Sea is calling him again. It is calling upon feelings planted within his bones. His skin loves whips of salty wind and for sure his messy hair enjoys it. Stench of dried fishnets are not repulsive to him, he inhales deeply, filling the lungs, eyes closed. Boyish imagination will find the place where to go, to the deck of fearless Nautilus wearing Nemo’s uniform or a sea that belongs to pirates of Nassau. Maybe metal grey beasts carrying proud revolutionists. He remembers how proud and strong Aurora was, there in front of them, but out of reach.She spoke with a smile as the wall grew, a seismic crash of the moment, inevitable reminder it must be in some other world.
Julio was drinking that night again, spilling melancholy of La Patria through his rotten teeth. At that moment, he thought how Julio’s eyes are too far from each other. He kept looking at the entrance of the house as if he was afraid someone will come out. It is unusual friendship they have, half of the time I can’t even say I understand what is he talking about. He stopped questioning whose fault is that and he never wanted to ask Julio to explain what he means, trying to keep respect he believed Julio had for him.
“Ser Argentino es estar triste, Ser Argentino es estar lejo” – Julio exclaimed and words made it out of his lungs with lots of noise, characteristic for speech of middle age Hispanics. It must do with cheeks being too close to teeth, as C wrote of old men chewing their cheeks at funeral vigil. This verse interrupted morbid associations and inspection of drunken poet and made him go back to her. In attribution to his self-centered idealization he also believed that he has always been blessed and cursed to meet only extraordinary women. Those that are hidden in plain sight, those that can elevate your mind out of tracks. Those with defying spirits, the alkaline touch at the tip of a finger. M had that special type of glow in her dark eyes, penetrating gaze which challenges you to look into them for long. Her eyes were narrowing in corners and when she smiled she wouldn’t smile just with her lips, smile was coming from the eyes too. She was not pushy and not needy for attention, yet far from being an introvert. Time was too short, isn’t it always? Sand was always running faster in the hourglass of their conversations, taking away joy of looking at her gesticulate hands and how she spoke with left side of her lips. She sang in the mornings, for herself, loud enough to make him smile. She lit the fuse and left while he was searching in the big book to see where she came from. He bought pumpkin yesterday, it is uneven and curvy as his thoughts. Probably he won’t be making his matte cup today. His memories dive back twenty years ago, when bearded man taught them how to draw dead nature. Dead nature, M.
Wooden floor was cold under their feet as she stirred sticky content of the cup with her finger. Another false image his ignorant mind is creating? Or was it real? He liked Julio because he does the same thing, sculpting sensible pleasures out of somber reality.
Wind disappeared that night behind the mountains of the moment and constellations strolled through pitch dark sky. On the way to Cine Théâtro he was wondering if the globalization took away whatever old cinematographic temples used to look like in this side of the world. There used to be over 40 cinemas where he matured, all sizes and styles. Nowadays there are only a dozen and they all look pretty much the same, like a very spacious bus, plastic chairs, cup holders and 3D glasses for perfect experience. Back then, when he was in the mild chapter of Balzac’s comedy, he had an urge to visit one of those old, prewar cinemas. It happened that none of his friends or girlfriends didn’t feel like joining the cinema. In the end, he decided to go alone, a thing he did only that one time, although as an idea it seems more appealing than it is. They were showing Poseidon, a loveless version of Titanic, and the counter worker told him that he can buy a ticket but if nobody else shows up movie won’t be shown. In the era before addictions to smartphones, one could simply stand and enjoy the breeze and smell of lindens, the scent that is a trademark of the city. Cigarette butts is another trademark, a sign of waiting. As he was wondering why the smokers prefer to throw butts on the ground instead into trash bin some lovers came for the shelter of darkness. They bought two tickets, thus opening the window into past for him too. He walked to the middle rows and sat in worn out chair, canvas faded away, showing just contours of some old design. Sides were made of carved wood, and arms had to be rested higher than what we are used to. Remnants of the time when style was above ergonomically adjusted comfort. Chair was oversized and made him feel small. Or maybe his mind sank inside trying to picture the golden era when this cinema was packed to every seat. They closed it soon after. They may have been last visitors before that old hall drowned. He appreciated that it just disappeared and didn’t turn into yet another of the same ones.
He spotted her walking towards him, and suddenly all the scrambled thoughts were gone. They might as well sit on the ground and watch a movie screened on the sails of merchant ships. Her thighs shaped as continent brought her closer. Whiteness of her thighs in that soft summer dress was mesmerizing and made him shiver. He couldn’t resist not to stare at her, not after so much time has passed since he saw her last time.
Drunk Julio hang his head on his chest, snoring loudly and chasing away sea, merchant ships and M together with them. Without finishing his glass of wine he left into the alley and further into the street bathed with soft yellow lights. He should have chosen different jacket.
Originally published in: Anxiety of Storytelling