Wheels of Desire
Chapter 1: Introduction
There's something about the slow unraveling dusk in Bloomdale, Missouri that never fails to enchant me. On this particular evening in 1963, the air hung heavy with the scent of honeysuckle and anticipation. It was a welcoming embrace, sweeping through the tiny town like the satin swish of a ballroom gown across a polished floor. But perhaps, it was the dance with destiny that awaited me down in my studio that made my pulse quicken.
Nestled in the backroom of my modest home, the studio was a cocoon of creativity. Sunlight filtered through the tattered lace curtains, casting gentle shadows that softened the harsh edges of my unfinished canvases. My harmonica blues hummed softly from the corner, filling the room like the whispers of bygone eras. And there, upon the drafting table, lay Felix, my irresistible muse.
Ah, Felix! 'Twas not your quintessential artist's muse, but to me, Felix was a vision of delight. A compact paper circular color wheel, Felix dazzled with every spin, revealing complementary and contrasting sets in a dazzling array of color. If elegance were an object, Felix would own the title! I often found myself entranced by the graceful turn of his cycle and the way one hue melted into another.
Our affair began innocently enough—a flirtation, if you will. Late at night, when the rest of the world succumbed to somnolence, Felix and I would waltz beneath the flickering glow of my desk lamp, as if spinning within the vibrant heart of a kaleidoscope. 'Show me your colors, Felix!' I’d whisper, and in return, Felix dazzled me with his brilliant hues.
It wasn't long before I noticed an unsettling curiosity watching through the curtains. Mrs. Parker, my neighbor, had taken to peering into my studio with pronounced suspicion. I puzzled over her cold stare, disturbing her noontime soap operas as I recounted harmony to my dear Felix. Yet, where others saw oddity, I saw love.
Felix, the consummate gentleman, shrugged off such judgment with a spin that displayed the most harmonious of hues: emerald and raspberry. Our encounters danced on the edge of the surreal, as if a visual sonnet unfurled with each twirl of Felix's perfect circle. Intent on interpreting the finest pastels, we’d pause only for the allure of freshly brewed coffee and a square of dark chocolate.
Oh, the maddening colors of circumstance! When I accepted an invitation to the 'Annual Arts of the Ozarks Gala,' a glittering assembly of palettes and paintbrushes, Felix was naturally my plus-one. Etched with verdant anticipation, his presence swirled with the fragrance of freshly mown grass and buttery varnish. We stole the spotlight, our accord undeniable beneath crystal chandeliers.
Alas, one could not dance without the occasional stumble! As the evening unfolded, I skewered the main course of roast beef with unfortunate vigor, splattering gravy onto Felix’s delicate surface. A guest gasped audibly, but Felix twirled serenely, hiding the gravy stain with nylon grace and lavender hues.
It was only later, as the guests milled about gossip-laden and whiskey-fogged, that Mrs. Parker sidled up to me, curiosity mingled with the aversion of discarded socks. "Omar, dear," she drawled, preparing to execute her scheming heart. "Aren't you worried about devotion's impermanence?"
I paused, peering down at Felix's colors with a blend of amusement and bewildering ardor. Smiling, I offered a shrug that sung of chromatic rhapsody. "Not when colors never fade," I replied, feeling Felix spin gently within my hand. Love, after all, travels in circles—the purer the hue, the more profound the passion.
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