!
Four furiously beating hearts felt the subtle shift in presence; silhouettes on the wall.
Eggs and toast arrived on four plates, and salad and meat were separate. The girls in red and kohl took the meat. The green and gold took the salads.
The day would be long and all language lost to the four women. If they spoke, it would be to soothe or quarrel. Only during nighttime hours did the four truly share a bond, a deeper expression of what it meant to love and understand each other.
Save for the sister in gold and black, for she knew the secrets of each heart. She was sworn never to reveal the contents to anyone but the bearer of the pain. A fit would swell and fit into the container of her body and express itself with flaps and cat calls. The episodes never lasted more than a few minutes; they did not belong to her.
The kittens whined from a corner. Kohl-eyes fed the runts slivers of omelet beneath the table. Enjoying the tongues on her fingertips, she smiled—her first in weeks.
Stop it.
The sister across from her stamped out the glee and kicked the cats away. Hissing, the youngest sister spread her palms on the table.
Bitch.
They’re dirty.
They’ll follow us.
We cannot leave a trail, even if it's felines.
Damn you all!
The youngest rose, and all knew she was going to cry in the toilet stall. They let her go, knowing she’d come back. She had to. There was no other choice; only alternatives to what they all felt must be done.
Photo source.
