The very first time I laid eyes on Miss Eugenie, I felt a stirring within me.  As an eleven year old boy, I had no idea what that feeling was.  Some would say lust, but I think it was something akin to love.

 

She and her husband had recently moved into our neighborhood.  He was tall, somewhat older than her and resembled Walter Cronkite with his furry salt and pepper mustache. He was a doctor at the only hospital in our county.

 

Miss Eugenie had hair blacker than any I'd ever seen.  Her eyes had thick liner around them that swooped out into points on the outer edges.  She looked like Cleopatra,  Catwoman, and Suzanne Pleshette all rolled into one.

 

Their house was not like our cookie cutter tri-level.  There were faux marble columns in the basement with a long teal velvet couch that wrapped most of the wall.  Their basement looked nicer than our living room.  

 

The doctor and Miss Eugenie told us, and all of the neighbors who came to their open house, to feel free to look around.

 

I wandered from room to room, taking in all the sculptures and paintings that were throughout.  I happened to wander into a room that was hidden behind pocket doors.

 

The walls were a pale pink color. The room was decorated with an overstuffed chair, a bookcase and a small table to the side.  There was stationery laid out and several pens scattered on top.  It was a pretty little room, but kind of boring.  As I turned to leave I stopped.  My eleven year old heart slammed in my chest.  There on the wall, for all to see, was a painting of a naked woman.  And, if my curious, probing eyes, were deceiving me, that naked woman was Miss Eugenie.

 

Now, by today's standards, it wouldn't be perceived as nudity.  But it was more womanly flesh than I'd ever seen before.

 

My mind told me to leave, pull those pocket doors together, and take what I'd just seen to my grave.  But my feet wouldn't move.  My eyes would not look away, no matter how many times I told myself to.

 

Then it happened.  Someone was standing beside me.  I could smell the floral notes of Chanel number five.

 

"Are you an art connoisseur?"

 

Guiltily, I looked up into beautiful blue eyes, lined with black eyeliner.

 

"I wasn't looking.  Not really."  It was a lie.  She knew it as well as I did.

 

Her hand lightly touched my shoulder.  "To look and appreciate is fine.  To gawk is rude.  Were you appreciating the painting?"

 

I smiled up at the painting.  "Oh, yes, ma'am."

 

She put the other hand on my shoulder and guided me out of the room.

 

"Was the lady in the picture you?" I asked.

 

Miss Eugenie winked  at me then leaned in to whisper in my ear.  "I'll never tell."

 

My mom and Miss Eugenie became close friends over the next couple of years.  They shopped together, would tell secrets about the kinds of things that women tell each other. And every other Wednesday, Miss Eugenie and several other women would come over for their book club.  The books they talked about were usually the kind that had them send me outside to play.  But I would spy on them through the living room window and see them laughing and acting like girls.

 

The doctor and Miss Eugenie moved away when I was in the ninth grade.  My mom and her had a falling out shortly before.  I don't know what it was about, and my mom never volunteered the reason.  Knowing my mother, I think she blew something out of proportion in order to have a reason to back out of their friendship.  It's easier to let go, than it is to be let go of.

 

Fast forward more years than I care to admit.  I was sitting at my work station assessing several patients when one of the nurses taps me on the shoulder.  "Since you're not doing anything, can I get you to come help me in exam room four. "

 

"Sure.  What's up?"

 

"Old lady slipped on the ice.  Wrist is swollen but won't let us take her to X-ray.  Keeps insisting its fine."

 

I shook my head. "Why the hell did she come in then?"

 

"Neighbor found her at the bottom of her steps.  Made her come."

 

I paused just outside the curtain and gathered my wise old doctor face.

 

"Good morning," I said glancing at the chart. "Mrs. Meyers.  What brings you in here today?"

 

"I'm fine." She covered her swollen wrist with her good hand.  "I've got ice at home.  I know what to do."

 

I nodded and approached.  "May I?"  Gently, I touched her wrist. After several minutes, I sat on the edge of the bed. "It doesn't appear to be broken, but let's be smart about it.  How about we get a couple of X-rays just to make sure there isn't a hairline fracture.  Once they come back, you can be on your way.  How does that sound?"

 

Mrs. Meyers nodded.  "How is your mother?"

 

"My mother?  Do I know you?"

 

"Eugenie Meyers.  I used to live across the street."

 

A flood of emotion filled me.  

 

"Miss Eugenie.  Oh my gosh.  I had such a crush on you.  I can't believe this."  I was gushing, like a adolescent boy.

 

"Well, I'm flattered," she said as a smile came to her face.  "How's your mom doing?"

 

"She passed in 2006.  COPD.  Not the peaceful death one hopes for."

 

"I'm sorry.  I've missed her for many years." She looked down at her wrist.

 

Lucky for me, it was a rather uneventful day in the E.R. so I got to talk to my childhood crush in length.  Over the course of the conversation, we somehow got back to our first meeting.  When she caught me admiring that beautifully scandalous painting.

 

"You were so cute.  You weren't quite sure what you were looking at."  She laughed softly.

 

"Oh, I knew what I was looking at, I just didn't understand why I couldn't look away."

 

Miss Eugenie's smile broadened.  

 

"Since we're both adults now, I'll ask what I've been wondering for fifty years now.  Was that you in the painting?"

 

Miss Eugenie looked around to see if any eaves droppers were lurking near by.  She motioned for me to come closer. 

 

As I leaned in to hear her answer, my spine tingled with anticipation.  For fifty years that painting has haunted me.  "It was you, wasn't it?"

 

I got a whiff of Chanel number five and she placed her good hand on my shoulder.  "I'll never tell."

 

The end