It was one of those summer teenager nights lost in the abyss of
“can’t recall.” What happened? Where am I? Who am I? And why
am I waking up on the beach wrapped in a blanket in my bathing
suit (thankful I wasn’t naked)? The sun is rising. Seagulls are
flying low enough for an early morning scavenger hunt.
Sitting up I can see my friend, Roma sound asleep next to me
like a baby without a care in the world. The tide’s up and clarity
is seeping slowly into my mind – like tiny photographs being
tossed in front of me as a challenge. Or 52 pick-up to see what I can
actually recall. The brain fog is lifting; so far no regrets. I decide to
walk down to the ocean. Feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin.
Stumbling like I’d had too much to drink; which I didn’t – those
days the high wasn’t legal at any age. Feeling off kilter I tripped over a
boy on a beach towel. For a moment I thought, if I just keep my eyes
closed I’ll be sleeping wrapped in a blanket with Roma snoring
next to me. Oh sweet reverie don’t abandon me now! But instead
I found myself laying on top of a stranger. To my embarrassment
and my delight I was wide awake. The first time in my 18 years
of falling in and out of love – which I did a lot…time seemed to
slow down, almost a full stop. And all I could see was his face.
His light brown eyes and a smile that could cause a nun to have
second thoughts. Long story short, that was the beginning of our
summer love affair, that continued for most of my life. On and off.
He flew to Paris to study. My heart was broken. We made promises.
We would write. Make plans for visits. I lived in New York. He eventually
moved to New York. He had married, so did I. We both divorced. It didn’t
seem to matter what our relationship statuses were. There was something
that continued to bring us together, year after year. There were times when
we would be out of touch for months. I would suddenly think about him,
or his name would cross my mind and like magic he would find me.
A phone call to a relative by chance, luck or fate; we would come together.
Lovers. He would paint or sketch. I would write, take photographs
Many years have come and gone. Childhood fears and insecurity finally
separated us. High tides. Low tides. Memories. A boy. A girl. Love.
Now as I walk down to the ocean; feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin,
I whisper to him. I’m sorry. Forgive me – hoping he can hear or feel me.
I know even in his passing; there has always been a bond between us.
One that can never be broken. A son. Our son.
Jusqu’à ce qu’on se retrouve l’amour.
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