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White Clover (part 2)


She had had longer relationships in the past; these days she regarded her lovers as disposables that lasted a couple of times and then grew dull and spiritless. Just like safety razors or paper drinking-cups. But she admitted to herself that some of them had not lost their charm at all.
    Last summer Alice had been with a rare person. His crooked smile reminded her of flickering copper reflected in water. She remembered lying on her back in a park, peering at his blond hair and gentle, teal-blue eyes. In the evening they had kept her bedroom window open and waited for some sort of coolness. When it finally had arrived the scent of white clover from the unmown lawn below filled the room. After some time Alice had got on to her disposable lover theory again. This even though she had been happy with the teal-eyed man. Monogamy is nothing for bright people because bright people easily get bored, she had argued. Nah, unimaginative people easily get bored, he had replied.
    Suddenly Sören became visible behind a knotty apple tree; he was dressed in a cream-white shirt and aviator sunglasses and moved his limbs as if listening to surf rock. He had applied a thick layer of zinc paste on his ruddy face and now he looked piggish pink. Alice thought that his skin was too silky and found his milky soap scent a bit nauseating. She was twenty-five years older than him. It struck her that Sören and the teal-eyed person were almost the same age.
    “Want to eat something somewhere?” he asked casually.
    “No, I will go back home soon and fix something. Something light.” She rearranged her legs and yawned behind her hand.
    “Good. I feel like eating alone anyways.” Sören sat down on a rock. “I had almost forgotten that there is a bloody jungle outside my house.”
    The buttercups looked fatty. Alice mentioned absent-mindedly that they were poisonous. Cool, the man said.
    He rubbed his sunburnt cheek. “How did you like these nice little bits of fluff then?”     
    “I have seen them tenderer than that, you know,” she answered wryly.

© Jenny Enochsson 2012

To be continued...

Note: I thought I would publish this English piece of flash fiction on my blog. The story has a summer feeling. It first appeared in Rufous Press' publication Lush.

Kommentarer

  1. Oh, I recognice myself in Alice all right. "these days she regarded her lovers as disposables..." I need to get my act togheter. :) And, wonderful, nay beautiful"scent of white clover from the unmown lawn below filled the room"/uncompromising "her lovers as disposables..." writing. This is the way I like it.

    SvaraRadera
  2. Thanks again, Lise! I am grateful for your kind words. Stayed tuned for part 3...

    SvaraRadera
  3. "In the evening they had kept her bedroom window open and waited for some sort of coolness. When it finally had arrived the scent of white clover from the unmown lawn below filled the room. "
    Is for me at least the central piece of the story. The one it revolves upon. Perhaps. But at the same time as this is an axis I also think it revolves as much on bits like "“How did you like these nice little bits of fluff then?” “I have seen them tenderer than that, you know,”" I guess I am trying to say that this is beautiful and wry at the same time.;)

    SvaraRadera
  4. Ande, thank you! I suppose I often mix the beautiful and the wry and try to find the balance between them.

    SvaraRadera

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