Saturday's Storyteller: Lava
Lava by Belinda Roddie We meet in a small restaurant, set with adobe walls and benches for chairs. Two men sing softly together in a corner. We do not eat - only drink. And we talk into the late hours of the night. You remind me that you do not love me. Never have, never will. And I accept that, for at least some time. You have always been so beautiful, in your spectacles, your palms taut against the table, ready to flip it and wreak havoc when one least expects. But you are calm. A mother now. Happily married and unwilling to change that for anything. Love flows, and burns, like lava. When we exit the restaurant, the city is on fire. The graffiti on gray walls tells us the gospel truth: That old actors are replaced by new ones, their contributions easily substituted. Songs are sung by new vocalists, new orators for sweet or somber epistles. Nearby, a young woman arrives at a broken down hostel. A man attempts to woo her. Assail her. But he does not know the meaning of the wor
