He Asked If I Was Happy

Oscar Wilde found me at a bar one evening where I had slipped into the billiard room to sit quietly, to watch. He sauntered over, sat across from me, and engaged me with a question. This somehow turned into a confessional and I poured out a tale of my daughter. He just sat and listened. He looked imto my eyes and listened. He commented twice. Once he asked me if she was happy and the second was to ask me if I was happy. There was no judgement, no accusation, no hint of surprise or shock. There was an acceptance, a reverance for how I felt. Surprisingly it was easy. Me, who keeps her secrets secret willingly expelled one of them into the calm eyes of this stranger I rather fancy.

Perhaps it was the summers he spent with his siblings. Those that were from the marriage of his parents and those that were from previous loves of his father. Perhaps that, that was normal for him made my not so normal for others link us in a bond of rightfully unacceptable.

He lit a cigar and we sat in silence. He asked me about the melancholy shadow that stepped up beside me just then. It was James. A memory of James and our few stolen moments out of his short life when we, James and I would share a cigar and a botlte of Jameson and ponder the New Year. He signaled the waitress ordered 2 shots of the golden whiskey and after they arrived he toasted James and before he drank he said "It is good to keep and to have such a precious memory." He then leaned back into his chair and we silently watched the game at the billiard table. It was the warmest after James moment I have had.

Thank you Oscar Wilde.

Fancy Oscar Wilde

I participated in an on-line quiz called Which Classic Author Is Your Soul mate?

My soul mate is Oscar Wilde. You’re a real charmer, and you need someone who can match your charisma and witty banter. Oscar dines at the best clubs with the most interesting people, so he’s also your ticket to a wicked (pun intended) social scene.

This sounds very accurate about me so I have decided to investigate it further. I am very skeptical about a soul mate so seeking out my Oscar Wilde should be challenging. I do not believe I have one and therefore have ceased to desire or look for him.

This is why these letters will be called Fancying Oscar Wilde. I will call him Osy as though we are already acquainted. It will be about my various encounters with him. Like the first night I met him, Oscar, Osy, my soul mate.

We were in a Casino. Not together mind you. We had arrived separately and I had no thoughts of him as of yet. We had not met. I had traded $20,000 for some chips with the cashier, order a lovely vodka and soda without the fruit; that is a drink from another time and staked a claim on a spot at a roulette table.

It was about half an hour into the festivities when I had that "somebody is staring at me" feeling. I looked around and saw only familiar faces a few of which were smiling at me but, most were engaged in conversation or black jack or a rowdy game of poker.

Then I saw him. His eyes slid over to me and he gave me a quick appraisal. I dismissed him him immediately with a flick of my eyelashes and proceeded to place chips on the table. I forgot about him until he stepped up to the table almost an hour later, threw down a $10,000 chip on a red square and grinned as the evil white ball landed in just that spot on the wheel. My table mates cheered, I glared, he winked. The first word to cross my mind was insufferable, which made me think of Jane Austen and her Mr. Darcy. That thought turned into a giggle which spilled out of my mouth as I looked at him and his quirky grin again. He of course caught my look and cocked his head ever so slightly.

I kept wishing for him to leave as he was annoying me with his ever so subtle, downright covert, flirting. At last Osy asked where the food was and abruptly left the table. A breath escaped me that I must have been holding in for a long time and I again dismissed him from my thoughts.

Much later I thought about taking a turn about the room with my camera and capturing my friends in the throes of gambling. As I turned to pick up my camera out of its bag Osy stepped up to me and said, "I must go. Please have my $50,000 in chips" which he spilled into my goblet. He then turned on his heels and walked briskly out of the Casino. I was stunned, speechless and being congratulated by everyone at the table.

What Osy really left me was a smile. Every time I think about that moment when he gave me his chips I smile. Not because of the value of the chips but because the value of the gesture. He wanted me to play, take risks, and enjoy the evenings adventures without the hindrance of guilt I would surely feel if I lost all of my money foolishly. Osy gave me freedom and it was amazing!

I could fancy this Oscar Wilde....