Dreams of Perfection

Ron Koppelberger

Dreams of Perfection and passion

The feeling was that the dress of both queens and court jesters in drama, was narrowly defined by her desire to be. Emma Spoons was nearly five hundred pounds of overflowing misery, her burden was the shelter and clothing that would define her as a cognizant human being, consciously worth something more than her suffering weight. Her task was a difficult one. Her home had shrunk around her as she had increased in size, her asylum, her sweet embrace of dark corners and shadow secretly desolate.
She stood before the oak and cherry wood mirror primping and debating the bright red and rose blush gown that adorned her in vast sheets of cloth. The fringe was a daisy bloom, white lace and saffron yellow. She contemplated her attire for an instant and sighed, she was pleased with the dress. She found comfort and peace with the bright array, a simple solace, fresh blood and love and passion. She defined the dress in term0s of. Acceptance or denial, and she knew the conquering denial, denials in a whispering nag, a breech in her vision, the rotten bastard that reminded her that she was fat. She heard it as a persistent whispering, a manic rebuke, “ your fat!” it said “and nobody loves you!”
Emma arranged her white neckerchief and pursed her lips. The doorbell sounded and Emma’s heart leapt. Answering the door she put on her sexist smile. Announced, discovered and defined in handsome poise, the sandy blonde haired man touched her check with a gentle brush of soft caressing desire. His fingers traced the line of her lips and she sighed in gentle rhythm to the symphony of joy that overwhelmed her in waves of romance.
The door soon closed and the flaxen dream dissipated. Emma smiled and turned on her television set. Simple pleasures were often the best pleasures. Brought forth in silence and made real by the dreams of a soul in transit, never judgmental and chaste to the desires of true freedom, the secret lover, the clandestined stranger who arrived in her minds eye, her fascination, her dreaming surmise and accepting betrothal. She found solace in the mystery of the stranger and in portion she was nearly perfect, defined by the conscious dimensions of imagination, boundless and eternally balanced. All in possible arrays of love and the promise of a stranger bought by the wont of a lonely need.
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