A Woman Named Violin

She joined me on a campus bench by the fountain, toward the end of my lunch hour, a stranger. Legs crossed, designer flip flops hanging from slender feet with neatly painted toenails, a cigarette dangling from sophisticated fingers.

When she turned and spoke, I saw that she had smart brown eyes and sleek amber hair pulled back from a face the color and shape of an almond. She was Saudi and smelled faintly of Chanel.

Her name was Violin– a name with a very romantic story behind it, she confided– then proceeded to tell me that she was the love child of a famous French violinist, whose name she could not reveal. I believed her; she had the look of truth about her. I wish I’d had time to hear more of her story, but my lunch hour was over and I said good-bye. I never saw her again.



About boomergirl47

Retired from the University of South Florida. Love reading, writing, hiking, nature, music, birding, puttering around the house and yard.
This entry was posted in beauty, human interest, poetry, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

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