Macaria

Kelly Daorcy steepled cold fingers over steaming tea, sitting in front of a coffee shop on 39th street. It was September, and the summer had been hot, but August had waned quickly, pulling colour from the few leaves downtown had to offer. Home, for her, had always been more upstate, the acres and acres of trees and the winding country roads being rich with the change of the seasons, but here in the city, one hardly noticed the world turning, save that it got colder.

Kelly leaned over a plate on the table in front of her, breathing in the scent of the slice of cake that it held. Chile-cocoa spice prickled the back of her nose, wafting up from a beautiful whip of chocolate cream icing. It held a moment under the press of her fork before breaking through, parting bubbly layers of chocolate and black cherry filling, loading the tines with a spicy-sweet, dark, sensual slice of life. It reminded her of her lunch date, Macaria, who sat across from her.

"You know,” Kelly started, “this town is really wearing me out. I never seem to do anything but work and sleep anymore. Thank you for the day out."

Macaria smiled and nodded, the soft brown leather of her boots bobbing as she crossed a leg over her knee. "Nothing at all Kel. Today just seemed like a day for good company." They'd been friends, sure, since Kelly first moved to the city, met at some office thing, Macaria attending as someone’s guest.

"You know, Mac, you never seem to say much about yourself. I don't even really know what you do for work." Her fork chimed a soft sound as it struck the plate when she stabbed at a cherry.

Mac smiled softly. "It's not something I talk about much, because most don't understand it. But since you asked, I'm kind of an escort."

Kelly's eyebrows shot up in surprise. She was young—too young to be so worn down by everything—but every life came with its own complications. She was inexperienced, and just starting to figure life out for herself, shaking off many of the traditional views of her orthodox Greek family. An escort she hadn't expected, but with it said out loud, Kelly could understand the appeal. Macaria was a robust woman, full figured and smiling, what some might call Rubenesque. Her attitude was always comfortable, pleasant and engaging, never overstepping herself. Kelly couldn't think of a single time Mac had seemed selfish to her, and come to think of it, she was probably the most enjoyable company one could ask for. "Oh wow! That's so perfect for you. Do you... you know...?"

Macaria waved her hand at the implication, unoffended, and without a real denial. “I try to make sure everyone gets a happy ending, but it’s more about companionship than anything else. Everyone deserves to enjoy the experience, in the end.”

To Kelly, the whole world seemed about sex. There was always the drive for someone warm, to load up on scents, to touch, taste and feel; the drive to find a mate and dance, play, maybe even settle down. Thinking about someone like Mac being taken advantage of seemed distasteful. Emotions bounced around as Kelly decided how she felt about things, small town views competing with her younger, more liberal mindset, and she found herself pushing back against being judgmental. "Well good on you making it your own way. Seems like it would be impossible to be lonely."

Macaria put her chai down and dragged a fingernail through the foam. Wherever it traced, bubbles popped and vanished, or creamy froth sank beneath the surface of her drink to disappear into the cloudy murk. The woman nodded at Kelly's assessment of her life, and seemed to stare at something beyond the top of the table.

"I try to see it that way, but sometimes it's hard. Yeah, I meet a lot of people, but not many of them more than once. They go on to better things, like they're meant to. It's sort of a healing thing."

Clearly Macaria was uncomfortable discussing it, so Kelly changed the subject. "Hey, Mac, can we have a girls night? Why don't we catch a show, maybe go for a stroll down to the bayside and catch the fireworks? I can have a night off, and you can spend the evening with a friend instead of being an escort, hey?"

Macaria reached out and patted Kelly's hand. Her fingers were even colder than Kelly's own, which was a feat in and of itself. Kelly couldn't remember feeling so icy cold. "I'd like that. Let's go see what's showing."

---

The theater district bustled with life. People dressed in their finest crowded in front of theaters and salons waiting to catch an act. Kelly spotted an independent theater showing a black and white film from decades before. "Oh Mac! Silent films! I've never seen these. How do you feel about it?"

Macaria nodded her approval, some undefinable emotion crossing her face that settled on amusement. "Oh yes, this seems appropriate. I'll get us tickets; you head on in."

Inside, the seats were small and the whole room creaked as people’s feet shifted the lacquered boards across old framework, but it smelled clean, like pine and freshly disturbed dust. They took their seats and chatted quietly about nothing until the rattling sound of a classic projector started up and silvery light filled the canvas screen. The title of the film rolled in grainy black and white: 'Une Mort Bienheureuse '

A man was rolling about in bed, surrounded by relatives in mourning. In his dreams, it was summer time, not the dull drear of the room where he lay dying. He was walking down the lane with a woman in a bonnet, arm in arm. He stopped to pick a flower and held it up, affixing it to her bonnet, with all the action accompanied by various silver-on-black title cards, in French and English. The woman turned and Kelly gasped: she was the spitting image of Macaria, and could have been her sister. The woman on the screen was a little thinner, her eyes a little lighter, but they were astonishingly similar. Looking to the side, Mac just shrugged absently, gesturing that they should keep quiet and watch.

The film played through scenes of a beautiful day at the fair, the park, and the boardwalk. The footage was grainy and unfinished, as though it were simply taken from the real-life experience of these two actors. As it ended, the pair found themselves at her home, where the man was bidding her good night. They embraced in a hug, and he put his hat on his head with a flourish. Kelly, uncertain as to why, felt a sudden loss in her heart, and tears welling up in her eyes.

" Merci pour la belle sortie. Tout le monde devrait avoir une amie comme vous."

[.~-="Thanks for the swell afternoon. Everyone should know a gal like you."=-~.]

The scene changed, and the man was at home. He walked into the scene from off camera, and climbed into bed. When he was situated, several other actors pulled up chairs or came to stand at the headboard. A Doctor walked in, put his hand over the man's eyes, and said:

" Je suis vraiment, vraiment désolé. C’est un point fixe dans le temps. Je ne peux rien faire."

[.~-="I'm sorry, mum. There's nothing I could do. I wasn't in time to help."=-~.]

The screen faded to black, and a last scene appeared, of the woman standing on the man's doorstep. She unfastened the flower from her bonnet, laying it on the stoop and knocking. The man's mother opened the door, looking around, panning her face around as though looking for someone, and not seeing the woman standing right in front of her. She did, however, see the flower, and brought it to her face before retreating into the house in sobs. Mac's doppelganger mouthed silently again:

" La mort bienheureuse le prend au repos, bien aimé, avec son amour pour le guider."

[.~-="He died loved and well. He will be missed."=-~.]

As the music played out and the screen faded to black, Kelly curled up against Mac's side, and the woman held her comfortingly while she wept. The theater emptied quietly, and she noticed she was not the only one moved to tears by what they'd seen, but none spoke as they all filed out.

Macaria’s voice was rich, deep, and earthy, and seemed to come from far off and close all at once: "Come on, sweetheart. Let's go watch the fireworks. It's getting late."

---

"She looked just like you Mac. She must be a relative. You should look it up!" Kelly had been so caught up in her feelings for the movie that she hadn't talked to Mac until they got here about how the woman must feel, seeing her twin on the silver screen, by which Macaria seemed unfazed.

The two were quiet for a long time before Kelly spoke again. "Mac, you're a good friend, you know that? I needed a day like this. My whole life lately has been nothing but sickness and stress and pain, with my job and my bills and... everything. Thank you for taking me out today. I never want to forget it."

Macaria's breathed a mouthful of Greek words, which Kelly’s stunted childhood memories of learning to talk to Nana sounded to her like: “Everyone deserves to enjoy the experience.” Then she smiled and she pulled Kelly into a hug. "Everyone deserves a friend when life gets hard. And at least one night with a happy ending. Let's get you home, now, you're looking tired."

And together, as the sky behind them began to rumble into closure, the fireworks display coming to an end, the two women walked off into the cool autumn mists.

---

Kelly lay in her bed, body cold, her breast stilled and finally at rest. Nearby, her mother shuddered with tears which fell like fat drops of rain on a bedspread that had belonged to her own mother, that Helena wasn't sure she'd ever be able to look at again. Under its covers, her daughter was frail and thin, lost to cancer which had eaten her away, whittling her child into nothing.

Behind her, Helena's husband Peter laid a trembling hand on her arm, pulling the shawl closer around her shoulders for warmth. Helena hated him for the fleeting fraction of a moment that her heart allowed, thinking 'how dare he not cry, how can he not weep' before realizing that his heart was shattered too thoroughly to find the tears. She wanted to scream, wanted to know where Kelly's friends were, where her lovers were. Where were they all when she lay frail and lost and alone?

Helena turned her face into her husband's arms and wept for hours. Together they stood there, unmoving, long into the night, until there was a quiet knock at the door. Peter opened the door to nobody, stooped for something, then closed the door and came back inside. In his hand, a small, velvety soft lily was attached to a black card with silver writing on the front, and on the back a stylized Fleur de Lis.

They read it together: "My dearest friend. If any could forget you, I never, ever shall."

There was no signature, but suddenly, Helena felt a huge stone lifted from her heart. Someone cared. Someone loved Kelly, like she did. She hoped that someone had held her daughter's hand, and laughed with her, seen beauty with her, shared meals with her. Lived life with her, if even only once in a while, so that Kelly was not alone in the cold world which had swallowed her up too soon. In her heart, Helena knew this to be true.

And that, if nothing else, was enough.