The Second, Always The Second

            The woman is drumming nervously on the table. She arrived on time, even earlier. But this other… she is always late. Always, as if this lateness gifted her with some kind of virtue, but in reality, her behavior is simply rude and immature.

            But what could she expect from her?

            Truth to be told, even she doesn’t know why she agreed on meeting her. Not this time , or in the past, ten, twenty, fifty, hundred, thousand years ago – each occasion ended the same way anyway. And she knows that this one will end the same as well. Maybe she agrees on these meetings because the other woman, whether they want it or not, still has power over her. Just like her husband does.

            …We are the same, since both of us were created from the earth…

            She looks sideways, stealing a glance at herself in the café’s darkened windows. She looks perfect according to her own expectations – at least as perfect as she can be. Solid, cream-colored costume, which might be a little boring, and a bit tight in the waist as well, but it is good enough for her. Her once ebony hair is now striped with grey, but it is in a perfect bun. She has no wrinkles, but her breasts are sagging, and her waist is considerably bigger than it used to be. She has no unnecessary finery on – only a simple golden band on her left ring finger.

            Then the door of the café opens, and the woman steps in.

            She is still young, still beautiful – even if in reality she is older than her. Her hair is like a dark halo around her chiseled features, on which time has left no mark. Even her clothing is singing about youth – patent leather stiletto boots, dark, skin-tight jeans, clinging, blood-red shirt with low neckline. She isn’t even trying to conceal her curves.

            Still standing at the door she looks around, then when she sees her companion, walks up to her. There is something strange in her movements, something otherworldly. Like a panther, just about to attack its prey.

            As she reaches her partner, she greets her without any unnecessary courtesy or honor, as she sits down opposite her.

            “Eve.” Slave.

            “Lilith.” Slut.

            They fall silent, like every time. They have never known how to approach each other. Lastly, Lilith beckons the waiter, and breaks the silence.

            “How is he?” She asks. She doesn’t have to say who he is. They both know. There is only one person they both are linked to.

            “He is well.” Comes the answer with cold detachment. Eve doesn’t know how to handle the other. “But he still has to get over what you have done to him.”

            Lilith snorts.

            “He had plenty of time to do so. Eons.”

            “No-one forgets their very first love.” The first. The first love. The first woman. Lilith was the first. Not she. She never was.

            “He claims he loved me? How cute.” Irony is dripping from Lilith’s voice like some slowly-killing poison. “If he really loved me, then he tried to show it in a rather interesting way.”

            “He is the way he is – you can’t judge him. Still, he treated you well, admit it.”

            “He wanted me to bend over his will. To control me.” Lilith almost spats the words.

            Eve is about to answer, but the waiter arrives, with a cup of ebony-colored coffee on his tray. He looks at Lilith with undisguised lust and admiration as he places the cup on the table.

            Nobody ever looks at her like that, and nobody has ever done so. Only at Lilith.

            Eve looks after the waiter longingly.

            “You always need somebody to control you, to stop you before you do something stupid.” The apple, oh, the apple! Why wasn’t he there then?

            “Oh, you only think so.” Lilith takes a sip from her coffee. “And… this whole subservience-business didn’t turn out to be so good for you, did it?” Eve creases the hem of her skirt nervously, saying nothing. But she doesn’t need to. Lilith goes on. “Don’t worry, I would have done the same, were I in your place. I don’t judge you.” Another sip. “But you do judge me, don’t you?”

            “You left him.”

            “I had to. And you know, I would have gone back, if he had treated me like an equal. But he didn’t. He managed to get me cursed instead. Oh, but then he got you, the perfect wife, isn’t it wonderful? Mother of hundreds, who willingly fulfils each and every of his wishes, and who would never raise her voice against her dear husband. You know, sometimes I wonder if you really ate that apple.

            “I did. And I got my punishment for it. I was banished.” There is a little pride in Eve’s voice, but even she doesn’t know what she is proud of.

            “And I left on my own will. Yet, both of us were punished. Both of us are being accused, even today. You see, we’re not that different after all, you and I.

            “I am not like you!” Eve snaps.

            “No, you are not.” Another sip. “You are weaker than me. Way too weak to stand up for yourself. Too weak to make a change, to have independent thoughts.”

            “But at least I am happy!” Eve doesn’t remember standing up, yet, she is standing upright. She sits back, ashamed. If her husband saw her now…

            “Oh, really?” Lilith doesn’t loose her calmness. She is still impassible, yet scorching, just like when she arrived. “Then please tell me, where this great happiness roots? Don’t worry, I have time – no-one waits for me at home. Come on, tell me!”

            Eve doesn’t answer. She could lie to Lilith, tell her that she is happy, she has everything she has ever dreamed of… but she could not lie to herself. She isn’t happy, maybe she has never been. She has always been nothing, only the second, only the surrogate one. And whatever she did, she always remained that, while her husband was still longing after his first wife, the one who had ungratefully left him.

            “I thought so.” Lilith drinks the last of her coffee. “We are the two extremities, you know? Two examples for women, if you will, but neither of us should be followed. Because neither of us is happy, nor could we ever be, because of who we are and how we decided. We are the two poles, and extremities are never good.

            She stands up, puts her chair back into its place, then looks down on Eve.

            “Tell…” She stops for a moment. “Tell him that I miss him. And that I am sorry. Still sorry.”

            Then she turns around, and leaves the café without saying another word. Eve watches her go, and knows this wasn’t the last time they had seen each other. Until the world turns, they will meet again, to remind each other of their faults and mistakes.

            Eve glances at her watch – it is almost half past five, and she hasn’t even started cooking dinner yet, and Adam will surely be hungry.

            She stands up slowly, puts her chair back into its place, grabs her purse and puts some money on the table, then leaves the café for home.

            She might not be happy, her life, her relationship might not be perfect, but she is trying.

            Even if deep down she knows it is hopeless.