27 Day writing Challenge Revived

Two years after a global pandemic – The new normal is anything but.

After taking an extended hiatus from my daily posts during this pandemic, I’ve slowly come back to establishing a forum for reflecting and discussing the issues, thoughts and ideas that have stuck with me for the past two years. I don’t think I’m alone in the creative conundrum that was born out of these times we are all living in. I’ve made small efforts to ignite thoughts that mattered, ideas that stuck, words that felt right. Now, it’s time. Of course the events that have unfolded since March 2020 are so life changing; they significantly impacted every single part of our lives. The world has been turned upside down and inside out, and I’m grateful to be alive at a time like this.

The past two years have been an immense opportunity for self reflection, global awareness, re-evaluation and re-calibration. In other ways a revelation in grasping a renewed sense of purpose. Dealing with the fear of the unknown, trusting our instincts, understanding what works and what doesn’t in our lives; is a lifelong experiment. The images, feelings and thoughts of the events that shaped those first two weeks of March 2020, felt like tectonic plates were shifting under our feet. My then daily posts felt trivial, and unnecessary in the grand scheme of the survival mode we were globally thrust into. My world became my Brooklyn neighborhood. The mental exhaustion of times we are all living through, had stigmatized any real creative juices from flowing. Growing, moving, changing cities (again), packing up my life in New York, and experimenting with a life that’s new, different and strangely familiar; are some of the things that I will be sharing with you all during the next 27 days.

now, the time has come.

There are too many things that have sparked my attention in the past two years that it seems ripe for the picking.

Join me, and welcome to my stories from the Edge (again)

Stay safe, aware, and grateful.

Bedtime Stories

Photo by Robert Valenzuela

Nestled in the crevices of my mind, Behind all that is real and sublime.

Time slows down in the fading embraces, chances lost and found in between the sheets, in glimpses of past dreams.

Passion, Obsessions, Connections open to interpretation.

Lessons learned, hearts burned, bodies yearn for touch earned. Fingers learn to feel again, lost on the cacophony of explosions at dawn.

Night time stories told on the inches of skin, revealing the softness and harshness within, and giving me an internal battle I won’t ever win.

Liquid courage and sin. Loving the skin I’m in.

Letting your touch take my shape in between these sips of gin, like poison.

You grin hiding the pain and longing for something real, I (we) steal these folds of fabric to cover the passion within.

And then quiet again.

And this feeling of loss again.

while the blue skies & pink shades cascade through my mind again.

This time is just for fun. I tell myself.

again.

Nestled in the crevices of my mind,

Stands time.

Unchanged

Sublime caresses, as I undress my soul one orgasm at a time.

Cheap wine running through my veins coveting time.

Switching my brain off to the past pains, and enjoying long embraces as I untangle my mind.

Talking in tongues, letting you in my garden where sacred spaces take shape, as you have decided to mold me, hold me close to the fire within.

I’m in.

This time it’s for real.

A child of two nations

I’m an American girl with a Greek Soul

I’m a Greek girl with an American mind

I thought I was an abomination, a child of two nations

But I’m one of a kind.

——-

I put mind over matter

I put my heart over my mind

Cause it all matters.

I’m often blind to the lesser than, the because of, the despite that

I’ll change at a drop of a hat, or I won’t change at all.

——-

I put up walls to protect what’s mine.

I’m spontaneous and grounded

Loving and jealous

Mindful and impatient

Caring and vengeful.

I’ll cut you like a knife and heal you like a summer breeze

I’m a big tease

I run free.

——–

Fire is my middle name,

Desire drives my path through pain.

Again and again… I repeat cycles

Cause I have a knack for the strange and profane.

I’m a little insane.

——-

Too much, too lonely, too fearful at times.

I need to be heard at times

I scream to the hills at times

I cross the line at times

I try to find the good in everyone at times

I often waste my time

I know it’s not a crime

But I’m no Angel….

The 27 Day Challenge

Dear Readers… today begins my 27 day challenge (March 1st 2018) to mark my 40th birthday. I will be posting one picture and one story every day of this month until March 27th (my actual birthday). Join me on this journey of travels, experiences, and images. This is a project I’ve been meaning to share with a lot of you and this is  the best time to start. I hope you enjoy the perspectives, the insight and the stories behind the images I will be posting. Walk with me through this 27 day journey and I hope at the end we will have a stronger bond.

 

Day 1. — March 1st 2018

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Picture by Robert V. (Instagram @3rd.night

Coney Island, New York.  It was a cold rainy day but something compelled me to go, and shoot pictures with an amazing photographer and new friend, who shared my vision of the story I want to tell. Photography has always been part of my life ever since I was a teenager. I left it for a while and now I am re- connecting with this art form I have immense respect for. This image and story, is about where I’m going; what I’m willing to shed and let go of; and what weighs me down from the past. You see, I always used to look back because I needed approval, I used to look behind me to see if I was moving in the right path, but now that is no more.

We make choices, we make mistakes, we make a pact with ourselves about the kind of life we wish to lead. That path may not be straightforward or easy but it is out path to walk. At the start of this new trip around the sun, I realize I am holding on to heavy, unnecessary baggage that no longer serves my purpose or the journey I wish to take. Join me, walk with me, but not behind me, because I will not look back.

Here. we. go. 

 

 

 

This is me…a letter

IMG_0079My dear friends, readers, fellow bloggers. This piece of writing came out of an experiment a very dear friend challenged me to put together. She said, write about yourself without the men in your life. So this is my result. I vowed this year to share more of who I am, so you get to know the real Eleana Kouneli.

 

Here is my story.

 

 

I was an awkward child. A resolute soul, very sure in my mind of what was wrong and right. I spent my youth trying to put chaos into order. You see my parents were kinda artistic and free thinkers, so I felt that I needed some structure and discipline. I found dance to be my guide, movement used to calm me and still does. I navigate through life with my body is my compass, or else I feel lost.

My greatest fear is that I will lose connection with my body and then lose my connection with the world. I think too much, I analyze things till they are no longer recognizable in my head, I over think, and when I do that’s when I have to move so I can forget. I fall in love with everything almost immediately, and find myself while losing myself in others. I’ve found that boundaries are my hardest and most painstaking task in life. I hated them as a child but now find them to be panacea to the evils and half truths of others.

I dream vivid dreams, my landscapes are bright, the buildings precise the people immediate. I am terrified of being alone, while at the same time I cherish my time with myself as I get older. There are moments I wish I was blissfully ignorant and had no care in the world, then other times I’m painfully plagued by the ills and wrongs of this distorted reality we all live in.

I battle for the truth and for love. I love deeply, so deeply it hurts and I have love in my heart that I don’t know what to do with. It’s like a blessing and a curse, this need to share and be in and want to love, yet I’m horrible at receiving absolutely anything. I can’t receive love, I don’t know how. I can’t receive affection it feels like a trap.

I have a strong sense of justice and a deep self loathing that stems from my early years as a young girl and I can’t quite seem to shake that off. I am lonely, often and I can’t ask for help when I really need it. I have an overwhelming feeling I will die and no one will notice. I feel incredibly unprepared for the challenges life has thrown at me, but at the same time like a thrill seeker I choose the harder path. I feel a deep disdain  for those who have it “easy”, I absolutely loathe comfort. I need fire and friction and creative drive like I need oxygen or I grow bored out of my skull.

I am my harshest and most brutal critic. I use the most damaging and harsh words on myself cause it feels more real than a compliment and a kind word. I rarely believe when people tell me I’m beautiful, I think it’s a trick, a lie , flattery. The only person I believe is my mother and two of my closest friends. I deeply fear my life without her. I have a hard time relating to myself without the mirror of others, hence why this piece of writing has been so difficult. I am often very lonely, and at times feel a deep longing that feels like a burning in my heart, for something, joy, love, connection, affection, ecstatic love. I hate big crowds of people, I feel absolutely swallowed by their energy, I feel almost agoraphobic when I’m surrounded by too many people. Even at parties I put together back in Greece, I always sought refuge in a corner somewhere, I hated being the center of attention, and at the same time I love it. When I perform, I feel alive, when I’m on stage I feel whole, connected, unified with my audience, completely

I am an artist. I have little doubts about that, as I may doubt everything else. Above all else, I see the world as an art project. When I was little I used to pretend to write. And now as an adult, I find it’s the most cathartic, beautiful and most real thing I can do. I want to tell my story, because I want to matter, I want people to read my words and connect with me in deep and profound ways and that makes me happy.

It’s not about my story anymore, it’s about the collective story, the one we all share. I am deeply proud of my Greek roots. I fought very hard for them. I was an abomination, a rarity a strange amalgam in my family. The Greek- American, that weird strange girl no one wanted to know but everyone wanted a piece of . I love the depth, profound beauty and difficulty of the Greek language. I love listening to people speak theis. I can’t understand the words but I understand the nuance the feeling the passion in language.

My life is a piece of memories that I’ve put together in my mind. I want to build a new life based on me, not everyone else’s image of me, I’m very afraid of what the future will bring. I am very certain that I’ve been here before. I am very certain I can speak to people long gone, and I’m deeply connected to understanding other people and by way of them, understanding myself. I am lost without my soul mates; my brothers and sisters, my life companions. I feel deeply that I’m going to be alone, uncoupled for the remainder of my adult life, even though I feel that my other half is out there.

I sometimes lose myself if I can’t relate to someone else, and then I take a step back and try to find me again. I love men, in a sexual erotic way but I revere women, my most profound and meaningful connections have been with my women friends. I admire women, I am jealous of men. I am attracted to men, but find feminine energy more interesting. I love life.

I am my most honest when I’m naked.

Sometimes I cannot forgive myself for the shit I’ve done to myself, or allowed to happen to me.

I am brave when I have to be.

I don’t fear my own death, and I choose to live life to the fullest.

 

Thank you.

New York — February 24th, 2018

 

Keith Jarrett and Flan – a short story

 

 

 

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I remember the first time Keith Jarrett came into my life.

I was living in London, in the early 2000’s completing my degree in Arts management, and although immersed in some tantalizing, but otherwise vapid artistic circles, I had no clue where to go next with my life. I had all the dreams and none of the direction. Art, music, dance, travel were my goals and anything else really paled in comparison. Relationships were futile, boyfriends were infantile flings, and the party scene in London was losing its late 90’s luster. I first heard of the brilliant improvisational pianist and his 1975 Köln Concert, on a beat up record player at a house in west London. Some acquaintances had a party; I was a little too drunk, too tired, and sleepy after what seemed to be a wild night of dancing, flirting, and copious amounts of drinking. These strange, cute twin boys who I barely knew, and hardly remember now; sat me down, gave me some coffee and put on Jarrett’s record. The first light of dawn was breaking on Oxford Street, just off Marble Arch station. I felt like I was in a dream state. Half awake and half asleep in these strange and unforeseen circumstances.

I put my head on the boy’s shoulder, as the crackling sound of the needle touching the grooves began its beautiful melodic journey. “this guy will change your life, sit down, and feel the music” he said as he grabbed his hookah and thick white puffs of smoke filled his nostrils. I closed my eyes, felt each note permeate the early morning air. The melody filled the room with sorrow, eroticism and possibility. All these years later, having heard his concert hundreds of times; I realized how right they were. After that night I fell hard for Keith Jarrett; I got all his music; studied his life and career and tried to be in the moment every time I heard one of his concerts. This man was a legend; a phenomenal pianist, and he spoke to my soul. I could not imagine my life before hearing his trance like concerts. Many years later he would change my life again.

It was a cold snowy January night… I had just finished making Vincent’s favorite vegetable dumplings. He had never heard of Keith Jarrett before and this was a really special night for us… it was January 24th, our six month anniversary and the 40th anniversary since the Koln Concert album release. I spent most of the night cooking my favorite sweet and sour red cabbage coleslaw, and he was watching a football game on TV. I looked over at him, thinking about our ups and downs.  He had an erratic side, many insecurities, and his impatience at times, frightened me. He would lose his cool over simple things and blame me for overreacting, but we almost always managed to work things out.  Vincent sat down next to me and gave me a hot steaming mug of green tea… the aroma entered my nostrils and I sank into the couch.

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Those first few notes of the live 1975 recorded concert, reminded me of so much; so many dreams deferred, so many adventures forgotten, so many lives lived. I missed London, I missed Europe and the feeling of being young, carefree and in love with life. I wanted to share all those feelings with Vincent. That newness, the passion for life and my passion for music. I wanted to feel that energy again, with him, even though he wasn’t very open to new experiences. I hoped he would get me, understand me better and dig me more for it. Vincent let me snuggle on his chest, and leaned over to kiss me. We sat naked on the couch covered with blankets and listened to the entire album in silence, and then I started crying tears flowing uncontrollably down my cheeks.

All the memories flooded in; all the aromas and feelings of that first time I heard Jarrett play.  I drew closer to Vincent and gave in to his embrace. I didn’t know if he could grasp the enormity of this moment. I suddenly felt worried he would pull away from me as he always did at very deep moments. I got up to clear my head. It will be fine… I said to myself, and that night, we both cried together, made passionate love, shared our deepest secrets, and slept in each others arms till the early hours.

The next morning as dawn broke, I woke up, at 5am; stared at Vincent, who was fast asleep next to me,  his face calm and quiet. He was almost angelic when he slept, all that anger and fire in him disappearing in his dreams. I took a long hot shower, got quickly dressed and walked out into the cold morning air. The cool breeze brushed against my face as I pulled my purple wool hat over my ears and damp hair. The train was mostly empty, everyone in my car was fast asleep trying to get a few more minutes of rest before they arrived at the main station. The office was empty when I arrived; so I put on some Charlie Parker to ease into my day. I hated my office job but knew that this was just another means to an end. This is just another stepping stone... my mother would say to me when I got frustrated with office politics.

On my break I felt the urge to call Vincent, last night’s love making was so vivid in my mind, and I wanted to hear his voice. “Babe, I am so glad you loved Keith… He’s my savior”,” yeah babe me too. Hey Marie are you comin over to cuddle later?” he was almost distracted when he answered. I nodded in agreement “yeah of course I will”. That night was the last night we spent together. Two days later he picked a fight, caused a scene, made up some outlandish excuses and disappeared; without warning. No explanation, no note, or phone call. Nothing. Just silence. I tried to reach him, called his friends, his family no one knew where he was… Vincent resurfaced two months later, engaged to another woman, seemingly happy, with a new house, car, a new life. A facade of happiness and contentment. Everything I had given him, everything we had shared,  he negated and credited to this new “perfect” unspoiled younger version of me. He had reinvented himself, and erased my existence completely.

I lost it…. any drive for life, I became numb…. I lost my appetite, I lost my sleep and  would sit for hours in my dark living room staring at the wall, in silence…. replaying everything in my head over and over again, wondering what could possibly have gone wrong. After a few more weeks, and one last effort to find him, I gave up. I was done. Weeks turned to months, I started getting back to my life, but I couldn’t even stand listening to Jarrett; his sound used to soothe me, but now he was too connected to Vincent and my past with him. It was almost painful now to hear his music; it meant something else, and it wasn’t a good feeling any more.  I took some weeks off work and focused on my writing.. seeing friends, and finding my footing in these jagged edges of my new found life.

The following spring after a long hiatus and for what seemed like life times later, Vincent’s harassment began… just as suddenly as his disappearance. A blog published a story about my life, and shortly after its publication, I started getting phone calls, emails, texts, posts and pictures. It went on and on for months and Ι thought Ι was going to end up dead or in a madhouse. I  went to the police, countless times, pleaded for their help, filed reports, made statements, shut my life down and made every effort to disappear. But it was no use. There was no reasonable answer to his actions, and no matter what I did, he kept on attacking, harassing and invading my life. He had taken every word I said in my stories and made a mockery of my life. He wanted to make sure I was utterly destroyed. And no one could stop him.

After what seemed like an eternity, it all stopped as suddenly as it began. Like his first disappearance, he vanished into thin air once again. Vincent always over reacted, vanished and then came back for more attention, and it felt like a pattern he could never break. I felt like I  was in the epicenter of his hurricane, my life blown to pieces by his force and anger. I could not take it anymore. I packed my bags and left so I could get as far away from anything that bound us together. I had to be safe.

And then I met Pedro.

We sat on the floor of our living room, in front of the fireplace while listening to one of our favorite Keith Jarrett albums. I first met Pedro at my first ever live Jarrett concert the summer before. I could only afford the nosebleed seats, and was so far away from the stage I brought binoculars just to get a glimpse of Jarrett as he played with that beautiful concentration of his. His concerts were like going to a sacred ritual, no one spoke, coughed, or even breathed during his sets. He never allowed pictures or recordings. Each concert was expertly recorded for album material so the sound was impeccable.

During intermission I went straight for the bar for a cool glass of wine, when this beautiful, tall man with short curly salt and pepper hair and light brown eyes walked towards me. He looked visibly frustrated and bumped into to me by mistake, spilling some of my wine on my hand. He calmly apologized and offered to get me a new glass. He explained he was really upset that his girlfriend hadn’t shown up to the concert, and he was stuck sitting alone in the fourth row.  I laughed at his predicament and joked, “well you poor thing that must be horrible for you!“.  We started chatting about our love of Jarrett’s music; the best recording of his career; what a genius he was and about his form, when he interrupted our conversation at the last bell for intermission. “Marie…. would you like to take my empty seat? I just can’t stand sitting in concerts like this alone.” he stared directly into my eyes and I just couldn’t resist.

–“a cute Cuban guy asks you to sit next to him at a Keith Jarrett concert? And in the fourth row no less?” ummm claro que si!

Pedro laughed out loud, showing his charming crooked smile, which seemed to wash away any trace of his previous frustration. He took me to my seat, just breaths away from the jazz legend, I tried my best to hide my oh my god, oh my god, oh my godddddd I’m like right in front of Keith Jarrett, WITH a cute guy look, and sat quietly next to him clenching my hands so they wouldn’t fly off my body.  At some point I looked over to see Pedro’s profile; he was watching with an intense passionate gaze. Damn… this guy is gorgeous… I turned back to the stage, taking a big breath to ease my excitement allowing the music to embrace me,  like only Keith could.

Months passed and we kept seeing each other as friends; I didn’t want to get involved just yet, let alone with someone who might have another attachment. We went to museums together on Sundays, and would sit for hours over coffee and Cuban street food analyzing the trends of contemporary art. We laughed, we shared stories, exchanged ideas about my business and his design firm. He got me, he made me feel safe and didn’t ask for anything in return. A gorgeous, sweet, and good friend….

A week before his birthday, Pedro met me for dinner after work just to catch up since we hadn’t seen each other in a few weeks. He made a reservation at my favorite restaurant in the city Le Lapin et l’ours. We sat down and ordered my favorite dishes, and a beautiful bottle of Pouilly Fuisse, when out of the blue, Pedro leaned in and kissed me. I tasted his sweet and sour reduction sauce on my lips and stood there stunned… a couple of seconds passed before I could catch my breath and speak…

–” Pedro…, what the hell? I’m flattered but don’t you have a fucking girlfriend??” He closed his eyes and lingered for a little before he answered. I hated how he did that… he would leave me hanging, it messed up with my head. He would always do it when wanting to reveal something exceptionally funny or important, and I couldn’t tell the difference. He took a deep breath and smiled that soft sexy crooked smile I loved so much. “Mi corazón… there is no girlfriend… You charmed the pants off me that day at the Jarrett concert; your culture, your look, your language your presence, your intense eyes; all of it.” I started sobbing, mixing tears with tahini sauce and kissed him furiously until I had to gasp for air. I pulled away from him suddenly, to catch my breath.

You little shit! I was pining over a single dude this whole time?? I didn’t want to say anything, you… you didn’t say anything! Puta Madre…. Pedro, you had my heart pumping like a jackhammer“, I blew my nose and took a big gulp of wine.  We both laughed, got some more wine and smiled like two teenagers out on their first date. He pulled my face towards his and caressed my lips with his tongue. “Let’s get desert“, he said. I let out a soft moan of agreement and we both laughed so loudly all the patrons turned to see what the commotion was about.

The taxi ride home was nothing short of an exploration of curves, flavors and skin. Pedro wanted to taste every part of me and I felt giddy and embarrassed at the same time. I didn’t know how to be the center of his affection yet, although at the same time I trusted him completely. We had barely uttered a word to each other, when he caressed my face and whispered, “I don’t want to miss a single morsel of your body.” I ran my fingers through his curly hair and drew closer to his neck. He smelled of cinnamon, lemon, and a slight hint of smokiness from his cigar.  Traces of the evening’s dinner on his lips filled my tongue. I bit his lower lip just slightly to show him I  was strong and delicate at the same time, he smiled and pulled me closer. The taxi driver would peak at us with a mixture of curiosity and apology as we shared in our private erotic play. Pedro placed his hand on the small of my back just enough to draw me closer to his embrace. We were in a trance and nothing could distract us from each other.

We walked into my dark apartment leaving all the lights off except for the reflection of the street light into my living room. He walked behind me always with his hand on the small of my back, leading me into a sacred dance. “stop right there” he said. “Close your eyes”. He took off my coat; freed my hands from my bags, and I felt his warm breath as he kissed my neck slowly breathing me in. He took my hands and placed them on his face guiding me to touch him, undress him, kiss him caress him and feel every part of our body exploration without being distracted by anything and consumed by our senses. We kissed for hours, him exploring my curves, my beauty marks my scars with the diligence of a marble sculptor. His touch was delicate and commanding at the same time, He allowed me to touch him, and guide him towards my pleasure.  I tasted his sweat, which felt like home.  He entered me repeating my name again and again like a song, until we both climaxed leaving only our breath as a sound. He looked at me and said… Hi… as I gave in to his embrace till the early dawn hours.

A few months later, we moved to his new apartment. We shared the same taste in Scandinavian inspired furniture and art deco lighting and a collection of vibrant local painters and sculptors. He had an incredible vinyl collection of Jazz, 80’s punk bands, Blues, Gospel, Prince, Queen, Amy Winehouse, every single album that George Michael ever put out and of course all of Keith Jarrett’s recordings. I would whisper to myself every morning in the mirror… “thank god, Marie… after all this, thank you universe“. I was never religious, but this felt like a gift that I could not possibly waste.

Pedro and I were a team, he was my wing man, and no matter what he was there by my side. We planned a week in Paris and London for my birthday and one week before our departure, Pedro prepared a beautiful Cuban dinner, just like his mother used to make. Aromas wafted through the apartment melting with Jarrett’s syncopated rhythms. After a long tiring day, I closed my eyes and felt the notes soothe my tired body after dinner. Pedro had made traditional Cuban Flan for dessert and I was still tasting the fresh vanilla bean and caramel on my tongue. I was lost in my half dream state with Pedro massaging my feet after a long day when my phone broke my concentration. I  grabbed my phone, fully intending to turn it off for the night, while Pedro was fixing us a night cap. A name I never thought would ever see again flashed across my screen, Vincent Cavelle. I froze… I felt my throat close so I couldn’t swallow my drink and spit it right back in the glass.

–“What’s wrong you didn’t like your old fashioned?” he chuckled.

–“No honey its perfect… I just took a huge gulp and the alcohol hit me

–“I’ll make you a lighter one cariña

–“Ok mi amor,  let me run quickly to the bathroom.

I gave Pedro a quick kiss and ran to the bathroom. I locked the door behind me, closed my eyes and felt my teeth so hard my jaw started to hurt. What does he want from me? After all this time what the hell could he possibly want? I was sure I had blocked him from all forms of communication. Fucking bastard has so many fake accounts I stopped keeping score, I thought to myself. I sat down on the cold tiled floor focusing on the sound of Jarrett’s 1992 Vienna Concert playing on the turntable, I closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. My heart was pumping so loudly I thought I was having another panic attack.

 

Calm the fuck down sister, this is not an issue.” I repeated to myself over and over again.

I grabbed my phone determined to face a long winded tirade or apology.

Hey, I have a coupon for a massage, anytime?” he wrote.

I put down my phone… suddenly winded, as if someone punched me in the gut. What the…? you fat fuck, after all this time?. What the hell is this cryptic crap? I opened my phone, marked his email and put it in a folder for safe keeping. “Hell no…. I don’t want to have to start this insanity again.” I got up from the floor, leaned in towards the mirror and glanced at my reflection for what felt like a long time. I closed my eyes and took another breath. A sour taste formed in my mouth all of a sudden that masked the vanilla sweetness of the flan. I leaned over the sink; splashed some cold water on my face, and brushed my teeth to get the nasty taste out of my mouth. I opened the door, left my phone in the bathroom and went out to meet Pedro’s embrace.

I melted each time I was in his arms. He smelled of lemon and ginger and cinnamon, some of the days sweat just lingering on his neck, his light brown chest was peppered with small curly hair. I squeezed him close to me, gave him a sultry kiss. “So my little rabbit, where were we??” he said as he ran his fingers through my long curly hair. He wrapped his hand around my waist and lifted me up to his hips. I wrapped my legs around him while he kissed my neck softly caressing my back.  Oh god this man, mi vida, he is golden. I gave in to Pedro’s deep kiss… and held him even closer. This I wasn’t going to let go of.

​A couple of days before Pedro’s surprise trip to Paris for my birthday, I went for some last minute shopping in my favorite old neighborhood in the city. Boutique stores, lovely antiques, and small galleries lined Brookfield place. I walked to my favorite bakery to pick up a sweet for Pedro. The streets slowly coming to life after a mild spring season. Blossoms from cherry trees and the hint of orange blossom in the air reminded me of my grandmother’s garden. The smell of Turkish and Lebanese sweets wafted through the air. I picked up some fresh Awamat for me, and Pedro’s favorite – Nummoora. I decided to sit down and have a Lebanese coffee with cardamom when I noticed a familiar car parking outside the store. You can’t miss an american muscle car even if you tried and especially in jet black. I felt a wave of heat enter my chest, as I dotted the room for a quick way to leave without being noticed, but there was no way out.

The door opened and in came a towering figure. I quickly looked down and braced myself for what I knew was about to happen. He came up to me, with a plastic smile on his face. God… He looks like shit.  Vincent had gained at least 80 pounds since I last saw him. He was never slim but clearly this time he had gone off the deep end and looked like a swollen blow fish. I looked up, kept my cool and left 3 dollars on the table. I closed my eyes and turned around.

Hey Marie, how you doin?” he asked “I wrote you an email and you never replied. You still mad at me?

I cleared my throat and got up from my chair, as quickly as I could and walked passed him. I felt a wave of panic overcome me and wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. I went straight to the cashier; that familiar putrid taste filled up my mouth again.

What? You’re not even going to talk to me? Typical child always shutting down. You always used to do that sh….”

I quickly brushed passed him and as he followed me  outside the bakery.

That’s the way you’re playing this after all this time?” he went on the attack.

I had walked about 3 meters away from him and stopped. I turned around, and quickly walked back in his direction and stood within a few paces of him with my hands by my side. Everything seemed to go in slow motion at that point. I just let my body do the talking. I closed my eyes, and took a big breath.

“Who gave you the right to come up to me and demand communication? You dare approach me after the ridicule and humiliation and harassment you put me through? I am stronger than anyone here.  I took the shit you threw in my face and I rose up so high above you, I’m in a different stratosphere, you, minuscule, man. You can never reach me again or hurt me again, or defile me EVER again. You’re a bad line in a bad joke. You threw up all over me, and I went right back around and tuned it into gold. You know why? Because I can, and you will never be able to do that EVER. There is nothing left here, you are a dead man walking.

You don’t exist… anymore.

He stood there. Silent. Red faced with embarrassment as most of the passersby stopped to see what the commotion was about.

“Don’t even think about it!”  I let out a short laugh, and he kept staring at me with a blank look.

I turned around and walked with wide strides to my car. My ears ringing with adrenaline, my muscles pulsating with heat.  I was wearing my favorite high heel boots; at this point I could barely feel my legs from the rush. I unlocked my car, sat in the driver’s seat and waited there for a moment to let the dust settle around me.

Damn… I’m hungry.

I put the car in gear and stepped on the gas, never once looking at Vincent as I drove away. I tuned the dial to my local public radio station and after a brief news update; there it was. I heard those amazing first four notes just in time. I let my face relax as the sweet smell of fresh butter and syrup wafted in through the windows.

Yeah Keith, you got me, every time.

THE END-

 

.

I see you

 

She had thought about it many times.

She would cross the street and just close her eyes and say to herself its ok, no one will miss me, no one will notice I’m gone. On the subway just before the train arrived, she would stare at the tracks for moments thinking… what if I jumped? She would dream of death every day after she got home from the hospital. At night she would dream of bodies, plane crashes, her husband falling off a cliff, she saw the gun in her hand, while looking at her reflection in the mirror just before she pulled the trigger. She wanted to disappear. She didn’t always think this way. This morbid game was very new to her. Like a mental Russian Roulette.

The pain of her stitches pulled at her lower abdomen every time she would put on her underwear. She knew that this would take a long time to heal but it wasn’t the pain of the surgery that hurt her the most. It was the pain of feeling empty inside. She felt as gutted as her uterus. She didn’t want to leave the house for days. Food made her nauseous so she made due with rice crackers with soft cheese or plain rice. Her friends would come by and leave her soup, quiche, bread, rice pudding, fruit, anything that she might be inclined to even look at let alone taste, and she would leave in the fridge for days before taking a bite of each and throwing it out before it spoiled.

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She and her husband tried everything, therapy, counseling, talking and more talking but he was unable to see her. He felt paralyzed, useless and eventually drifted into his work, the couch and his football games.  She kept going to work like a robot, lifeless, expressionless, she walked the same path to her train station, walked down the steps to the platform and waited. She would grab the same cup of coffee and bagel from the corner cafe but never ate the bagel, it was almost an automatic gesture. She was on autopilot.

On the day her life changed forever, she was on the same platform on the same time as any other day when she heard Al Green’s Let’s Stay Together played a Capella by a distant male voice. She had heard that song a million times, hummed it a million more but still something this morning caught her attention. She felt the warm coffee in her hand  as she walked closer towards the source of the sound.

I…I’m so in love with you….Whatever you want to do, is all right with me.

Cos you make me feel, so brand new. And I want to spend my life with you.

She walked toward the man singing the song and sat next to him on a wooden bench near to the end of the platform. A tall, thin framed older gentleman with a little gray on his temples, and a beautiful bright red hat sang with a mic and the tune playing in the background.

Since, since we’ve been to-gether,

Loving you for-ever, is what I need.

She sat, lightly closing her eyes to the melody, letting the cool morning breeze caress her face. The man kept crooning and singing till the end of the last bar and then said “God bless you lovely people, have a beeuuuutiful day”. She clapped and stepped a little closer to his direction. “thank you that was really lovely, I don’t have any money but I do have breakfast if you want it”

“Honey… I don’t need your money, I’ve SEEN you walk up here for weeks lookin like damn ghost. And from the look of it you seem to need that breakfast more than I do” he chuckled.

“No offence but you need to eat!”

He smiled politely and offered his hand. He held hers with such delicacy, his fingers long and thin; a wedding ring on the right hand and a big aquamarine on the left. Her hands felt so small next to his.

-Hi… I’m Lauren. The coffee is pretty cold but I’ll leave you the bagel, its really delicious.

– Pleased to meet you Lauren, and if you insist thank you for the bagel, I’m Lazarus.

She smiled softly, and he stared strongly into her eyes. She felt his energy and his presence permeate the whole subway platform.

“That’s a beautiful name, Lazarus… so powerful and full of meaning.” I love your ring, its aquamarine right? That’s my birthstone. I’m a March baby.

– Well thank you fine lady, your name reminds of me of my late wife, Laura, and this is indeed aquamarine; its my birthstone too… I came into this world March 28th, 1945 two blocks from here.

She felt the wind change suddenly as the conductor announced the train arrival in one minute. She softly let go of Lazarus’s hand and left the bagel near his boom box. He tipped his red hat to her. ” Bonjour madame Lauren, have a beeuuuutiful day”. She smiled, and caught her reflection in the closing doors of the train and felt something shift inside her after what seemed like an eternity.

She hummed the tune again a little louder as she gazed at the vanishing train station from the train doors

I…I’m so in love with you….Whatever you want to do, is all right with me.

to be continued….