An Airport
There was something different about those days. Light lingered for a moment longer on the spring-green leaves. The sky was just a touch bluer, a piano melody was faintly more translucent. Of course, no one told you those days were ephemeral, and the alchemy of time would soon transmute them. Outside it doesn’t rain, but it should.
An airport. You kiss her nose while she half-tries to hide it away. Through your eyes, her smile is the mirror image of your own, inverted in its perfection. Let’s call her Sarah. “Are you ready to board?” As if you didn’t know. “Thank you for coming with me” She gazes into you, her voice is serious. You could never handle serious. “Well couldn’t really risk you being all alone and meeting some sexy Frenchman, now could I?” “Who says I won’t?”
Of course, her name is not Sarah. Now that you think of it, that was the name of your first guitar. You got it to impress girls, hard as you may attempt to deny it. Did it work? Well, the first juvenile skirt you ever spent more than one week with, let’s call her Mary, never really wanted to hear you play. She probably liked music too much to stand your butchering of it. When you left her, she didn’t cry. Does that mean you never broke a heart?
A high-school hallway. You try your hardest to play it cool when you notice her silhouette approach. “Wanna walk me to my locker? I left my homework there” You do your best impersonation of a nonchalant teenage movie star “Erm… yeah sure I can go”. If you could, your each jaunty step would have been Zeno’s and the short trip would never end. “So, yesterday I got into an argument with my mom…” Sarah’s locker was an enchanted place. It was proof she wanted you near. Why else would she ask you to knightly escort her there each morning? “What are you doing this Friday?” “Mm, I don’t know” “Wanna see a movie?” Most time you didn’t even go into the cinema. You sat outside, listening to her for hours, dreading the moment when her phone would ring, her mom would pick her up, and the week would be over. Rinse, repeat.
Late morning. You find her in the living room, absent-mindedly rolling her hair while watching cartoons, a pillow on her lap, her legs crossed on the davenport. This morning’s cereal bowl and last night’s glass of wine share space on the small coffee table. Without saying a word, you embrace her. She leans into your heat, and you dare not move. “Later we should wash the car”, she whispers. “Like we did last year”
A phone rings. Your slowly slide out of your slumber while she answers it. “Yeah I’ll meet you in an hour. Yeah it was fun, nothing special, I’ll tell you about it later” She’s half dressed, half angel, phone in one hand and hair brush in the other, and she mistakenly calls him your name while she hangs up. You smirk and let out a muffled laugh. It’s the first time you’ve seen her in the morning, getting ready. She’s beautiful, and she does not put on any make up on. She scolds you while opening the door “It’s not funny, you know it’s the second time this happens.” “Are you just going to meet him as if everything is normal?” “I don’t know” She runs back, and kisses you with opens lips. Then she leaves. You don’t know what to expect, but you smile.
Late night, you are the last one to leave the office. Again. The city lights fades in the distance, while commercial radio drowns out the feeble attempt your companion makes to bait you into a hopeless conversation, quipping those singular bits of wisdom which have been revealed only to cab drivers. Yes, maybe they really are all crooks. Yes, they really shouldn’t have done more construction work in such an important avenue. You miss her voice, you dial her number. “Hey” “I was just about to go to sleep” “Wanna talk for a while?” “Yeah, but not too long, I have an early morning” “Can’t wait to get into the train, just one more day. This weekend will be fun, I promise” “I miss you”. It’s long past midnight as you pack your suitcase.
The final week of class of your senior year. In a few months you’ll be a freshman again. Your teacher has dared you to play in front of the class, so for the first time ever you bring your guitar to school. During the break you play a tune to a comely girl. Let’s call her Mary-number-two. An odd name perhaps, but your memories are too precious to be spent on other. Your best friend approaches “Did you see the look on Sarah’s face staring at you guys? Mary-number-two was totally drooling all over you, and Sarah was freaking out” You didn’t see it. How you wish you would have seen it.
An airport. We’re in Switzerland. Higgs Boson sends his regards. “What do you think?” Her voice is too calm, you know she’s fighting with all she has so it doesn’t break. “What’s there to think? It’s over. There’s nothing left”. She cries. Does that mean you broke her heart? “Why are you crying? This is what you want.” “It doesn’t make it any less hard” She tells you she’s afraid. She tells you she doesn’t know what it is to live without you. You know she doesn’t love you anymore. “If someone wrote the *Top 10 worst reasons to continue a relationship*, I’m pretty sure you would have nailed the top 2”. “I’ve defined myself by what we were for a long time”. “Congratulations, you’ve just hit number 3”. She laughs. It still makes you feel like you’re the cleverest guy in the world when you make her laugh. You’re probably not. But you might have been the luckiest for all you know. Let’s see if you can one last smile out of her. She boards the plane. You hug, no kiss. Hot tears in your cheek, though you can’t tell whose.
Wild waves torment the Italian Riviera’s cliffs. She’s sweaty, her breathing is heavy, but she pushes through. You both reach the peak, under the early summer sun. A subtle breeze rewards you, while the silence of a stormy sea engulfs you. Her hands lock around your neck, as her lips lock around yours. Even after seven years you wish for a kiss more. She denies it to you. You’ll have to earn it. You wish nothing would ever change. But it’s too late. The first drop of rain in the window of your bus brings you back to your senses, eight hundred miles away.
A club. Music is loud, for once you’re dancing. Your friends are there, and so is Mary-number-three. Isn’t it time she had a name? Her eyes hold onto yours sometimes, while you pretend not to notice it. You think of drawing her nearer. You go outside. She leans her head on your shoulder. It’s the next morning, but there’s no cereal bowl. She’s not Sarah. You look through the crowded London streets, and you see everyone else in the world. Is there anything sadder than an unused plane ticket?
An airport. Your flight is late, but that’s ok: you have no place to go, and you can keep on waiting for yourself. You prop open your laptop, and the bluest light fills your eyes.
An airport. You kiss her nose while she half-tries to hide it away. Through your eyes, her smile is the mirror image of your own, inverted in its perfection. Let’s call her Sarah. “Are you ready to board?” As if you didn’t know. “Thank you for coming with me” She gazes into you, her voice is serious. You could never handle serious. “Well couldn’t really risk you being all alone and meeting some sexy Frenchman, now could I?” “Who says I won’t?”
Of course, her name is not Sarah. Now that you think of it, that was the name of your first guitar. You got it to impress girls, hard as you may attempt to deny it. Did it work? Well, the first juvenile skirt you ever spent more than one week with, let’s call her Mary, never really wanted to hear you play. She probably liked music too much to stand your butchering of it. When you left her, she didn’t cry. Does that mean you never broke a heart?
A high-school hallway. You try your hardest to play it cool when you notice her silhouette approach. “Wanna walk me to my locker? I left my homework there” You do your best impersonation of a nonchalant teenage movie star “Erm… yeah sure I can go”. If you could, your each jaunty step would have been Zeno’s and the short trip would never end. “So, yesterday I got into an argument with my mom…” Sarah’s locker was an enchanted place. It was proof she wanted you near. Why else would she ask you to knightly escort her there each morning? “What are you doing this Friday?” “Mm, I don’t know” “Wanna see a movie?” Most time you didn’t even go into the cinema. You sat outside, listening to her for hours, dreading the moment when her phone would ring, her mom would pick her up, and the week would be over. Rinse, repeat.
Late morning. You find her in the living room, absent-mindedly rolling her hair while watching cartoons, a pillow on her lap, her legs crossed on the davenport. This morning’s cereal bowl and last night’s glass of wine share space on the small coffee table. Without saying a word, you embrace her. She leans into your heat, and you dare not move. “Later we should wash the car”, she whispers. “Like we did last year”
A phone rings. Your slowly slide out of your slumber while she answers it. “Yeah I’ll meet you in an hour. Yeah it was fun, nothing special, I’ll tell you about it later” She’s half dressed, half angel, phone in one hand and hair brush in the other, and she mistakenly calls him your name while she hangs up. You smirk and let out a muffled laugh. It’s the first time you’ve seen her in the morning, getting ready. She’s beautiful, and she does not put on any make up on. She scolds you while opening the door “It’s not funny, you know it’s the second time this happens.” “Are you just going to meet him as if everything is normal?” “I don’t know” She runs back, and kisses you with opens lips. Then she leaves. You don’t know what to expect, but you smile.
Late night, you are the last one to leave the office. Again. The city lights fades in the distance, while commercial radio drowns out the feeble attempt your companion makes to bait you into a hopeless conversation, quipping those singular bits of wisdom which have been revealed only to cab drivers. Yes, maybe they really are all crooks. Yes, they really shouldn’t have done more construction work in such an important avenue. You miss her voice, you dial her number. “Hey” “I was just about to go to sleep” “Wanna talk for a while?” “Yeah, but not too long, I have an early morning” “Can’t wait to get into the train, just one more day. This weekend will be fun, I promise” “I miss you”. It’s long past midnight as you pack your suitcase.
The final week of class of your senior year. In a few months you’ll be a freshman again. Your teacher has dared you to play in front of the class, so for the first time ever you bring your guitar to school. During the break you play a tune to a comely girl. Let’s call her Mary-number-two. An odd name perhaps, but your memories are too precious to be spent on other. Your best friend approaches “Did you see the look on Sarah’s face staring at you guys? Mary-number-two was totally drooling all over you, and Sarah was freaking out” You didn’t see it. How you wish you would have seen it.
An airport. We’re in Switzerland. Higgs Boson sends his regards. “What do you think?” Her voice is too calm, you know she’s fighting with all she has so it doesn’t break. “What’s there to think? It’s over. There’s nothing left”. She cries. Does that mean you broke her heart? “Why are you crying? This is what you want.” “It doesn’t make it any less hard” She tells you she’s afraid. She tells you she doesn’t know what it is to live without you. You know she doesn’t love you anymore. “If someone wrote the *Top 10 worst reasons to continue a relationship*, I’m pretty sure you would have nailed the top 2”. “I’ve defined myself by what we were for a long time”. “Congratulations, you’ve just hit number 3”. She laughs. It still makes you feel like you’re the cleverest guy in the world when you make her laugh. You’re probably not. But you might have been the luckiest for all you know. Let’s see if you can one last smile out of her. She boards the plane. You hug, no kiss. Hot tears in your cheek, though you can’t tell whose.
Wild waves torment the Italian Riviera’s cliffs. She’s sweaty, her breathing is heavy, but she pushes through. You both reach the peak, under the early summer sun. A subtle breeze rewards you, while the silence of a stormy sea engulfs you. Her hands lock around your neck, as her lips lock around yours. Even after seven years you wish for a kiss more. She denies it to you. You’ll have to earn it. You wish nothing would ever change. But it’s too late. The first drop of rain in the window of your bus brings you back to your senses, eight hundred miles away.
A club. Music is loud, for once you’re dancing. Your friends are there, and so is Mary-number-three. Isn’t it time she had a name? Her eyes hold onto yours sometimes, while you pretend not to notice it. You think of drawing her nearer. You go outside. She leans her head on your shoulder. It’s the next morning, but there’s no cereal bowl. She’s not Sarah. You look through the crowded London streets, and you see everyone else in the world. Is there anything sadder than an unused plane ticket?
An airport. Your flight is late, but that’s ok: you have no place to go, and you can keep on waiting for yourself. You prop open your laptop, and the bluest light fills your eyes.