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(Page 2 of 2) Lolita by Joe MolerWho knows, perhaps I was so close to happiness and, well, I never met her. She slipped around the corner, never having noticed me. And what happened with you," I asked?
"Something very similar, Joe – many tries, many beginnings with nothing in the end. I work in one theater as a make-up artist, and that's as far as I got. My knight in shining armor never showed up to drag me out of the pits. To be honest, after twenty years I'm still at the beginning, at the bottom, alone." I watched her: wrinkles, graying hair, the lips somehow having grown thin, and the red color having disappeared from them. The eyes were tired and only a shadow of a dying flame remained of that fiery passion which used to burn in them and that twenty years ago fueled one of my lost hopes. How was it possible that life could so weaken and destroy that powerful will and desire which burned in her eyes, and which was palpable in her voice and her long hair?
"But Lolita, you turned away love, you turned away the most beautiful thing that life has to offer. And what now? You got nothing in return, even though you paid a high price," I wanted to tell her, but held back. I saw it in her melancholy gaze which was entwined in my hair that she knew what I was thinking.
I stretched out my hand and caressed her, just to get rid of the jitters, and she took my hand and kissed it, as her tears fell on it.
It's too lat now for new beginnings, Lolita, I told her with my eyes. And she understood this also, wiping her still beautiful face. After dinner we parted ways, just as we had done twenty years ago.
"Goodbye Lolita!"
"Goodbye Joe!"
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