Brilan Petrova – Strange Acquaintances with Not-Quite Strangers (Part IV)

Brilan Petrova (b.1968)

“I do not feel balance although I strive for it.  My aspirations far outpace my discipline.  I could talk of course some more about this, but I have found that I run myself out of meaning the more I talk about talking about what I am capable of accomplishing in the little time I have left to talk about it.  As I said, I slide into this engagement and I have met my lower-cased maker myself.  I have no desire left that I can hope to fulfill.  I pick up the book and take aim at the page.  It’s the writing on the wall that speaks tonight.”

Brilan Petrova sounds like a hot name though so that’s good.  I imagine her dressed in silver earrings that dangle.  And sparkle.  Yes, they must sparkle before this  is through.  Maybe she’s up on stage accepting a lifetime achievement award, or maybe she’s being sentenced for a crime in which she most certainly played her part.

Her polished black high heels click against the hardwood stage and her sunset blue dress breezes across her swishing thighs.  On her left wrist is a homemade bracelet her four year old daughter weaved for her in bright colors the previous evening.  Brilan had just turned, well that’s not important, but she looks younger than her age.

Don’t worry about 1968 her parents used to reassure her as they boarded the train leaving Prague.  You’re going to love New York as she fell asleep across the lap of her older brother.  Brilan, just try to get some rest, watching the last snow of May as her mother stroked her cheek.

Now, some decades later, there’s Brilan standing on stage, accepting whatever it is they have to give her.  Look at all the people in America…Please, don’t cry, you’re father was in over his head and your mother and brother didn’t feel any pain… Brilan, can you hear me?  Do you understand?…Is there any other family in New York?…

“I do not feel balance although I strive for it,” echoes through her ears.  Backstage, looking in the mirror and slipping into her jacket, she pulls out a ragged envelope addressed to her mother from the year she was born.  My love, there has been a terrible…Try to get…Please, don’t…

“My lower cased maker,” she whispers into the dressing room as she takes out her sobbing earrings.

~ by garcialoca on May 15, 2009.

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: