The Shores of Our Souls by Kathryn Brown Ramsperger

Author:Kathryn Brown Ramsperger
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: TouchPoint Press

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In answer, my mother’s voice comes through, ringing in my ears, so strong I half believe she is really there. Touch. She always told me that you knew what was real by touching it. Only through touch did we know we were here at all. I reach my hand through the air, and she is gone.

FINDING HOME

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“Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere. They’re in each other all along.”

—Rumi

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

ART OF THE POSSIBLE

Dianna squirms in her seat. Qasim interchanges one crossed leg for another. The only thing Dianna knew about Eva Peron before this play was that she married a famous Argentine and died young. This play starts with illegitimacy, weaves itself into a brothel, and is on its way to a woman writhing her way into Argentine politics because she attached herself to the “right” man. Dianna prays Qasim does not think she brought him to this play as some sort of hint that she too is destined for this sort of infamy. All she wanted was a night with music and magic. Instead, they must listen to Evita explain the rules of war that exist between conniving lovers—what tricks they play on each other to get their own way, tricks that they seem to get away with. The actor seems to be pointing her finger directly at Dianna when she slings the last line out across the crowded theatre, as though she’s no different from Eva Perone, that even the most committed partners are exactly like Evita.

“Want to go get a drink?” Qasim asks at intermission, and Dianna nods. Eva Peron is only on her way to fame and then death in the second act.

“I’m sorry, Qasim.”

“Sorry for what?”

“Sorry that I asked you to take me to a play with these sorts of morals.”

He hums “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina” a little off tune. “The music was catchy.”

“The libretto left something to be desired, though.”

“Li—“

“Libretto. The lyrics,” she translates.

“The woman left something to be desired.”

“So you knew of her?”

“She was dead before I even began,” he replies, helping her on with her wrap. “I was a toddler when she passed. Her reign was brief. Yet she left her country in an awful mess.”

“What do you think he saw in her?”

“That gold digger? What everyone else saw in her, Dianna.”

She’s about to say she doesn’t want Qasim for the wrong reasons, that she’s not anything like Eva, when a tall American man comes up and claps him on the back.

“Enjoying yourself?” the man asks.

“Not our cup of tea,” Qasim responds and takes Dianna’s hand. “May I present Miss Dianna Calloway, Michael. Dianna, please meet Mr. Michael Presston, an attorney at JP Morgan.”

“My pleasure, Miss Calloway.” The man’s nod is almost a bow, and his suit is almost a tuxedo.

“See you on Monday, then?”

“Yes, see you Monday. Enjoy your evening.”

Qasim directs Dianna down the steps and out into the street. A light freezing rain has washed the streets, and the clean smell of water hovers around them. The colored reflection of lights on wet pavement reflects on the low hanging clouds.

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