I sat in a paneled room with my father. I was dressed in mourning black--a dress from the 1850s, like Emily Dickinson wore in her deguerrotype, with a cinched waist, full skirt, and those bell-shaped oversleeves that cut off mid-arm--beneath them was a white linen sleeve.
Anyhow, I sat demurely in this place--a restaurant--and noticed a woman dressed much like me. She asked me if I had read the obituary of her child. I said no. She told me her baby girl had just died suddenly, that the only thing they could figure was a sudden brain fever, because one day she was fine and the next day she was dead. I felt sorry for her.
Through memory, I know without there being a story line that I'm in mourning for this woman's son. We'd been engaged, but he has died at war (civil war, I guess). Months after his death, I begin clearing away the things I had of his, and found a box I hadn't opened, with a letter inside. It was from HIS brother, declaring his love for me.
I remember his name--Robert Browning--though I'm not clear whether he was THE poet or just a poet. He was handsome and young. Though I didn't feel I could tell him I welcomed his affection without betraying the memory of his brother, I wanted to, so much.
Unfortunately, his father had pressed him into marriage for money, and because he believed I had ignored his letter, he had married this girl. Seeing no honest future for our love, I accepted the suit of one Rhett Butler. He was vital and handsome--I grew to love him more than Robert, but couldn't see it.
The war came--there were explosions, flashes of light--and we knew we had to evacuate. A doctor who had a grudge against Robert had pressed pills on me filled with poison, told me it was a quick death. I thought about giving all of us these pills--escaping the world. We drove together--Robert and his wife in the back seat, Rhett and me in the front. Before we drove, a soldier from the enemy poured vodka on the car-carpet and said he was going to blow us up. I gave my best Southern smile and pleaded with him. I asked Rhett if we were going to die. He said no, and gave me a shotglass filled with vodka. I drank a few of them, then positioned myself to drive. I remember being in that same black dress, and how heavy my skirts were. I had these buttoned boots on and it took a lot of effort to get my legs where I wanted them to be.
We stopped for a break and Robert offers us drinks. I seem him break open a pill--the same kind I have, the poison--and realize he's betraying us. Rhett sees it too. He throws Robert out of the car--I beg him not to hurt him--and I take the pill and see that inside is not poison, but rubies. He's smuggling rubies out--deceitful, but no betrayal. Still, I through their things out and toss the rubies into the driveway. "Search for them," I said.
Rhett comforts me--he knows how I loved Robert--as I sob and reverse and drive off. Rhett and I stay away for years--I think Mexico--when I come back, I hear the story of how Robert's wife had gone mad after we'd gone, and how he became a hermit. Then, not myself anymore but watching the story, I hear how my story ends--how I lose two children after childbirth and die after losing the second is too much to bear.
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