C’mon Evie! Let’s see the world together! Let’s get married! Evie sees no ring. Evie’s father wouldn’t approve. A disgruntled drunk with a violent streak. Evie’s brothers left her to do the caretaking. To do the women’s work. Evie lives in a city everyone has heard of, but it’s a city past its glory. There seems to be dust everywhere. Every morning the priest can be seen feeding pigeons in the square. Wrinkles and creases around the eyes of Evie’s workmates. An exhausted city. A 5:00 o’clock bell tolling. Frank with those shiny eyes and a smile that looks like it’s been everywhere. At movies how Frank makes her laugh. How in the dark he always smells like salt and seawater.
Frank says it’s a boat and it’s big. It’s morning. The ship’s horn rings through the air. There are seagulls because there are always seagulls in scenes like this. So much commotion as feet press on and luggage scrapes the boarding ramp. A dead city arisen in crisp morning air. Beginning of sunhaze. Frank is already on the ship. Calling out Evie’s name. As if a disembodied voice. As if Frank is already a thing of the past. Frank is already so far away. Frank frantic calls out again and again. Evie remains shore-locked as the ship slow glides the ocean. Evie! Evie! Evie! Sometimes she still hears his call. Sometimes she remembers the thrill of when life ached for her. Laughless she sits alone at movies. She swears she still smells salt and seawater.
*Loose reinterpretation of James Joyce’s short story, “Eveline.”