Rouge and the Beast

 

Running through the Ramble... My heart smacks quicker than my bare feet on the masked trail as I maneuver its maze in the dark of night. The trees undress around me, and their stripped leaves crunch beneath me. Yet another branch scratches across my torso, easily leaving behind its rigid mark, as I am more naked than the trees. I want to tell myself their wide, solid trunks will protect me, but it is a lie; the beast penetrates everything, as I borne witness to the fact only a brief time ago.

            The Lake teases me… “Slip in,” it cries. “Wash the evidence away. All traces will cleanse from your skin…your breasts…your lips…and I will confine your secret.” Another lie, because the incident will never leave me. Although only planted within the last hour, it has taken root and grown in my brain—feed by my coursing blood—and resembles the mammoth sycamores surrounding me.

            Hiding from the moon… Its reflection is his asset. Does it give him life? I stop to breathe and cling to a surface free of coarse bark. Pressing my cheek into the tree I confirm the presence of tears that were yanked from my horrified eyes and forcefully placed there. But did my prejudice trick me? Did I seduce or succumb? Was he a man or a monster? I peek around the tree and the moon lies to me, its face winking, just as it had the previous night and the night before. But tonight is All Hallow’s Eve, and the moon is holding a secret. I release the tree and run beneath thick, boney boughs and along twiggy branches that refuse to conceal me.

            Bow Bridge is in sight beyond the Lake, deceiving me, appearing within reach. Earlier its romance induced a kiss from my lover. We peered down at the Lake over its glorious balustrade, his deep brown eyes shining in the mischievous moonlight that illuminated the ripples upon the water. My heart leapt at the strength of his hands upon my shoulders and melted as his wet, raw lips met mine.

            The lights from the Dakota mislead, as they are not the beacon they claim. That distant building beyond Bow Bridge is my only plausible destination, but is its security yet another delusion? Tonight I was dancing there in the home of Mrs. Winsted with the man I thought was my love, his costume so clever, so very real. We snuck out into the night, he all in fur, and I in deep, red velvet. Central Park called to us…it screamed to us…its vastness a sanctuary for young lovers. We ran through the park—hand in hand—into the Rambles, seduced by the bridge, tricked by the moon, and teased by the shore of the Lake, where he laid me down upon brittle leaves, unbuttoned my dress, tasted my breasts, all the while his fur becoming more real. Courser…thicker…more convincing.   

            A howl splits the brisk night air. I jerk, searching for a movement—flicking twigs, rustling leaves upon the ground, anything... But the park is motionless. With an eye to the Dakota I lunge but discover I too am being held to no motion. My red velvet cloak, the only garment not stripped from my body, has been seized by the brush. I grasp it and pull, but nature will not release my masquerade. Another howl echoes around me. It is nearer, but its direction is indiscernible. I pray and cry and scream but am incapable of generating sound. Once again I am restrained by a force more powerful than I. First the man, then the beast, and now the playground of my childhood.   

            The whisper mocks me. My name is carried to my ears through the same mid-autumn air as the howl, and I know it was produced by the same being. I’m not fooled by his haunting tone, his seductive call. I continue yanking at my cloak as his voice becomes clearer, stronger, nearer… And then his words— “Come to me, sweetness…”—grip me and squeeze the tension from deep within. I discover his eyes nestled in the thicket. His smooth face comes into view, and he indeed is my lover. I close my eyes and pull at the cord around my neck, allowing my cape to succumb to the urges of the determined flora. I am fully naked, fully vulnerable, and I run to him through the Rambles. He steps forward as we embrace, our bodies tight and unclothed as before. And I feel it grow. Against my flesh, it grows. Once again the beast overtakes me—my mind, body, and soul— on this wicked and hallowed eve.