What had started out as a beautiful day, much like any other, was quickly turning dark and gray. Storm clouds rolled in over the mountains, settling low and creating an eerie backdrop to the green grassy patches below. It was nice to see everyone dressed so nicely, just for me. I was wearing a beautiful, form fitting oxblood red dress with matching shoes.
A beaded hair comb was placed carefully in my dark hair, with the little bit of red netting covering part of my face. Crimson lips and nails completed my ensemble. A sharp contrast against the sea of black that everyone else had chosen to wear, I was definitely the talk of the gathering. All this attention...just for me.... Too bad, I couldn't enjoy it. Being dead definitely has its downfalls.
I carefully watched my funeral through new eyes, the cautious, peering eyes of a ruby red cardinal. I perched high on a tree branch, just off to the side of my final resting spot. I could hardly believe how many people had braved the inclement weather to say goodbye. More than I would have expected. It's interesting to see just how many lives you touched; sometimes you don't know until you're gone. There were, of course, the standard family members, along with assorted cousins and shirttail relation that you had always tried to beat to the buffet table, mainly out of self-defense.
But what touched me more than anything was the showing of my passions over the years. All different sizes and appearances, all with one thing in common....Me. As the preacher began his sermon, he told the gathering that today was not to be a mourning of what is lost, but rather, a celebration of life. I considered the fact that perhaps my life had not been led in a purposeful way, but as I watched them, standing so quiet and proud, I realized that these men, they were the celebrations of my life.
They were the reflections of my passions, the embers that had kept my desires burning. No two were alike, but every single one of them had strength and an inner "Convoitise pour la vie", that no one else in their lives had ever guessed that they embodied. Almost like a secret life, each one of these men had lived out a part of their lives in unbridled lust, and fantasies were acted out, every one.
Before you go judging me for my indiscretions, consider this. What if? What if you were given the chance to fulfill a fantasy for someone? What if you were regarded as the very reason that kept a man going? What if you could hold the very fiber of someone's being in your hands, and more importantly, in your heart, making them feel safe and desired, even for just a moment in time?
This kind of power over another's emotions should not be taken lightly; and it never was, when I lay next to them. While the flesh may yield to time and travesty, the spirit can live on for as long as someone chooses to remember. I had always told them to keep my memory in a little velvet box, tucked away in a small, safe spot in their mind. When they wanted to rekindle that feeling, they could take it out and reflect on the times we shared, and then put away again.
I never asked for anything from them. I never demanded commitment, and I never expected that they change their lives....it was very much the opposite. Like the tide, my heart had been ever changing, and I never stayed in any one place for very long. This freedom allowed them to become the men that they had never thought of being before. They knew that their innermost desires were safe, that they could tell me anything at all, and that no judgments would be passed upon them. All the things that they could never be at home were the only things they could be with me.
