Desperately Seeking Insouciance
Quotidian, what if we could somehow make insouciance quotidian? Perhaps that’s the long sought answer to paradise.
More than half a century ago, studying sophomore literature, I recall reading about a girl who flounced. I didn’t really know what a flounce was, but I was profoundly in love with a girl from Mineola on Long Island. I recall that her name was Nancy Murray, that she had a twin sister whose name was Martha but whom we called Mimi, and that her father was a dentist. I recall that Mimi did not care for me, and I recall that although I did not understand what “flounce” meant, I was sure that it was one of Nancy’s attributes.
I’ve always loved her. She is now in her late sixties but in my mind she’s twenty-one, and my date at my college graduation, as she should have been, as she was,
Mimi was right, I was a cad. But I was only fifteen then. I was twenty-one the last time I saw Nancy, but I’ve never forgotten her.
If only somehow she knew.
© Guillermo Calvo Mahé; Manizales, 2017; all rights reserved