Vignette 14
"He remembers those vanished years. As though looking through a dusty window pane, the past is something he could see, but not touch. And everything he sees is blurred and indistinct." -Wong Kar-wai, In the Mood for Love
When Rhett arrived at the grave, the tombstone was lavishly adorned with flowers and candles, and not a speck of dirt marred the stone—clearly marking Atlanta's admiration of Melanie Wilkes, which remained one of the few qualities he shared with the rest of proper society. Some of whom belonged to the latter walked past him with astonishment and hurried along to spread the news of his return, anticipating the imminent scandal that was sure to come.
Little did they know, he did not hold such intent.
He kneeled, laying down his flowers that suddenly seemed so inadequate in his respect. He wondered if she knew how highly he regarded her if it were not another regret to add to his conscience. Sighing heavily, he turned away, ready to head back to the hotel and ponder the thought over a glass of whisky.
Halfway through the path, he heard the fluttering of skirts and paused. It could be anyone, he reasoned and urged himself to continue forward.
In spite of himself, he turned.
"Rhett?"
He had always hated her in mourning clothes.
"Good morning, Scarlett."
In spite of himself, he walked back to her, to the grave.
"When did you arrive? I didn't hear any news of your return."
"I arrived in Atlanta last night. My mother told me of Mrs. Wilkes' passing."
"Oh," she muttered, looking down at the flowers in her hand. He had been focused on her fidgeting hands, unable to walk away, when she spoke again.
"Did you ever get my letter?"
He shook his head. "What letter?"
"I sent it right before you left. Frank confronted me about wanting a divorce and the first thing I did was write to you. It always pestered me—what if Frank told me earlier, what if you had waited one more day? Where would we be right now?"
His chuckle was a hollow sound, an exhale of bottled-up regret.
"Paris, I assume?"
Her lip lifted slightly in an unfulfilled smile, her eyes swampy and dull with years of unsated desire.
"With a whole passel of brats."
"Fie, Mrs. Butler."
The fragile amicability shared between them cracked with the renewed fantasy and for the first time since the beginning of their endless charade, one of them spoke truth.
"I loved you, you know. Perhaps I still do."
The other paused, the obvious reply to such sentiments hanging fervently between them, though never to be borne.
"I know. Perhaps I do too."
Always the phantom of uncertainty shrouded them, and she looked away, unable to bear it.
"I have a daughter now," she said, with false cheerfulness. "Her name is Bonnie."
"Bonnie?" he asked with a distinct tremor in his once lusty voice, wishing he hadn't known at all.
"Yes… would you like to meet her?"
He imagined a vibrant child, a girl so quintessentially Scarlett.
Even before meeting her, he knew he was lost to the idea of her.
His response carried a weariness ill-suited to his frame. "No, it's best if I don't. I have to catch the train to Charleston."
Her downturned eyes glistened; her deeper, most passionate feelings dampened by time and concealed by sooty black lashes.
"I see. Goodbye then, Rhett."
"Goodbye."
She turned away and he allowed himself a few seconds to look, stunned by the finality of her words. Her black-clad figure. She had worn other colors, he was sure. But he could not recall; all others were snatched, taken, forsaken. How could he recall, with the bare branches, the decaying leaves?
Those green eyes did not glance back.
So, he waited. Waited until she was gone. He had done this too much. Waiting for his Father, his mother, for love, for a home. It was no use.
Resigned, he walked in the other direction, cloaked by the all-enveloping mist.
Thank you for reading!
Some films that inspired this include In The Mood For Love (2000), The Umbrellas of Cherbourg (1964), and Brief Encounter (1945).
Yes, I actually meant to end it like that (I promise to never do it again). This chapter was the first one I conceptualized and wrote down, so I planned everything around this ending. I wanted to capture the atmosphere in ITMFL (2000) and apply it to Rhett and Scarlett. As simply as I can put it into words, it is the feeling of unfulfilled erotic yearning. They find comfort in one another and that comfort soon develops into something that forces them into action. They have many opportune moments where romance could be fulfilled, but the moment passes them and the maturity and growth borne out of their encounters are what leads them to give in to the societal pressure of being proper.
