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***


A Purple Yesterday 

"It's you.  I can't believe it, Meg.  It's you."  My husband was
running around like a small child with a new toy.  "Why haven't
I seen this before?"

He'd been snooping.  Finding my secrets.  Exposing my past.

"Put that away.  It makes me feel old."

I was two weeks away from thirty-five -- ten years of marriage,
three children, a few extra pounds, tiny wrinkles, a body
showing signs of wear, life taking its toll.  I was tired and
felt every one of those thirty-five years.  I didn't need a
picture to remind me of a distant past.


December 1991, Calgary

Snowfall so light only frozen mud covered the ground, but the
bitter December cold and hectic crowds said Christmas was fast
approaching.  My son remembered Santa had promised something
special.

I was a waitress at a little place near the University.  It
wasn't a prestige job, but I took home as much money working
evenings as I'd make downtown at a full-time clerical position,
and I got to be with my son during the day.  A single mother
tries to do the best she can, even if it means living with
parents.

My mother stopped me at the door and said, "Where are you going,
Megan?  I thought you started work at four?"

"I told you I found a part-time job.  I start today."

"I don't like what you're doing, Meg.  You could get hurt."  A
protective mother and her only daughter.

She thought working for some long-haired hippie wasn't a real
job.  What did I know about him?  Why would he pay so much
money?  What kind of woman would work in a single man's home?

"You're going to be sorry, Meg.  He could be a pervert."

He could be a lot of things and I hoped he was, but not that.
"You know I need the money, Mom.  I have to do it."

Jonathon had been coming to the restaurant once or twice a week
for months.  Good looking with long hair, full moustache, and a
cigarette dangling from his mouth.  I thought he was a student -
- battered guitar case shoved under the table, pencil making
lines on a pad of paper, and a look that said there was much
more to be done.  His smile, and his dollar tip for a five-
dollar-meal, made me trust him.  But following through with his
proposal took more courage.


"I'm Eve.  I live with Jonathon."

Eve was younger than my twenty-three years, beautiful and tiny,
with an impish smile ready to cover her face.

"I'm Megan."

"You look nervous."

"I've never done this before."

"Taking off your clothes for the first time is the hardest part.
After that it's just work.  I can stick around if you like.  Jon
won't mind."

"I was surprised when he asked me to pose.  I'm not a model."

Eve pointed to a portrait hanging on the living-room wall.

"I wasn't a model either, but it didn't matter.  Jon sees
things, surprising things.  It's his gift."

Auburn hair pushed back over delicate shoulders.  A blanket
draped across her lap.  She was undressed but not naked.  Face,
hands, perfect breasts, long legs and impossible details.  It
was her and it was someone else, someone lost in a dream of
another time and circumstance.

"It's beautiful.  You're beautiful."

I looked again at the picture and focused on her erect nipples.
I wondered if she'd been excited, wondered what was going
through her mind.

"Did it bother you to be like that?"

"Naked?  No, I live with him.  Not moving for hours?  Yeah, that
bothered me, but I got used to it."



June 1992, Calgary, the start of summer

Green and sunny and a perfect place for my little boy.  His
Christmas bicycle wasn't new anymore, but it still could fly
down the sidewalk in front of our home.  Summer, a perfect time
for a mother starting her new life.  Santa was gone with the
winter, but his presents would last for a long time.


"You've got a package, Megan."

"What is it, Mom?"

"I don't make a practice of opening my daughter's mail.  I did
notice it was from that artist.  You know, Jonathon."

"Can you believe this is a picture of me?"

The Purple Navajo Blanket almost covered my naked body.  A
print, signed by the artist from a painting of me, timeless and
forever.  Long blonde hair and incredibly young.  A reminder of
a wonderful Christmas and a hundred hours of work.

"It's lovely, Meg, and not at all what I feared."


November 2003

"You don't need the blanket now, Megan."  He was holding me,
kissing my neck.  "You're even more beautiful today."

"Stop lying.  Twelve years and two more children, I don't look
like that anymore."

His hand was on my breast, teeth nibbled my ear lobe, his breath
warmed my cheek.  "You're more beautiful now, you're a woman, a
mother, my wife."

He pressed against me.  Insistent and demanding.  I felt his
hardness.  How nice to be wanted.  How nice to be loved.  The
touching and feeling ignited sparks someplace in my mind.
Kissing and caressing fired the secret between my legs.  Desire
and lust from the man I loved.  He wanted me.

Soon we'd be in bed, together, naked, touching.

Maybe I wasn't getting old.

The End