Zoe and Sophia are two single women, BFFs for thirty years, and months ago they found themselves unexpectedly cast into a world of chaos and redefinition after decades of being faithful wives to George and Marty. They’ve heard and are grateful for the advice from all who were willing to help them. But the time for advice has passed as they launch into a new phase as the Sublime Consumers of the Lightness of Being. Here is their final adventure of the first “season” of their re-creation.
Tiny white lights strung around budding branches winked as a gusty wind blew through the outdoor café at dusk. Some happy-hour patrons danced to the band’s music booming from the small stage. Several people wore festive masks, which waitresses placed on tables when they delivered drinks. Others laughed as they sat leaning intimately into one another. Longing eyes traveled up and down newcomers who walked into the café on the warm May evening. Self-conscious young women stood in clusters, playing with their hair, picking at their clothes. False bravado spilled from the lips of young men as they spoke too loudly and swaggered in circles around women they were too timid to approach. Young and old sensed the sultry nights of summer to come, nights of expectation, nights that would stir people to abandon themselves to the white heat of passion, grasping for completion through connection. Suddenly, a second, prolong gust of wind blew in showers, and as with the end of a film, the music stopped, people ran for shelter, and the sensuous spell snapped shut.
Zoe and Sophia leapt from their seats then huddled with the rest of the crowd inside the café
“I’m hungry,” said Zoe, tapping Sophia’s arm. “Let’s go get Mexican.”
“Nothing,” said Sophia.
“You look like you’re gonna cry.”
“Nah. I’m just tired.”
“Do you wanna go home,” said Zoe.
“To what? To a house filled with packed boxes, rolled up rugs and furniture lined up, ready to be loaded into a U-Haul?” Go home? I have no home. I have no marriage. I have no definition. I have no life that I recognize. I have only ghosts that scream at me from the packed boxes, scepters haunting me from an identity that no longer exists. My life is shit, Zoe.”