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One Night in June: The Scent of Tea Olive Phebe Davidson
You have come up the wide front walk, climbed five wooden steps to the porch, an invited guest who pauses at the door, breathes quietly, looks in. Everyone here is someone you know— not one of them sees you standing a moment in the porch dark. You think how easy it would be to like each in some uncomplicated way, admiring this one's dress, that one's laughter, the force of the other one's presence in the room. You think of this one's car wrecks, that one's secret drinking, the other's mistress waiting somewhere beyond this room where he stands with his wife, in the midst of a party, waiting for you— Attentive, composed, you step smiling into the room. You recall that your life has been lonely till now, and sad. |
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