Vera Beartoy (Part One)
Into nervous emotion, not knowing a goddamn thing that is going to happen. The word regret is on his lips, but he hesitates to utter it. The air smells of sex and sweat. Where is the laughter to kill the tension? Cigar smoke drifts and mingles with the elements. Mexicans converse in broken English. The house is as hot as a kitchen.
He couldn’t sleep through the night but managed to dream every time.
“Who is Vera Beartoy?”
She comes from infinity. She is the raw form of Love. Bukowski called her “The Most Beautiful Woman in Town.” Eliot found her in his dreams. Where is she in reality? She is floating through bodies. Taking different shape and form. She appeared to him in human form. What will she say?
How will he react? He fears he knows the answer. He’s listening. As her dress tatters in the wind, he trembles. The breeze should make him calm, but he’s edgy, not expecting a pleasant experience. Her words are like notes from a harp- they crash with the force of Zeus’ lightning bolt. They burn as they etch their way into his skin and mind. Raw power equal to raw beauty- awesome and awful to behold.
“I am here to deliver you.”
He embraces relief and closure, unnerving acceptance. Floating from a mountain into an open-armed cloud, his body is dashed upon the rocks painlessly. The waiting is over.
He knows death. He passes into the next life gently. The breeze blows across his body, tattered garments disintegrate in the soil. The blood dries. The Earth sleeps. Her presence is gone and replaced with peace. This is her way.
She travels once again spreading wisdom to those who seek her words. The unkempt one disrobes her subjects, shows them humility, then covers them in magnanimity. Resentment has no place in her wake, only joy and understanding- gratitude for knowledge gained.
We are helpless until she appears and speaks. We are the ones who wish for peace, breathe deeply, exhale and sleep. We drink quickly and leave before she overtakes us, but not before we thank Vera Beartoy.
