|Byrd's Reflection (standard:drama, 2814 words)|
|Author: Giovanni||Added: Apr 13 2001||Views/Reads: 2587/1620||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Garrett, the frustrated mirror maker, is on the verge of becoming accepted as a society artist when his autistic brother, who he hasn't seen in years, finds him. Garrett escapes his brother for the moment but the memory haunts him at a The Byrd's party.|
Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story unknowingly kicked it across the floor while making her monumental greeting. Garrett focused on Roslyn whose curly brown hair was slightly unsettled by the wind, winnowing through the open balcony doors, tossing her silk scarf about as she strode toward her visitor. Her cordial welcome, as with any guest, focused on herself and not the person whom she greeted. Garrett gave her his undivided attention unaware that his golden timepiece was no longer in his possession. He followed her toward Jocelyn, her sister "We were getting worried about you," Roslyn said. "I had trouble finding the cufflinks." "You lost them?" "No, they're on. I couldn't find them right away." She reached for his jacket sleeve and looked under it. "We're sitting over there. Did I mention Renworth the fashion designer is here." "Fantastic." "Gar don't say that," looking around briefly, continuing in a hushed voice, "It's not becoming. Always answer with less enthusiasm. I don't want to go over this right now. Say little, smile lots." He didn't offer her the present and she didn't reach for it. He looked over his shoulder trying to spot Renworth, the designer, but knew the man by name only. Ominous feelings brewed in Garrett, that today he might not just lose his connection with Roslyn, but that he would be reunited with his brother. This horror grew in Garrett: Anybody in my shoes would be worrywart. My future is at stake. What's this? Garrett gasped. A gorgeous floppy haired young man in a four button Glen Plaid Suit, jacket unbuttoned sat gossiping with Jocelyn as she popped seedless grapes in his mouth. Garrett knew that he had seen him once before, when however he couldn't remember. The young man's flawless olive complexion diminished Garrett's image. Was he their new protégé? He was barely nineteen. But he was blessed with sinewy eyes that captivated the most fastidious gossipers. The reserved Byrds were slovenly coquettish and acting out of their calm and collected character, no doubt because of the young man's charming voice and his gorgeous dark curly hair. Garrett loathed being near him. He had the deadly combination charm and good looks. The less I know, the fewer worries, Garrett coaxed himself. Then Garrett heard the young man utter that familiar phrase that Garrett had first used when he was on Roslyn's yacht. "Portside out starboard home." It was irrevocable now. The young man nurtured with longwinded phrases meant that the Byrds were prepping him for more get-togethers, as they once had done for Garrett. Accustom to his new lifestyle his gluttony for words, food, wine, riches and attention was insatiable. Garrett hummed trying to block out the young man's voice. Roslyn shushed him, waving at a bunch of African Violets on the table nearest her. Her servant immediately removed them. Garrett too was being replaced, but unlike the violets as the servant searched for an appropriate vase, Garrett knew who was taking his place. Roslyn played with the young man's hair the way she once did with Garrett. Roslyn made love to him with her eyes. Garrett hadn't even kissed her during the past two weeks, working on her present in solitude. He cursed the young man's sharper features: pert nose, high cheekbones, thin lips and fragrance, which Roslyn once bought Garrett. Innocence was a cruel name for cologne; she gave it salaciously. The young man stood to refresh her glass. The mirror was cumbersome underneath Garrett's arm and the sisters' chirping made him uneasy. When the young man returned, Roslyn sipped from her glass. Inhaling the fragrance and then tasting the Beaujolais Blanc, she tilted her head back, pausing, allowing the grape consistency to twirl across her tongue. Letting the wine settle she pressed her lips together, then decisively remarked, "Most exquisite," in a high nasal tone. Jocelyn chorused her elder's pronunciation. "It must be nearing expiration since the grapes are sour," Roslyn attested. "You're dreadful," Jocelyn responded. They laughed, but Roslyn laughed with contempt; Jocelyn hated to be mocked because of her ignorance of viticulture, but let the insult go. Her older appearance made her passive, though she was five years younger than Roslyn. When Jocelyn wanted to get her frustration out, she vented her anger elsewhere. Attracted by bulbous nose on the other side of the room, she nudged the young man already fluent in Byrd flippancy. "How awful it must be for that woman- it's not as if make up can hide that beak." "We're quite fortunate not having ski slopes for noses," Roslyn added. The guests nesting on the couch laughed. Jocelyn sipping her wine quickly continued the game, attacking another guest. "And look at Helena. That dress. It's choking her hips." "And those red shoes. There's no need to draw any unnecessary attention," Roslyn said gobbling a crab puff. Garrett found it amusing that such rotund women could criticize so many people, since the women they criticized were unequivocally more attractive than they. Did they ever truly notice themselves in a mirror? Both sisters were unpleasantly plump, but Jocelyn's gut protruded more than Roslyn's, layer upon layer of fat nearly pushing out of her dress. They're repulsive. Why have I been wasting my time with them? Garrett eyed the beautiful dark blonde who earlier stared at him. She pushed her bangs to the side letting Garrett examine her soft thin brows. She turned after making eye contact. Her face was small and she wore her make-up in moderation. Realizing that there was no need to be Roslyn's center of attention, he tuned out of the Byrd's dishy conversation to devise a scheme to meet the beautiful blonde woman. How do I approach her? Things were so much easier before. Garrett was no longer a neophyte approached by older, more domineering big bellied women. Things change. I know which sized glasses should be used for Sauvignon Blanc, Pinot Noir and the like I should have better than her. Though Garrett was more astute he still was insecure. He heard a squawking sound and flinched. Could Simon be here? I completely forgot about him. Maybe he followed me down that alleyway. Squawk. Squa-a-wk. It grew louder. Momentarily dodging his fears he slowly turned toward the noise. It was only Roslyn's parrot. He envied its green wings of liberty, but he was uncertain of his ability to fly on his own. He seldom mingled at parties, preferring to waddle closely by the Byrds. It occurred to Garrett that Roslyn once introduced him to the dark blonde, christening him the world's best mirror maker. His cocktail chatter impressed her. She had an antique collection. Garrett knew a lot about antique frames and wanted to impress her with his knowledge. Finally one of Roslyn's servants took Garrett's present. Relieved he got up along side the young man's stepping on his shoe racing to pick up Roslyn's empty glass. Garrett grabbed it first. Gallantly triumphing on his way to the bar, he had no intention of refilling the glass. He looked for the blonde, but she seemed to have disappeared. The wine made him tipsy but at the same time conscious of his pensiveness. He extended his palm to the bird. The lanky Doctor Gangly, a recent client of Garrett's noticed him seeking the bird's attention. This time Garrett didn't discuss politics, since he was none the wiser regarding current events. Saying little smiling lots didn't help this time however, Garrett detected the same look of disappointment when the Doctor realized Garrett was unaware of the recent turmoil in South East Asia. Garrett dropped his hand to his side. The doctor, surrounded by lawyers and judges, spoke loudly. The frumpy man nearest the doctor, facing away from Garrett, had his head carpeted with an Einsteinesque toupee that shook when he chortled. Garrett marked him as a lawyer by his black monk strap shoes, remembering Roslyn's lesson that legal eagles seldom wore loafers. According to Roslyn, lawyers by and large preferred low cut shoes, but not loafers, especially liking monk straps, which the man facing Garret on Gangly's other side wore in cedar brown. Their jargon further identified them. Fiduciary was used a couple of times. The frumpy man mentioned something about red herrings and pickled herrings and other jokes ala corporate law. Garrett wanted very much to be a part of the bad humor and away from his worries. The doctor stood high above his camp wrists ambulating inside his wide sleeves, as was his neck from his hoola-hoop colar. Except for the Jhane Bharnes/ Sal Ferragamo attire, one could take the huddlers as a bawdy bunch of fireman surrounding a fire pole. Their loud banter brought attention. Though Garrett observing these men, worried about what they thought of him, he was more comfortable studying them, their clothes, their bone structure and their bodies proportion than the young man's. His art method too measured only those mirror makers that were easily less attractive than his art. At some point Doctor Gangly eyed Garrett again. The heavy-set lawyer mumbled something to the doctor. "Renworth you're a clown," the doctor responded. Garrett was shocked. That fat bald wig wearing man, poor imitation of Einstein was the designer that he wanted so desperately to meet. He had the same bad taste in his mouth that he had when he had first been intimate with Roslyn. Garrett fidgeted with change; something was missing. He searched for the watch inside his pocket. He almost uttered something coherent, but when his mouth opened a squawk came out. This time the squawk sounded different than the parrot's. An obscure voice came out resembling more of a shriek; the sound was scratchy, almost human. Icy stares unsettled him. Watching the men eyeing someone to his right, Garret realized the shrill noise was not coming from the parrot. The bird perched itself on his shoulder. Raucous laughter ensued. He shooed him off. Why do animals take to me he lamented? Turning, Garrett saw a man flailing his arms, grunting as he pointed at Garrett's bandless watch now lying on the marble floor. It was Simon. Garrett couldn't bare to look; stopped over his brother's shaky hands fumbled with the watch. Horrified Garrett's eyes fixed on his mirror, reflecting the tumult, on the wall for all to see. Garrett saw himself most clearly. He felt naked. He needed to cling to something, but the Byrd's nest was now occupied. Fly or fall. The reflection of the parrot flying low, wings openly spread, captivated him. Laughter resonated around him. The parrot landed on Simon's shoulder. It was uncanny. Simon's squawks coalesced with the bird's. He then noticed his brother. The game was won; Simon found his brother. Garrett's eyes grew two sizes larger. Simon, arms flailing, pushed through Gangly's circle and waved to his brother. The front door was too far away; too many people were focused on Garret and his brother. But they didn't have to know the truth. "Gallid, its me. Hey Gallid," Simon called out. The blonde, that Garrett was looking for earlier, passed by. She glared disapprovingly. Garrett needed to hold his ground. He so desperately wanted to be a part of this world. "Gallid it's me Th-Thimon," his brother lisped. "Do you know this man Garrett?" Dr. Gangly queried. "I-I-I've never seen him in my-" "Gallid it's me. He's my bw-wother." Simon giggled, touching his brother. Garrett slapped Simon's hand off his arm. "He's obviously crazy." Garrett looked for support; Dr. Gangly shook his head, the frumpy lawyer mumbled in his ear and the beautiful blonde walked away. Simon, previously wearing a dopey grin, was puzzled. Impulsively Garrett moved closer to Dr. Gangly, but the doctor ignored him. Determined Garrett paced back and forth shadowing the circle of men who ignored him and then there was crackle. Garrett had accidentally smashed the gold watch. "You bwoke it Gallid, you bwoke it." Simon wailed. Frantic Garrett spoke to anyone who would listen, "I've never seen him before. Really I haven't. Don't you believe me." Tweet
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