The Beautiful Fountain

            Nürnberg was across an ocean and six time zones to the east. Sleep was approaching Anja as a dove descending, and she snuggled more deeply into her lover’s arms. Her heavy eyes took in the tiny ballerina figurine sitting in a deep bow within the geode on her night stand. The stone’s interior had accents of green and red crystals, which sparkled in any light that strayed through her window curtains. The doll wore a white tutu, and had swan wings budding at her shoulders. As a child Anja had heeded her mother’s advice, that if she played with the ballerina its costume would become tattered and soiled. But despite great care, as she grew to womanhood Anja had watched its costume yellow and become brittle nonetheless. Her father had brought back a hand-made Indian brave from a business trip to Atlanta to protect the dancer - Anja kept the key to her diary on a string around its neck. Richard had called her geode a dragon egg, recalling the tradition that these beasts guard precious treasures deep in their caverns.

            Richard. Anja looked again at the ring he had given her that night. It matched the geode quite well. Perhaps he’d had a strategy in timing his proposal because it came when she was most vulnerable. Anja wasn’t a dancer - she was a soprano, studying in Nürnberg’s music academy. Earlier that afternoon she’d soloed in a concert - as Anja advanced in her Meistersinger classes these performances came more often. But after so many years of studying the mechanics of her voice, so many hours of private practice to attain the precision which German ears will demand, it was a shock to actually have an audience. She likened it to strangers eavesdropping on her prayers, or to embracing with her beloved in a secluded glade and discovering that several boys were watching and giggling over rough jokes.