the woman whose face i remember from somewhere sat comfortably on the marble floor, against the sand-coloured stonebrick wall, one tiny curly-haired girl to her left, one tiny curly haired girl to her right. it didn’t seem that she enjoyed the music, she was more preoccupied with the tiny curly haired girls who were busy trying to catch the dancing shadows or the sparkly shoes or the red satin ones or the dancers.
a few meters away from her and on a cheap plastic white chair the very old lady who wore exactly one high-heeled shoe was swaying her chubby body, sitting next to the mad lady who goes to all concerts within walking distance of her home- without paying.
i tried to talk to her once, i followed her in the alleys behind the theatre as she exited the building but she didnt notice me and in an attempt to draw her attention i yelled ‘ excuse me, i think you dropped your ticket’ and i showed her mine but her eyes threw little flames at my smile, she produced a copy of a ticket she said ‘ this is my ticket’ and she turned her back on me, limbing, heavy with secrets she’s never told and accumulated wrath.
i saw her again at the tango concert, she didnt recognize me, she said the cheap plastic white chair beside her was taken. i sat on the steps, on the cold marble floor, next to a girl who didnt have a lighter and another who never turned towards me. she was sitting next to a girl, (woman? am i old enough for that word?} who mustnt like me- i think that has to do something with the boy i loved before the man one i love now.
the tango music changed and changed and changed and we had little history lessons and i kept looking at the crowd, stealing their moments. i always do that. i steal moments. im a moment stealer. a young woman was holding a baby up high so she could see her daddy playing and my eyes always turned to the man i love now, hoping he’d catch me watching him. he did.
the girl without a lighter left while i was busy reading people’s faces, playing the game ive been playing since my imagination grew larger than myself. then a man with glasses took the girl’s place on the steps but alas, he had no lighter and he became the man without a lighter and i then once again looked for an interesting face to unlock.
the woman whose face i remember from somewhere was vaguely there, while i got lost in the tango and the sparkly shoes sliding elegantly on the cold marble floor, she seemed lost in thoughts. her tiny curly haired girls where of course oblivious to their mother’s inability to be taken away by little moments thus they continued tirelessly to be children. my heart ached for the woman whose face i remember from somewhere.
the woman whose face i’ve loved since moment one was indeed lost in thoughts ; i could feel the pain she shouldn’t be feeling whilst listening to the magic that came off the fingers of the man i feel now. she too, has ,and has been, suffering from the inability to experiences happiness in moments. watching her being lost, but not lost in music, was excruciatingly painful but i kept watching her beautifully aged face, deliberately punishing myself for all the wrongs ive done to her. she’s mesmerizing,captivating in a way my words can’t explain, wont ever be able to explain.
as tears, my quite frequent visitors, begun to travel in my body i forced myself to turn my attention to someone else. the man in the red shirt announced they’d be playing their last piece and the very old lady and a younger lady rose from the white plastic chairs, one supporting another, and walked towards the car park. the very old lady recognised the music and my ears heard her spanish accent as she whispered ‘ il liber tango’ and i see her youth awakening, her younger self stirred up momentarily and surfaced at the edge of her eyes only to hide again as the pain of her foot thrusted.
i looked for the woman whose face i remember from somewhere but she was gone,