Sapphic Voices Romance

Life At the Zoo

      "this; Woman is"-E.E. Cummings

   The person that is me began with one word, "Divine!" My mother was in Europe at the time, "exploring the world," before her junior year in college. She had met an artist at a bar in London. After taking her back to his studio, and showing her a portrait he had painted, he took her to bed with him. Of course my mother told me the story in detail, but I’d rather not reminisce on that discussion.
   My mother returned to the States and went about her life. Unfortunately, there was a hindrance in her already planned future. After she discovered she was pregnant, she moved back in with my grandmother and dropped the idea of college for a while. While working at a department store, she met Allen. He immediately swept her off her feet, etc. Sadly enough, heterosexual romance is not my department. I grew up knowing him as my father, but my mother was open about my origins. I had pretty liberal parents. Didn’t seem to phase them when I told them that I was a lesbian. Personal history isn’t really my department either. So I’ll leave that alone.
   Let’s focus on the now. I’m 24 and just out of college. I still am not totally sure what I want to do with my *life*. For the moment, I live in one of the apartment rooms above the bookstore that I help Irene run. I’ve been working here since I started college. I guess I kind of grew fond of the place, and even quirky Irene. She calls it, "The Zoo," after a song by Simon and Garfunkel back in the hippie era. It’s an awesome shop. Anything any college students, feminists, or artists could think of are in it. Irene usually runs the food and coffee end of it, while I’m left to deal with the books, clothes, and music. We have two part timers that seem to pop in and out when they feel like it. We make a very intriguing team.
   Irene is one of those hippies that came after the 60’s and 70’s. She’s probably in her early 30’s, although she’ll never tell anyone her real age. She refuses to marry, but beds occasional fellow hippies. She never let’s a man stay more than a night though. She’s blonde and tan and skinny, hippie perfection. Jillian is Mexican and dark. She works her hair into ringlets every morning, with patience. There is a diva like quality about her. She always let’s love screw her over though. The last guy, Jimmy, punched her in the eye before the police arrested him on a warrant from another state. Clara is a timid, cutsie, artsy coffee fiend. I don’t think she gets out a whole lot. Most of her time is spent painting. I’ve tried to figure out if she likes men or women, but never to any avail. And me? I’m just me. I have a very feminine body and face, short, spiky blonde hair, stand about 5’3 and multiple piercings in both ears, and one in my nose. Let’s not forget the tattoo of two women symbols, interlocked, at the top of my right arm. I’m not a butch, or a femme. But rather both. Allen told me, very affectionately of course, "Lilia dear, it works because you’re a lesbian, but you like a punk." But that’s coming from a professor at a prestigious law school. Lilia is my name.

   "Lilia darling, will you stock the books on reincarnation that are in the back?" Irene yells after she hears me walking into the store before work. But I am standing behind her as she yells it. "Jesus Irene, I’m right here, and it’s too early for noise." She turns, startled and smiles apologetically, "Did you have a late night?" I nod and yawn emphatically, walking over to the cappuccino machine and getting myself a cup of the already made energy. I had had an artistic vision the previous night, and I had to complete the story before it leaked out of my mind. The noise Lilia is making while she gets ready for the day reminds me that I should get to work. I slowly retreat to the back room where I see two boxes of new books. "Great."
   I’ve finished unloading and setting out both of the boxes when I hear the bell on the door jingle. "Damn bell," the many lost hours of sleep mutter. I suddenly smell lavender floating off of the person that entered. Although the smell is my favorite, I try to focus on the books, because interaction with people is not on my list of priorities at this early in the day. The person seems to stop, waiting for assistance. "Dammit," this is me muttering now. I remember that Irene is on an errand involving a post office or something of those sorts. The caffeine gives me such a boost, that I stand and feel slightly dizzy and disoriented. I lose vision for one...two... "Are you okay," a lovely female voice asks. three seconds. I can see again.
   Standing before me is a goddess. Okay, she’s tan and has short, black hair. She’s wearing a black Tori tank top and plaid pants. A goddess in my eyes. Something inside me is stirring. Something catches the sunlight and draws me back to her face. She has a small diamond stud in her nose, and her eyes look concerned. I choke out the words, "I’m fine, too much caffeine in me I guess." I flash a smile of pure habit and then want to hit my head on the wall. Idiot. But then she smiles back, "You looked kind of out of it for a minute.
   Seeing as how the caffeine affected you in that way I think I’ll opt for some herbal tea." I dumbly stumble towards the coffee corner and start to make her tea while she looks around. My eyes follow her as she heads to the poetry section. Is this reality? She doesn’t She can’t. I’m going nuts. "Wow," she breathes out quietly. Then she directs her attention towards me and speaks up, "You have quite a few books on Plath." The following words slide out of my mouth, as if they weren’t even mine to keep, "Irene, she’s the owner of this place, orders some of the poetry books because she knows I adore those poets. She gets them cheaper if she buys in bulk, and people seem to buy them if they’re here." I’m holding her tea, waiting for her next words and suddenly, the damn bell decides to harass me. It’s Irene. She glides in with kharma beads lightly jangling, "I’m sorry I wasn’t back so fast Lilia, but Judy was down there and she insisted on talking about her rediscovered past life. That woman is in for some bad kharma. Most of what she says reeks of lies."
   Irene promptly notices that we have a customer and gives her best smile, "Do you find the store to be of pleasure to you?" The power of words. The girl laughs in return, "Lilia was just getting me some tea while I was browsing the books. The laugh makes my mind do somersaults and the sound my name makes off of her tongue is almost too much. I then somehow manage to knock the cup of tea onto the floor. It shatters everywhere. "Shit!" I really didn’t mean it to be that loud...Both Irene and the Girl look up. Irene just laughs and waves me out of the kitchen area. "Lilia you are hopeless in the kitchen, we should make you requirements for the right girl. The first one is that she must know how to cook," is what I hear while I’m plotting ways to dig myself my own grave. Mortifying.
   I hear a lovely sound, one that burns my ears. She is laughing. I can’t stand not looking at Her, even though my face is crimson. She smiles at me and starts to walk my way. Her body as she walks, as well as her scent puts my insides under hypnosis. I’m scared that my jaw is hanging open, so I manage a sheepish smile. She hands me a few books. I blindly walk to the register and ring them up. "Do you want me to ring the books up with tea now, or would you like to wait for it to be done?" She flashes me her brilliant smile again, and replies, "I should probably be going...so I guess just ring up the books, I’ll simply just have to come back tomorrow to get the tea." The thought of tomorrow is enough to get rid of the dread of her leave. I glance at the books as I ring them up. She takes them and slowly leaves the store. She waves at Irene on her way out. Right before she steps out of the shop, and the blasted bell rings, she gives me a quick parting look. I’m imagining it. She simply could not have been blushing.
   A couple minutes later, someone emits a moan of distress. I don’t realize it’s me until Irene speaks. "Are you okay dear?" I shake my head and walk over to the couch flopping down on it with my hand over my forehead. The damn bell. I quickly look up-maybe it’s Her. I see ringlets. Dammit. Another moan. "What’s wrong wit’ her?" the extremely cultured voice of Jillian demands. Irene walks over to me and lifts my hand up off of my eyes. She stares for a second, and then asks, "Are you still feeling that late night?" I grumble and pout. I touch my lips when the thought of Her pops into my mind. Jasmine suddenly fills my nostrils. "Irene, are you wearing any lavender?" Irene gives me another look and laughs. Jillian looks confused, so Irene turns her attention to answering the issue, "She’s obviously dying over the girl that just left. She was wearing lavender. Not the commercially produced stuff either. Pure lavender oil. She was a very beautiful soul. The aura radiating from her was wonderful." She works in the kitchen area as she speaks, "Lilia, you should find yourself a girl like her."
   "Please tell her to find me, I already want her," is my juvenile response, followed by another pout. Jillian walks over to the couch and sits on the edge. "You know chica, I’m still interested in experimenting. It’d be cool if I was a fuckin’ lesbo, but you would be the only one I would try to find out wit’." She trills her fingers across my arm. I chuckle and grab her hand, "Jillian, you’re not a lesbian, and I highly doubt you’re even bisexual. Just stay away from those loser guys, and then you can be straight and happy." I sit up and kiss her cheek, then walk over to the box to finish stocking the books.
   When I’m done with the books I sit on my stool and read, or rather attempt to. My mind is moving too fast. A customer enters. I’m about to help him out but Jillian beats me to it. Oh well. I sit there, engrossed in my own mind when I hear my name being called. I look up and I see that the customer is ready to be checked out. I smile and go through the motions of courtesy. While giving him back his change, I find a slip of paper in some of the bills. I put it aside and find another one to give him. After he leaves, I realize that my hand smells ever so faintly of lavender. I find the paper that had been put aside. I turn it over. "my imagination is rattling in it’s cage." Written so beautifully. "Holy Shit," is my response. Jillian looks up from her magazine, "Wha?" I mutter in response, "Plath and Ani!"

   I somehow manage to get through the day although my insides are in a flutter. When I finally go up to my apartment, I get a visit that was not totally unexpected. The muse from the previous night has decided to grace me with her presence yet again. I immediately sit down and begin writing. It isn’t until 4 o’clock in the morning that I realize I haven’t eaten, and I’m exhausted. I ignore the hunger and barely manage to change before I pass out in my bed.
   Someone is knocking at the door. "Jesus Christ!" something, or me rather, moans from under the covers. I give the clock a quick glance. "Ughhhh...it’s two already." I get up and manage to throw a tank top and a pair of pajama pants on. The knocker at the door continues to knock. Wonderful. I walk over to the door and open it. Standing in front of me is Her. A smile invades her face, triggering the same effect on mine. "Irene told me that I should come up here and wake you. She warned me that it might take quite a bit of knocking," pleasure floods through my ears. I smile sheepishly, "I was up quite late writing, I guess the alarm clock didn’t phase me."
   She’s looking around the apartment. At least I’m not a very messy person. Suddenly, thinking that she might be leaving soon, I spit out some more less than lovely words, "Are you in a rush...?" She’s a little more reserved today than she was yesterday. She shakes her head, "I had an appointment yesterday, I’m free today." I think I let a sigh of relief escape me, because her smile seems to move deeper into her eyes. "Well if you don’t mind, you can wait up here, or even downstairs, while I take a quick shower." She has this way of nibbling on her bottom lip while she smiles that drives me crazy. She’s doing it right now. The shower is going to have to be cold. "I’ll stay here if you’re not going to be long," she glides over and sits in the chair by my desk. I nod, slightly in a daze, and grab some clothes from the closet. I self consciously walk into the bathroom, and quite unwillingly close the door. I look at myself in the mirror and lean my forehead against it. I sigh with emotion, and then prepare myself for my shower. The cold water is not as helpful as it is said to be.
   I walk out and she is reading. Reading. Oh shit. She turns and sees me, driving her eyes through my soul with that smile. "These are incredible. you’re an amazing writer." My face reverts to it’s favored color and I stutter a thanks. I throw my clothes in the hamper and she stands up. She walks a little ahead of me as we leave the apartment. "Do you think you could share some of your other favorite poetry with me?" As soon as she asks it of me, I know I will do anything for her. I tell her that I’d love to.
   I then get some of my intelligence in play and realize there’s a forgotten element here. "What’s your name? You seem to have picked up on mine." She stops on the step, forcing me to stop only a couple of inches from her. The lavender invades every sensory organ I own. "It’s Eve." I can feel her breath on me. I give a slight smile. She doesn’t move, but rather, links my hand with hers. I can hear her breath grow heavy and shaky, but maybe that’s mine. Her eyes look up from our hands, and search mine. We stand like that for a minute. Then we begin to continue down the narrow steps, side by side. I can feel her side against mine.
   I know when she’s going to speak before she starts, "I had an intriguing conversation with Irene this morning." I give a dumbfounded reply, "You’ve been here since morning?" She laughs lightly and caresses my hand with her finger. "It seems that I’m competent at cooking," she says almost quietly as she looks straight ahead. I almost trip on the damn stair. I grab her arm with my other hand lightly and she moves as close to me as not falling allows. I barely manage to breathe out, "That’s quite amazing. See, I’m horrible at it." We look at eachother once again. I can tell that there will be no more meals for me to attempt to cook.

If you have enjoyed Faerylove's "Life At The Zoo", then please be certain to e-mail her at  glitterytorifaery[at]yahoo.com  and thank her for posting this Story.

Click here for a list of all of Faerylove's  Stories and Poetry at  Sapphic Voices Authoresses.