It was the hardest time for me to say goodbye to someone. I’ve said it, yes; probably more than I can even count. But this time was different. I’ve left lovers before. After high school I gave the infamous cliché that we must go our separate ways and hopefully our paths will meet in the end. During college I’ve left a lover to go to another college far, far away. I’ve met lovers on airplanes, in foreign countries, huge parties where the guest count could never be totaled, and each time I’ve said goodbye. Sometimes with a tear, other times with a smile, and the rest with a shrug of my shoulders and a turn of my back. Out of all these goodbyes, this is the one I remember most. This one.
I had driven up to Massachusetts with a friend and also colleague with his three dogs in a black, beat-up, Toyota 4Runner. It took us 23 hours; I would stay for a week and then fly back home. Home? What I did there isn’t important; it was who I met that I will remember most.
Three days had already passed since I first arrived in South Hadley. On the fourth, I met her. She was wearing shorts, a three quarter top, and flip flops. My first impression was, of course, physical. She had long wild brown hair pulled back, a tan that proved she ran outdoors to keep her incredibly tight, sexy body in shape, and a few tattoos I couldn't help but find attractive. But she was more than that. She had an aura around her that I couldn't take my eyes off of; I refused to at least. I was at first embarrassed when she caught my goggling over her, but when she responded with a smile, I felt that was permission to continue drooling for a few more seconds.
Not having seen my friend in a while, she talked to him mostly. I sat across from the table and watched her with amazement. Listening to this woman tell a story was fascinating. Her facial gestures and the way she crossed her left leg completely over her right at the knee was wonderful. I didn't notice a strong accent, being from Massachusetts and all, but the detail she used, the humor she had, and just her drove me crazy with anticipation to get to know her. I wanted to jump in and interview her; what did she like, do, live, everything I wanted to know. She was like the most fascinating enigma I had ever encountered. I tried desperately to decipher all of these questions through clues in her conversation. She was only here for the weekend; Monday she would have to work.
Later that day we all decided to go out drinking and karaoke, which I must admit, I am an aficionado of making a complete fool of myself. We drank at home first, heftily too, I must say, playing either Beer Pong or Beer Dye. She would look at me and I at her, and we would drink to see who could finish the pint first along with who could the most. I loved it, being a Leo myself and fond of the drink. The competitiveness of this gorgeous creature left me speechless. I couldn't try then to conjure the right words to make her mine; I was intimidated by her strong spirit. I felt out of my league trying to seduce such a treasure. And then it happened; fortune for once, was on my side.
We were sitting in the back seat of a friend's Saturn L100. Our “driver” just arrived and we were ready to go. I was near the rear passenger side window and she near me in the middle. I had my left arm up on the back of the seat when she looked over to me with such eyes, my God; I've never seen such beauty! I knew; I believe she did too, and then it happened…we kissed.
Imagine your best kiss; the lips are congruent, gentle, warm, trembling with anticipation; the tongues crash into each other like waves on the hot beach sand; with the same motion as well. Her smooth hand touched my cheek and I wrapped my right arm around her waist. We kissed for maybe five minutes, but it was like one of those dreams, the good ones, that seem to have lasted a hundred years, and when it's over and you awake, you then try desperately to sleep again and continue the dream. From then on, she never once left me wanting. She was the infinite ocean and I her humble, but always hungry, fish sending ripples to tickle her heart for her glorious generosity. I was in paradise, at home, and was determined to remain there until the end of my trip.
I knew one day that it would come, the time to return home, to where the heart is, but instead it felt like I was leaving it for the first time. Curious, familiar, and yet still estranged eyes looked out to me. To me; quietly chuckling to herself in secret. I must have felt and seemed like a child at age 25, knowing I must return to a life, one that was no longer, could no longer be mine. I didn’t want to leave the toy store; I wanted to play, to feel as free as a child does, and to be happy. This life I created, these feelings I’d given birth to, I didn’t want to leave.
I laid there helpless, knowing that perhaps I’d never see those kind eyes again, those lips I found refuge in, smell her wonderful honey walnut skin, or ever place my hand, shivering, upon those two blue stars drawn upon her canvass body. It was her who brought life into where I thought there was none. And so why did she touch me like that? What should it have mattered whether or not I was beside her still when she occasionally awoke after hours of love shared, naked, and unafraid? Why did she even care at all? And then I knew that those questions where no longer important, but that she did and I knew.
No one else ever notices the tender kindness that lovers exchange on a daily basis. A look from across a bar, a slow approach and hug from behind, quiet nibbles on the ear during a whisper, or the smile that said, “I’m glad you and no one else is here” in the middle of a crowded party; no one ever sees, ever seems to care. I used to hold my breath for what seemed like forever while she stroked the back of my head in a car ride. I would play petrified so she could sneak up behind me and place her hands in her fleece jacket pockets that I wore and hug me secretly. We saw a movie and not once did she let go of my once always trembling hands. Not once did she move away or push me from her. It was like, for that weekend, I was born to be hers and she mine alone. So was I so foolish to believe that I was special?
It felt good, warm, better than my previous life had presented to me thus far. It felt like home. And now I was supposedly returning to it in a matter of hours. I was no longer alone and she was unwavering at my side. I smashed all my insecurities with a blink of an eye and stayed silent, kissing her softly and then looking back up into her gentle eyes to see if this time, too, she would giggle.
Was it out of humor, was it a game, or was it something more than that? Could it have been joy, innocence, or passion? Was the reason why she laughed after I’d press one kiss between her breast be because she, too, found it hard to believe that during such a short period of time in knowing someone, it was possible to be that happy, that at peace, and that comfortable?
I didn’t move out of fear that my body might shiver and show my weakness; to show that I was captivated, flabbergasted, and naïve. I only wanted to hear the beating of her heart; quick and strong. As I waited to hear it tell me to stay, she softly scratched my head passionately, unselfishly, so generously. I starred at her left breast wondering if it, like a rose reaching for the rays of the sun, wanted me to also shower her with rain-drop kisses. I felt her warm stomach and that which lies below hold me like an unforgettable childhood memory. Still she stroked my neck and back so tenderly. I saw her eyes close and heard her sleeping, while, still, with her generous hands playing with my back, like the wind does to a giant yellow field of daffodils; she swayed with ice-skate nails on my warm, now sweaty shoulder ice-rinks. I wished it was home that I was at; perhaps I was already.
I have never had any success in keeping a lover in my arms. I have tried a thousand and more nights, but not once did I awake enfolded in their wings. I’ve always wanted to. Either I got too hot or uncomfortable, or it was the other way around; but this time was different. My right arm I placed under her pillow. She cuddled up to me pressing her naked buttocks to my bare hips. I tucked my legs beneath hers and we clicked like two identical spoons. Four windows open in the cool South Hadley house, but only one blanket for one night. Our bodies were the flame which kept us happy, serene, together. We slept for hours, and it wasn’t until three hours later that I awoke, almost as in a dream still, and realized that she had not moved, still peaceful, still in my arms. I pressed her closer to me and laid a shadow-like kiss upon her neck so as not to wake her.
Too long had my heart been unhappy. Too long have I felt the daily cold morning rays of solitude touch my cheek in the break of day; reminding me to awaken into what was the harsh reality of life, alone. To wake up on the wrong side of the bed is one thing, but to get up on the wrong side of no one is worse. But not that day. She woke up, had to. She had to work in three hours, but worked one and a half hours away in Boston. I had set the alarm clock for 6:15. I even slept on the side of the bed the alarm was on so she couldn’t just roll over and snooze. I didn’t want her to be late, not for me. Needless to say, all it took was for her to turn around, lay me on my back, and whisper to me, “Just five more minutes.” I rolled over three times to snooze. Her kind fingers stroked the few hairs on my chest. My left leg had voluntarily surrendered itself to be conquered by hers. Her head was buried in my neck, and ever so slightly she dropped tiny kisses like mores-code, telling me to stay.
I could not move. I didn’t want to. I knew what would happen if she woke. I would pack alone and get on the plane alone. The plane to home, away from my smile, my held hand, my happy heart. She showered, dressed, and I watched. I was naked; she wasn’t, and the time was coming nearer.
She kneeled beside me on the bed and sweetly covered me with the blanket. She looked so beautiful, her wild hair pulled back as it had been when we first met, dressed in black. I felt like I was dying, lying in the perpetual casket that is my body. She kissed me. I should have made her stay. She kissed me over and over again with the same sensuality and sincerity she had always had with me. So generously, even despite my morning breath, but she tasted like clean, like good, like home. I should have grabbed her, stripped her from her clothes as I had many times before, but I didn’t. I watched what I did not want to leave, go. I said something lame, something stupid. I said to her after sitting up, “Get home safe.” She looked kindheartedly towards me before closing the door, smiled, and like that, was gone. I felt my eyes water, my stomach tighten with every breath, my face frowned, and my arms clinched, hands and legs holding nothing but air.
I was empty, alone; again, like before I had come to visit my friend. I know I am foolish for feeling so much longing or being too emotional over someone who was mine for only a weekend, but I tell you this in my defense…if home is in fact where the heart is, then my home will now forever be wherever she may go. One life, one love, one night to remember; I wouldn’t change it. I will not try to fill the proverbial hole because I am glad we met. A hundred years of hurt may come, but I was happy once, and I wouldn’t give that up for all the happiness in the world. I did what I thought I should. I did only what I thought I could. That feeling leaves me not with regret, but peace.
