esprit - Academic Scranton - The University of Scranton

La Petite Mort
Danielle Torres
My memory was as jumbled as the mess of limbs and bodies
from which I struggled to break free. I can recall a muddle of screeching
metal and wafting billows of smoke, piercing screams, crashing briefcases
and breakfast sandwiches, and the way the pools of red stuff—maybe
ketchup—glimmered intermittently as the electric lights flickered on and
off, like the light dancing merrily on Monet’s lily-pad-covered pond.
I guess that’s what they call a bonding experience. The only other
one I remember occurred a year ago. I walked past canvases of shimmering
blues and greens, mauves and lavenders, and paused in front of Monet’s La
Promenade at the same instant that a girl about my age approached it. Our
two pairs of eyes absorbed the painting, drinking in the swirling cream
and blue and buttercup-yellow sky, glistening like an oil spill. A lady in a
verdant field hid in the shadow of a parasol while the wind whipped her
hair and peachy-white dress around in graceful, ballet twirls. As I stared at
her hungered gaze, mirrored by that of a small boy in the background, my
pulse began to quicken.
The girl and I simultaneously turned and our eyes connected:
brown and blue, earth and sky. We smiled, tilting the corners of our lips
like the flowing curves of the lady’s wind-blown dress, celebrating that
shared experience. I wanted to stay encapsulated in that moment, looking
with longing at the way she tucked her curling chestnut hair behind her
ear, the rosy blush of her cheeks, and how the lights above the painting
reflected off the gossamer fabric of her ivory sundress. Instead, her
boyfriend came up beside her and put his arm around her delicate shoulder.
As the pair walked away, the girl turned her head back to face me.
She opened her mouth and spoke with the shaky, baritone voice of the
conductor, “Ladies and gentlemen, brace yourselves.” Adrenaline-saturated
blood drumming in my head, hair rushing around my face, I stared at the
dilated eyes of the people around me. A pale mother clutched her wide-
15