Free Love Never Dies by Christina Dodd Page A

street light, her eyes looked gray.
    Yet she glowed like a coal that gave off soft blue warmth on the coldest day.
    She reminded me of Sofia.
    You probably think every pretty woman reminds me of Sofia. I assure you, that's not true. For one thing, Sofia was not pretty. She was beautiful, the perfect combination of Spanish aristocracy and American Indian. She had long, dark, curly hair, noble cheekbones, generous lips that kissed as only Sofia could kiss. She had a curvaceous figure that has haunted my eternity, yet for all that, it wasn't her beauty or her womanly attributes that made me fall in love with her. It was the laughter that was so a part of her, the kindness, the generosity of spirit.
    Sofia had been my perfect mate . . . and I had failed her. She is forever lost to me.
    I waited at the center of the park where the two walks intersected in the circle around the old stone fountain. No water ran at this time of year. Summer flowers were brown and broken. Yet this woman's radiance attracted and warmed.
    One of the regulars, a homeless man who huddled beneath a tall cedar tree, saw her. Rising, he stalked toward her. For a bulky man, Cleardale walked like a ballet dancer, one foot directly in front of the other. On him the gait wasn't graceful, but almost overbalanced; he looked like a tree swaying in a high wind. I recognized his comportment; he was in the grip of his violent griefs and his equally violent rages. He shed flickers of madness as clearly as he shed orange cedar foliage off his shoulders and back.
    He lumbered over to the woman and in a pleading voice, he called her by his wife's name. "Tammy . . ."
    The girl pulled the scarf away from her mouth. "I'm sorry, I'm not Tammy. I'm Areila."
    First mistake. She should have never answered him.
    He stared at her, and I could see his confusion, then the gradual growth of his anger. "Don't lie to me. You liar!"
    "I'm not Tammy." She pulled off her hat and showed a tumble of black hair held back in a band, a snub nose and a sweet, if nervous smile. "See? We've never met before."
    "What have you done with the children?" His voice rose. "Why aren't you home taking care of them?"
    She pulled her hat on and glanced behind her as if trying to decide if she should go back. But to reach lights, people, commerce, she needed to go forward. So she stepped out briskly, trying to ignore him.
    Cleardale was impossible to ignore. He was big. He was threatening. He jumped in front of her so she had to go around him, then jumped in front of her again. "Did you kill them? Did you neglect them until they died? They're dead, aren't they?"
    She cut to the left, taking a sidewalk that would get her out of the park by a shorter route.
    He wasn't about to let her get away and I knew — I knew — that when he was like this, he could see me. So I moved closer, stood beside the edge of the walk, and softly I called his name. "Cleardale . . ."
    He heard me. Sometimes they didn't, but he jumped and turned, saw me observing him. He froze. He lifted his hands before his face as if to defend himself from me. "Don't!"
    "Leave her alone." I spoke gently, fearing if I seemed threatening he would harm her. But I have observed that there is something about the mere presence of a ghost that terrifies those who see it. And to hear the ghost . . . well.
    Cleardale turned and ran, his big feet thumping across the grass. In dread, he looked back over his shoulder. He blundered into a tree. He slipped on an icy patch of snow. He disappeared into the night.
    I turned back to the young lady expecting she would have run in the opposite direction. After all, that would have been the smart thing to do.
    But she was looking at something.
    She was looking at me.
    "Thank you." She spoke to me . She nodded at me . When I nodded back, she stepped over the boundary of the park and into the world where I could not follow.
    I watched her go in amazement.
    She had seen me.
    Part of my purgatory was that the only