Tag: friendship

Day 19. It’s the simple things.

It’s day 7 of voluntary social distancing here in New York and staying at home has been a challenge and a blessing. Now we have all the time in the world to focus on the things that we could never catch up on before. Time has become a loose and fluid entity these past few days. Hence why I’ve taken a couple of days off the daily challenge to just reflect and connect with my breath and my thoughts and write something different.

I’ve slowed down so much from my previous rhythms, that I’ve had so much more time to reflect on what really matters here and what doesn’t. There are opportunities in this global health crisis we can’t afford to miss. We’ve been either forced to stop what we were doing before but also take stalk of what the hell we’ve been doing to our planet to each other and ultimately our own health. We’re nothing next to this enemy within.

We’ve been told to stay home, help the collective good for once instead of the personal gain. We’re going stir crazy in our forced solitude, and all of a sudden it’s become a reflection on the little things. That is all that truly is on my mind these days. The grind has stopped and sharing a cherished moment talking to a loved one has taken ultimate priority over anything else.

I ( hope) know this too shall pass but we’re at a pivotal point in our existence and the space we inhabit and no amount of analysis will change it. Here’s a few things I’ve taken from the past

In the past week, I’ve cooked a home made meal for me and my housemate every night. I’ve listen to music and read a book with so much attention I forgot to stop at 2 am. I’ve stretched and moved with my friends in Athens who are also cooped up in their homes without any clear idea of when this will end. And all that I am craving is the little things that make life worth living.

The delicate and personal, the memories and the things we share with those we most cherish. The beauty of this planet and the connections we build. The smell of a home cooked meal and the clink of a glass of wine with friends in a shared tavern table just at the foot of the Agean sea. The crisp folding of a page from a book I can’t put down and the feeling of clean air against my face. Quiet mornings sipping a cup of coffee with my family before the day unfolds. No amount of technology can replace it although taking to friends and family daily is of utmost importance. The list of little things is like a treasure trove that we nibble at when all the supplies have been depleted. And here we are cherishing all that we took for granted. Living what we thought was a given and saying all we thought was understood.

Let’s hope we share on those small joys more often.

Onwards to day 20.

Let me say This… Revisited

I wrote a poem about 3 years ago, and It’s the first one I ever performed live at an event called First Time Out, in New York at a cool performance/bar space called Pete’s Candy Store.

I was a very nervous, and shaky first time performer back in November 2016, but I took a chance with an art form and a stage that I had never even dreamed I would ever approach, let alone at the “ripe” age of 38.

This piece is close to my heart because I wrote it for someone I deeply care about, who I can now call a dear friend. We went through our ups and downs in life and we ended up floating instead of sinking so I’m dedicating this to my dear friend P. Life has a very strange way of colliding people together who may on the surface seem incongruous.

The more I travel, the more people I collide with. Old friends remain true friends, others fade away, some remain there for a lifetime, through thick and thin, some betray you, some you betray. It’s a never ending cycle of attraction, connection, and sometimes a rare blossoming.

Enjoy.

LET ME SAY THIS

Let me tell you a story about leaving home, about struggling to find a place of your own, Let me tell you about walking miles every day in this crazy city, and asking yourself over and over again is this all there is?

Let me tell you about loving and heartbreak, about standing on your own two feet, about flirtation about opening your heart again about loneliness about doubt and fear, let me tell you about sitting alone at night thinking…

There must be more than life to this.

Let me tell you about rejoicing in knowing you have friends who love you and you love them. Let me tell you about poetry and listening to father analyse over and over the importance of poetry…. because talking about your motherland falling apart isn’t that pleasant.

Let me tell you about mother and how she is my best friend.  Let me tell you about laughter in the middle of the street, till your guts hurt and not caring how loud you are cause that shit was so damn funny!  Let me tell you about sex, and passion, lack of intimacy or truth, let me tell you about excuses and mistreatment and unfulfilled embraces, let me tell you about pain. Let me tell you about not wanting to live again.

“let me tell you about sitting alone at night thinking, there must be more than life to this…”

Let me tell you about falling in love and going out of your mind, let me show you loss and tears. Let me tell you about walking alone, and sleeping alone and crying alone and feeling alone even though your not. Let me tell you about countless early mornings sitting in silence breathing and hoping it will all get better.

Let me tell you about waking up with sun in your eyes and smelling the island breeze and wishing you were here with me, diving deeper and deeper into the deep blue sea.


Let me tell you about missing my home, my people, my sun kissed balcony, the aromas of fresh baked bread from the village bakery

salt on my skin

the sound of hundreds of cicadas

drowning the air with their numbing rhythm. Let me tell you about music and dancing, and embracing friends who are far away, and letting your hair down cause…

that’s what life is all about.

Let me show you what I see, what I hear let me share with you my story, and I want you to tell me yours.

Tell me about you, tell me about your dreams and struggles your life and goals, your fears.
are you sitting up at night thinking is this all there is?

Eat with me, drink with me, laugh with me, cry with me, look into my eyes and see there is nothing more beautiful than sitting in silence and knowing, understanding one another and realizing….

Yes that this is ALL there is.

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To what comes next-

Picture by Robert Valenzuela ( @3rd.night)

I have had a recent lull to my writing, in stark contrast to the frenzy of past months. My spring feverish ideas and thoughts left freely from my brain onto the page. I truly enjoyed my every day post commitment I set out to complete back in March (birthday challenge) . Truly nothing has kept me more on my toes, than my yoga/ exercise practice and my writing.

As of late I’ve had what many would call a freeze of my creative flow. I don’t know if this is a set back or a regroup, but for what its worth, I would not be a particularly good blogger, if I didn’t share this stagnancy with my small yet powerful and encouraging audience (share my posts with your friends!).

I’m feeling a little stuck.

There are a plethora of things I want to share my thoughts on, but in this growing cacophony of opinions and thoughts my mind is becoming overwhelmed with the opinions of everybody else, to really be able to be a valid voice in the mix. The reminder that depression, and suicide is so openly discussed, took me back to my days of battling depression, and how I was able through very lucky circumstances and good people to get out of bed, put one foot in front of the other, pull myself out of dark cavernous thoughts, and figure shit out.

I battle with self doubt, body image issues, self esteem issues, and the list goes on. Yet here I am writing about it, even though I’m still stuck. I often promise I will share as much of myself as possible it’s the only way to write.

There is definitely a chaotic order to the way I convey my thoughts on this blog, and I appreciate those who’ve followed and continue to follow my musings, poetry, analysis and reflections.

For now I will leave you with a small gratitude list. When you get stuck, make one too, it helps.

  1. I’m grateful for my health. Two dear friends who I deeply care for are battling cancer. They are warriors, who absolutely give me courage to be even better and more resilient.
  2. I’m extremely grateful for my home here in New York. It’s a sanctuary and a quiet space, in this overwhelming city.  Every night I sit on my balcony; on these warm summer nights, and smile at how blessed I am to be here. I miss Greece and my home there every waking moment, but having the opportunity to travel and live here isn’t available to many of my fellow country men and women. Thousands of refugees are still in limbo on many Greek islands bordering Turkey. Children and their families are being torn apart as we speak at US borders. As we all battle internal crisis, so much turmoil is occurring on a daily basis. That forces me to think twice before I forget where I’ve come from.
  3. I’m grateful for rekindled and real friendships, from the embers of dead affairs. And I’m grateful I recently escaped a toxic affair before it created further damage.
  4. I’m grateful for Art. As I’ve mentioned in past posts and I’ll say it again, Art is the only thing that can and has created meaningful change. Art touches and effects everyone in small and big ways and is and will continue to be a huge vehicle for truth, change, and progress.

I’m still stuck with my writing, but I’m grateful I can share that too. When overwhelmed with life’s rocky path, be grateful for what you have to overcome it.

May all beings be Happy and Free.

Lokah Samastah Sukhino Bhavantu-

Liquid Courage

You drew me to the water’s edge and let me taste your smile.

I laughed at all your silly moves, your stupid jokes just made me swoon,
The way you adjust your shirt, was magical to me.
I stare at our reflections wondering what radical world I live in that gets to have you in it.
I’m in too deep this strange mystique is making my body overflow.
Love is like a river flowing through me.
Paint brushed skies and lines. Bridges to your heart are paved with golden light.
I just might need a minute to breathe.
Like ivory and ebony you play my tune perfectly.
Something’s come over me… it’s making the broken parts seem whole again
once again I can see the beauty within me.
My body was made to be next to yours,
a pull so profound it’s like breathing.
You make my heart swell and my chest expand
and then I remember to take a breath again.
It’s like cheating death.

Day 27. – Paris is Burning

Post 27 of 27.

View from the Pompidu Museum- Marais

I am posting with a small delay as I was in transit between Paris and London and I wanted to take the time to write about this last day of my 27 day challenge, and what it meant to take this much needed journey.

London Bridge 

Street Art in the London Bridge neighborhood of London

This year I celebrate my 40th birthday. It’s a milestone of sorts, as I’m sure it is for all who cross that threshold. I never knew what to expect of this day, whether I would have a family by now, whether I would be living in a big house or a small cottage in a village somewhere, or what I would be doing for a living. I remember when I was 18 or 19 calculating the year I would turn 40, and it was way beyond my comprehension at the time; but now here we are. For better or worse I’ve arrived… and new challenges and paths are beckoning to be explored.

Street Art in the Les Halles neighborhood of Paris

I was speaking to my mother, who reminded me of a memory she had of me when she turned 40. We were in northern Athens, at our then home, in what you would call an “affluent” neighborhood now; but back then, it was in an area no one wanted to live at. I was riding my pink and white bicycle with its training wheels; it was 1982 or ’83 and my mum had just turned 40 that December. I clearly can picture her memory; my mother was slender, as always, with a beautiful smile and a determined gaze, short curly light brown hair and big square glasses. My father good looking and in his late 30’s, a hit of seventies sideburns still donned his face and he wore aviator glasses. A year later we would take our first trip to Paris as a family.

The magic of Paris through my 6 year old eyes, will never match any other trip I’ve taken since. I was in awe. We would visit many times after that, but that first trip was like new world had been revealed. I had never seen such beauty in my life. Glimpses of the Louvre museum before the pyramids were built, the clock of the Muse d’Orsay from up close and the smell of the Parisian air, as we walked through Montmartre and the “dangerous” artistic neighborhoods of the 18th Arrondisment.

I remember still the taste of rich chocolate and french food at a small restaurant in Place Dauphine, now probably long gone. I visit that same little park every time I go to Paris. I sit on a bench; eat a pain au chocolat, and dream of my six year old self walking up the stairs of this larger than life Brasserie with sumptuous deserts lining each step.

Today I celebrate my 40th year, in one of the most poetic, beautiful places in the world, with some of my most treasured memories, and most treasured friends. Cheers, santé, Γεια μας. Onward to this next chapter.

Where, do you remember your most fond childhood memory, and where would you travel to next?

 

Day 13. Friendship

Post 13 of 27– Friendship

Today I’m in a sour mood because I hear the word friend and friendship being tossed around a lot lately, by people who either are not understanding the parameters of friendship or abuse its meaning. Much like the word love… when overused; it loses its weight, its potency, and its value.

Friendship is a heavy word for me. It encompasses loyalty, commitment, care, sacrifice, love, trust, honesty, and humility. All the ingredients that any real romantic relationship should have minus the sex !  True friends are hard to come by, they are there for you when shit hits the fan, not just to be your fan. They are there for you when you feel dis empowered; not only to show their power. They are there for you when your dreams are bigger then theirs, they don’t look down on your success as their failure. They care for you, even though you are vulnerable and unable to care for yourself. Friendship isn’t a fan club, its not an opportunity for personal advancement or self promotion, its not about dependency. If your friends are only there when they need flattery and sugar coating then they are fair weather friends. We have all seen those.

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Acquaintances I have many, but my friends are the trusted guardians of my heart and soul, even more than a lover or a romantic partner. Friends are my family, my rock. Those who’ve been around are there for lifetimes, and even though we may not see each other every day; we speak every day, on the phone or in a letter or in a picture. There is a deep bond that I share with the people I call my friends. Like soil they are cultivated over time. Like flowers they are cared for and appreciated in the good times and the bad. Like the custodians of my deepest secrets, fears and needs; they guide me when I need their counsel. They have proven their staying power and their worth, as I have done for them. Those friends who didn’t believe in me or cherish my friendship to them didn’t remain friends long.

There is a unwritten rule that defines all friendships and I’m fairly certain any fair weather friend would not stand for long against it. A quote by a motivational speaker I heard recently; is apropos to my rant about friendship today. Friendship is a most sacred bond, it’s a promise, it’s a pact, it’s a connection deeper than any of its kind.

So ask yourself:

“If friendship is the only thing you had to offer, who would still be your friend?” T. Shelton  

Day. 9 Hearts Break-

Eyes Wide Shut
Picture by Robert V. (@3rd.night)

Day 9 of 27.

There is something about poetry and spoken word that can’t be expressed in any other way.  This evening I am performing at a gallery, event opening in Brooklyn, and I’m terrified and excited to perform my work. This piece of writing among others is very personal to me. Over the past two years I’ve been doing some open mic performances, and although I’m no stranger to performance and being on stage, spoken word and poetry is something I never had the courage to perform- until now.

 

This is dedicated to the one I love(d).

 

I’M DONE

No you don’t get to fuck me and say there’s a hundred ways to love me and then disappear.

You don’t get to be “friends” when you don’t trust me and fill me with fear.

You don’t get to share my heart and then then tear it apart.

That’s not art.

 

I’m not a pretty girl but at least I’m smart

I have fire and desire and I know how to play the part.

You don’t get to be in my movie and have a cameo role

I want a leading man not a stand in.

I’m not a hole

 

You can’t fuck me when it pleases you.

I told you I’d be there for you and I needed you.

And what did you do?

You got your hand in my pussy and you thought, I’m all for the taking.

but you’re mistaken.

I’m not making this up.

Your times up.

 

I gave YOU my fire, you gave into MY desire and your face lit up.

That’s what’s up.

But you chose to quash it and wash it away as a casualty of your half assed reality.

Bull shit. I call it and you’re full of it.

 

You’re emotionally bankrupt and you’re asking for a loan?

I know I Look like a charity but this is moral depravity

I guess you missed my clarity when I told you it was all or nothing

Your legal tender is of no value here.

 

But since you don’t understand I’m going to tell you once more….

I can’t be seen with a man without a passion for life.

You wanna stay with your half-baked excuses and look for constant muses?

 

When you know there can only be ONE.

And I’m done…

 

Check out more and maybe see a live performance tonight Friday March 9th on Facebook live or Instagram

Visit Image Gallery in Brooklyn. (@imagegallery)

Follow for more updates: @thegreekrabbit 

 

Live performance Clip !

Art and Hustle – Poetry by Eleana S Kouneli 3 – YouTube

 

 

 

Day 6 & 7 — Expectations and Failures

Day 6 &7 of 27 Days.

Tonight’s post is a double edged sword if you will. It’s about those two very sharp, dangerous turns we encounter in one way or another in our lives. They may not define us or hinder us from trying again; but they do exist. There is something to be said about having expectations of people. Some of the time they lead to disappointment, some of the time they are met with disapproval, and in most cases they are never realized. Expectations are a set up… a trap that inevitably leads to failure.

Failures on the other hand are a path to growth.  We fail because we try, we fail again and again, and eventually the formula works and we succeed. We fail in a grandiose way because we gave it our all. Success can’t come without a good dose of failure, and a massively determined spirit. Inevitably no matter how hard we try, there is something we will never be good at. And that is where expectation and failure collide.

I am excellent at failure… It’s the success that alludes me, but tenacity I’ve got a plenty.

Cheers!

photo credit : Robert V ( Instagram @3rd.night)

Day 5. Embrace

Post and Day 5/27.

Embrace

What’s in an embrace?

What comfort and beauty lies beneath receiving a warm embrace even from a stranger? How can we comfort and be comforted without saying a single word?

This universal gesture that is common in so many cultures. This simple act of sharing kindness, camaraderie, love, lust, friendship, caring and unity. Who do you embrace in your life? What do you share where no words are needed? How do you embrace Life, love, challenges and all that comes with it?

I remember those times when I needed it the most, those who truly cared gave me the embrace and shelter I needed from the storms of life. It’s a port of protection, it’s a showing of a connection beyond words. In Greece we kiss on each cheek with mast strangers but we embrace with fire and love those who mean the most to us. It’s a closeness one cannot dismiss or take lightly. Tonight embrace those you love even if that person is only you.

Who will you embrace with all your heart?

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-

 

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