Evander Ashby
A fictional short story
New day, new bed, new window to escape through, new angry husband to run from.
Such is the present life of Evander Ashby. Flirtatious socialite with impeccable taste and an expert eye for all things exquisite. He loves the feeling of new love and has a deep thirst for starting over again. And over and over and over again.
He curses any man who accuses his intimate ventures as nothing more than barbaric womanising. His art is that of seduction not luring.
His friends will ask in desperation ‘tell us Evander, where do the most stunning beauties reside in all the nineteen lands?’ and he would pity their curious naivety and give in with an answer like ‘Lads you ask the wrong questions, for all women are stunning beauties. Small, tall, robust, slim, funny, quiet, standoffish, quirky, fair, dark, pinkish, or ivory skinned — I could list a thousand qualities and not one rules above another.’ Then with a smirk he would add ‘but for now my desires lead me to the desert darlings.’
Evander wrote poetry, painted, and sang about all the lovelies he fell for. Some he loved for a night, some a week — but not one could hold him for long. For he knew once you compromised, bargained or settled, the romance was over. The honeymoon period was a phase that passed by with little warning or delay.
It was less painful this way. To love freely without feeling imprisoned by the agony or dependence of closeness. Evander often thought of the reasons to never stay on with a companion. Heartache and vulnerability sat top of the list like constant reminders to love one’s self more than anyone or anything else.
Because love for another, it surprises like pain. Forgetting what it feels like until it hits again. It stabs, slices, and burns. Leaves a lump in the throat, a hole in the heart, and a stomach swirling. When it’s dormant you can scarcely describe it, then it transpires and you can do nothing but shout about it to the heavens. Love surprises like pain because it is pain.
Evander wanders through the sandstone archways, passing spice stands and silk shops, it’s a busy, crowded marketplace with hundreds of people yet he begins to feel like the only person alive and awake to the monotonous realities of this stifling world.
He may be addicted to beginning relationships over and over, relishing in the highs of courtship but it was preferable to the alternative.
It’s a harsh thought and one he does not fixate on for too long…
‘Excuse me sir. You seem to have dropped your scarf.’
Ah yes. The dropped scarf routine never fails to invite another stunning beauty into the arms of Evander Ashby.
