My Lady In Red

Ah yes. I can just picture her now; my bonnie wee lass. For eighteen years, I must have existed in some parallel universe, because as sure as eggs is eggs, my life began the day I laid eyes on that beautiful vision in red.

There she was; long legs neatly crossed, her dress modestly pulled down to cover her knees. I could see she was preoccupied as her eyes darted from side to side, scanning her well worn paperback. And there I was, rushing through the park, late for my job at the local newspaper. I’d just been there for two weeks and had already been late twice – not a good start. You’d imagine that I wouldn’t have taken in anything of my surroundings, such was my haste, but how could I not notice such a picture of loveliness?

I can recall every last detail of that red dress; how the sheer sleeves clung to her sinewy arms and how the neckline framed her exquisite neck. Oh how I wanted to bury my face in that neck and feather kiss my way down those appetising arms. And the colour of that dress – stunning.

My tardiness long forgotten, I took my place on the park bench opposite hers, where I could drink in her beauty. I marvelled at her billowing, flaming hair, which I would later learn was inherited from her Irish mother. The curls obviously tickled her neck, for every now and then she’d flick a wisp back over her shoulder and scratch her neck with long, slender fingers. More than once I had to avert my eyes, as they were drawn to her ample bosom, silhouetted by the soft fabric of her dress. Did I mention it was red?

It was lucky she was so engrossed in her book, as surely she would have taken offence at how I looked at her. But I couldn’t help it. I’d never before seen such delicate, alabaster skin, which was a canvas for the deep pools of granite that were her eyes. And those lips; red as berries and full as my beating heart. They complemented her red dress beautifully.

Well Lady Luck must have been shining on me that day, because as she stood up to leave, she dropped a piece of loose paper from her book. I watched as it was carried by the light April breeze and landed not three feet from where I was sitting. Halleluiah! I stretched out my foot and claimed that piece of paper, feeling that it would be integral to my future happiness. How right I was. I took no time to gather my thoughts but hastily followed the vision in red that was beginning to disappear into the sea of people. When I caught up with her, words failed me. I lost myself in the darkness of her eyes as I handed her the little piece of paper. The light touch of her fingers sent electricity pulsing through my veins.

"Thank you," she said. She held my gaze for a moment and I knew – I just knew that it was either now or never.

"Would it be terribly cheeky of me to ask if I could walk with you?" I held my breath.

*****

Well, seventy years on, the memories of the day I met my sweet Irish colleen are fresh in my mind. I may forget where I’ve left my glasses or whether I’ve turned the cooker off, but I’ll never forget how beautiful she looked that day.

The light is fading now. Her face is becoming clearer and I feel her body close. My life began the day I saw my beloved on that park bench. I hear her calling me now. "I’m coming, my sweet." I see her at last. She’s wearing a red dress just like I knew she would. Life begins... again...