Rachel
It is finished, hooray! But I am sure that it is full of typos so I would have to revise it soon.
We are at the bus. There is also an old woman half sleep in the third row. She is wearing a coat that looks like a dusty old carpet. An old carpet extracted from the Arabian Nights with intricate drawings on it. It has lost most of its color as its wearer.
There is also a kid in the last row of the bus. His legs are over the seat in front of him. His hands are holding a car magazine in front of him. Electronic music surrounds him. Music I am not able to understand, that music brainwashes youngsters. The rhythm on it encompassed with their heart beat the were turned into automats. Automats who weren’t even able to use headphones.
There is also a middle aged man in front of the bus. He wears a grey suit. He has a golden watch. He reads a newspaper. He seems rich. He rides a bus. He is not rich.
There are a couple of tourist standing by the door. They have a backpack in front of them and a map in their hands. They keep speaking in some sort of weird language. Even if I can’t understand their chat it is better than the music coming from the last row.
There is also the driver, of course.
And by my side Rachel eats M&M’s while looking through the window. Her hair curled in black waves falls like a cascade over her shoulders covering lightly her skin. Actually from my point of view I could see quite a lot of her skin, she is wearing a sleeveless t-shirt with a generous cleavage. I look at her breasts for a moment. They are like sweet pears fitted to the size of my hand, neither too big neither too small. I keep looking visualizing her small black mole over her right breast her nipples her areolas, the left one slightly bigger than the right.
-Do you want an M&M?
I raise my view from her breast, and for a moment I consider that right now I would prefer to bring another thing to my mouth.
-Sure.
She looks at the package, keeping it open. She checks every M&M considering its color, counting how many she has left of every kind. After a second she asks.
-What color would you like?
I smile at her. Her golden eyes are covered by curls of her dark hair. Whenever her eyes are covered like that I couldn’t help myself but to think of the sun hidden behind dark clouds. With my hand I arrange her hair behind her ears, much better.
-Red M&M, blue M&M, I don’t really mind, they are all chocolate.
She takes a red M&M and holds it between her fingers. She raises it and examines it, like searching for any impurities. I approach her in order to take it when she takes it away. She puts into her mouth and holds it between her lips, a red stain marks where her saliva contacts the caramel cover. She reaches for me and kisses me. I correspond to the kiss biting lightly her lower lip. She raises a hand and caresses my hair. Our lips separate for a second, grasping air, before joining back. I embrace her tightly making the distance between us shorter. Her hand plays with my hair combing it with her fingers. We finish our kiss slowly savoring each other. We stay embraced. The now mouthwatering M&M’s bag pressed between our entangled bodies. She kisses me again, more lightly. She puts her head over my shoulder biting tenderly my naked neck.
I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. I raise a hand to my neck. There is the chain. I touch its links, almost feeling each of them individually. Perhaps if I close my eyes I would go back to the dream? I try it. But the only thing that comes to me is my imagination trying to reconstruct the scene. After a while I get up.
I am only wearing my black pajama pants so I go to the closet to get a T-shirt, the normally closed doors are now open. That is weird. Some female clothes in the floor give me a good guess of the culprit, Sue.
I walk along the corridor, to the kitchen. If I know Sue, and I assure you I know Sue, she is at the kitchen. When I approach the room an electric guitar tune reaches my ears. There is Sue, dancing and singing while a pan stands over the oven. She is wearing my dark purple shirt that fits her like a dress. Under it I can get glimpses of one of my black boxers. She sees me and comes to meet me while dancing and unbuttoning a few buttons of the shirt. When she is by me she embraces me tight.
-I was made for loving you baby. You was made for loving me. I haven’t had enough of you baby. Have you had enough of me?
While singing she presses her body against mine. One of her hand goes directly to my butt making my escape impossible. Her lips approach mine. I can taste the air that escapes her lungs. And then, she says.
-Is that a wallet in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?
Truth be said I’m happy to see her and I don’t wear my wallet in my pajama’s pocket. I look at the pan and quickly reach for it, trying to get away from Sue. She was cooking some pancakes and almost burnt them. I rescue the pancakes without paying her any attention. After a moment trying to separate the cake from the pan she tends me a dish. The shirt is buttoned again, and she smirks at me.
The pancakes are served and we have breakfast and a small chat. A small chat that is interrupted by a violin tune. “My phone.” Says Sue. I look at Sue, she seems troubled. She leaves the kitchen and goes back to the bedroom. I follow her. She takes the phone, that laid forgotten under the bed. She looks at it and then looks at me with a serious expression in her face that I can‘t read.
-Rachel’s.
I smile shyly at her. I leave the room and close the door behind that now looks like Berlin Wall. I stare at the door with mixed feelings. I would like to hear the conversation but I fear that it is something private between them. Perhaps Rachel was asking Sue the recipe for pancakes. Perhaps she was telling her that she missed me as much as I miss her. Perhaps…
A piece of paper escapes the wall. I unfold it and see the letters on it. “She is coming to the city. Should she phone you?” Should she? I touch my chain asking for advice. I really would like to see her but I don’t think it would do us any good. For the longest heartbeats in my life I stand in front of the door wearing my pajamas and my chain thinking. Lastly I open the door and look at her doubtful.
Sue smiles at me. And says with a sure voice, “I’m sure that she would love to know from you, but I think a text would do. You know how much he dislikes being at the phone.” After that Sue laughs. Rachel pulled a joke on me… I take my phone and leave for the kitchen and try to forget about the conversation gulping the pancakes with milk.
Later Sue comes to me. She seems worried.
-Are you sure you want to meet her?
-I am sure that if I don’t meet her now I would be regretting it for ever.
My phone beeps: The show must go on! I got a new message. From Rachel.
“Hey baby what’s up? I have a concert today. In the old theater, you know? I don’t know if I would be able to meet you after it, but I would like to see you.”
Flashes of Rachel holding a Stradivarius comes quickly to my mind. Different musical pieces erupt into my ears. I can recall almost every concert. Hearing an ode to joy in my head I walk to my desk. I open the drawer and take an old postcard. The Kiss, by Gustav Klimt. I look at the paint for a moment then flip the paper. For a moment I look at the writing there, old hand writing, every line pressed against each other, with almost no margin at all, some words are stroked and in some places there are marks like some sort of liquid had fall in the battered postcard. There is no date. There is no stamp. That postcard was never sent. I touch the chain around my neck, finding comfort for a moment and put the postcard into my pocket. I look at Sue, who is still wearing my shirt and my boxers, and say.
-We need to get you some clothes.
That night we stand in front of the auditorium. There is not a big crowd in there. Not a lot of people are interested in classic music nowadays. I am not even really into it, I prefer rock actually. Rock from the late eighties or nineties, or even some modern. Mostly vocalic songs, songs that you are able to sing for hours. The only fond memories of classic music are from my childhood. When on every January First I would awake early and run to the TV. Grandpa would already be there, with a mug of hot chocolate waiting for me. If the cacao was cold I was late. We would sit there, both of us drinking chocolate and listening to the concert. Then at the Radetzky March we would clap following the rhythm. Clapping the Radetzky March meant “goodbye past, hello present”. I have never missed one of those concerts. Sometimes I would be alone or at an after party at someone’s house but I would never miss that concert.
When Rachel and I were together we would watch the concert, dance the Blue Danube and make plans to go to Vienna. Rachel really loved music. She was scared of planes but she would try to overcome that fear only if she could go to Vienna. We never went to Vienna. Well, I went to Vienna, alone and being there without Rachel was almost unbearable. There was the last time that I heard to classic music, except for the new year’s concert.
And now here I am. With Sue seated in a theater. And there she is. With her Stradivarius seated in the scenario. It is weird. I thought that when I would be able to see her again her eyes won’t be so bright or her hair so dark or herself so lovely. I was wrong she is still perfect. She chats with the violinist standing next to her. “Have you seen the guy in the seventh row? He is here for me. I love him.” Of course, I am not hearing what they are saying, but I always imagine things.
The conductor arrives to the scenario. Everyone claps. Everyone but me when I realize that he now stands just between me and Rachel. I listen to Brahms’ Symphony No. 2 only having glimpses of Rachel. When it ends everyone claps, and I am starting to think about getting a rifle and kill the conductor.
The concert takes about two hours with some glimpse of Rachel. At the end the conductor would stand and leave its place and there she is. Dressed in black. With her eyes glowing so bright that for a moment I think its noon.
-The next piece is a very important piece for a dear friend. He used to say that it meant “goodbye past, hello present.” For now forget about the past, raise your hands and feel the music.
I almost cry when the Radetzky March starts. The conductor looks at the public and makes them stand and starts clapping his hands. Everyone in the room claps. I am transported over the tune in the most enjoyable three minutes and a half that I can remember.
The concert ends. Everyone claps. Everyone leaves. I stand there for a moment with Sue looking at Rachel and her Stradivarius. After a moment Rachel gets down from the scenario and starts to walk to the exit. Sue says something, but my whole attention is focused in Rachel. I start to walk towards her. We meet.
She looks at me smiling with her lips and her eyes. She waves a hand in a hi. But I cannot help myself to run to her and embrace her tight not wanting to let her go. I notice her smell a mix of jasmine and olives. Then I say.
-I have missed you. How long has it been?
-Three years, four months, twelve days and… What time is it? Well it doesn’t mater, I missed you to baby. How are you?
-Fine.- I realize that it is true. I am really fine. She looks at Sue trying to confirm my words. When Sue nods she says.
-You better take care of him, Sue.
Then we are interrupted by other musicians. It seems that they are going to a restaurant to have dinner. Rachel says that it is important to her to go. That if we want we can go with her. For a moment I am seduced by the idea but I know myself. I would try to kiss her and I would ruin everything. It is clear to me know that we still love each other, but we have to move on. I have been trying to move on for three years, four months and twelve days. I have had my share of women. Actually I have had more than my share of women. I look at Rachel. I take the postcard from my pocked and hand it to her.
-Rachel, I love you. I really love you. I would like to be by your side till the end of time but it is impossible. If I stay with you for tonight I would ruin it, both of us know that. So I want you to have this postcard. Goodbye.
I turn myself and start walking away it takes all my willpower to not turn back and run to Rachel and kidnap her but she has her life and I have mine. Our path separated a long time ago. I stop for a moment at the exit of the theater. I raise my hands to the chain around my neck and unlock it. I examine the tiny silver chain and I put it into my pocket. Sue catches me there. We left the theater and walking through the street I smile at her and say.
-Lets go home.
I tittled it Amore, more, ore re, wich is a Latin expresion that means that (true friendship is shown by) love, behaviour, words, actions.
We are at the bus. There is also an old woman half sleep in the third row. She is wearing a coat that looks like a dusty old carpet. An old carpet extracted from the Arabian Nights with intricate drawings on it. It has lost most of its color as its wearer.
There is also a kid in the last row of the bus. His legs are over the seat in front of him. His hands are holding a car magazine in front of him. Electronic music surrounds him. Music I am not able to understand, that music brainwashes youngsters. The rhythm on it encompassed with their heart beat the were turned into automats. Automats who weren’t even able to use headphones.
There is also a middle aged man in front of the bus. He wears a grey suit. He has a golden watch. He reads a newspaper. He seems rich. He rides a bus. He is not rich.
There are a couple of tourist standing by the door. They have a backpack in front of them and a map in their hands. They keep speaking in some sort of weird language. Even if I can’t understand their chat it is better than the music coming from the last row.
There is also the driver, of course.
And by my side Rachel eats M&M’s while looking through the window. Her hair curled in black waves falls like a cascade over her shoulders covering lightly her skin. Actually from my point of view I could see quite a lot of her skin, she is wearing a sleeveless t-shirt with a generous cleavage. I look at her breasts for a moment. They are like sweet pears fitted to the size of my hand, neither too big neither too small. I keep looking visualizing her small black mole over her right breast her nipples her areolas, the left one slightly bigger than the right.
-Do you want an M&M?
I raise my view from her breast, and for a moment I consider that right now I would prefer to bring another thing to my mouth.
-Sure.
She looks at the package, keeping it open. She checks every M&M considering its color, counting how many she has left of every kind. After a second she asks.
-What color would you like?
I smile at her. Her golden eyes are covered by curls of her dark hair. Whenever her eyes are covered like that I couldn’t help myself but to think of the sun hidden behind dark clouds. With my hand I arrange her hair behind her ears, much better.
-Red M&M, blue M&M, I don’t really mind, they are all chocolate.
She takes a red M&M and holds it between her fingers. She raises it and examines it, like searching for any impurities. I approach her in order to take it when she takes it away. She puts into her mouth and holds it between her lips, a red stain marks where her saliva contacts the caramel cover. She reaches for me and kisses me. I correspond to the kiss biting lightly her lower lip. She raises a hand and caresses my hair. Our lips separate for a second, grasping air, before joining back. I embrace her tightly making the distance between us shorter. Her hand plays with my hair combing it with her fingers. We finish our kiss slowly savoring each other. We stay embraced. The now mouthwatering M&M’s bag pressed between our entangled bodies. She kisses me again, more lightly. She puts her head over my shoulder biting tenderly my naked neck.
I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. I raise a hand to my neck. There is the chain. I touch its links, almost feeling each of them individually. Perhaps if I close my eyes I would go back to the dream? I try it. But the only thing that comes to me is my imagination trying to reconstruct the scene. After a while I get up.
I am only wearing my black pajama pants so I go to the closet to get a T-shirt, the normally closed doors are now open. That is weird. Some female clothes in the floor give me a good guess of the culprit, Sue.
I walk along the corridor, to the kitchen. If I know Sue, and I assure you I know Sue, she is at the kitchen. When I approach the room an electric guitar tune reaches my ears. There is Sue, dancing and singing while a pan stands over the oven. She is wearing my dark purple shirt that fits her like a dress. Under it I can get glimpses of one of my black boxers. She sees me and comes to meet me while dancing and unbuttoning a few buttons of the shirt. When she is by me she embraces me tight.
-I was made for loving you baby. You was made for loving me. I haven’t had enough of you baby. Have you had enough of me?
While singing she presses her body against mine. One of her hand goes directly to my butt making my escape impossible. Her lips approach mine. I can taste the air that escapes her lungs. And then, she says.
-Is that a wallet in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?
Truth be said I’m happy to see her and I don’t wear my wallet in my pajama’s pocket. I look at the pan and quickly reach for it, trying to get away from Sue. She was cooking some pancakes and almost burnt them. I rescue the pancakes without paying her any attention. After a moment trying to separate the cake from the pan she tends me a dish. The shirt is buttoned again, and she smirks at me.
The pancakes are served and we have breakfast and a small chat. A small chat that is interrupted by a violin tune. “My phone.” Says Sue. I look at Sue, she seems troubled. She leaves the kitchen and goes back to the bedroom. I follow her. She takes the phone, that laid forgotten under the bed. She looks at it and then looks at me with a serious expression in her face that I can‘t read.
-Rachel’s.
I smile shyly at her. I leave the room and close the door behind that now looks like Berlin Wall. I stare at the door with mixed feelings. I would like to hear the conversation but I fear that it is something private between them. Perhaps Rachel was asking Sue the recipe for pancakes. Perhaps she was telling her that she missed me as much as I miss her. Perhaps…
A piece of paper escapes the wall. I unfold it and see the letters on it. “She is coming to the city. Should she phone you?” Should she? I touch my chain asking for advice. I really would like to see her but I don’t think it would do us any good. For the longest heartbeats in my life I stand in front of the door wearing my pajamas and my chain thinking. Lastly I open the door and look at her doubtful.
Sue smiles at me. And says with a sure voice, “I’m sure that she would love to know from you, but I think a text would do. You know how much he dislikes being at the phone.” After that Sue laughs. Rachel pulled a joke on me… I take my phone and leave for the kitchen and try to forget about the conversation gulping the pancakes with milk.
Later Sue comes to me. She seems worried.
-Are you sure you want to meet her?
-I am sure that if I don’t meet her now I would be regretting it for ever.
My phone beeps: The show must go on! I got a new message. From Rachel.
“Hey baby what’s up? I have a concert today. In the old theater, you know? I don’t know if I would be able to meet you after it, but I would like to see you.”
Flashes of Rachel holding a Stradivarius comes quickly to my mind. Different musical pieces erupt into my ears. I can recall almost every concert. Hearing an ode to joy in my head I walk to my desk. I open the drawer and take an old postcard. The Kiss, by Gustav Klimt. I look at the paint for a moment then flip the paper. For a moment I look at the writing there, old hand writing, every line pressed against each other, with almost no margin at all, some words are stroked and in some places there are marks like some sort of liquid had fall in the battered postcard. There is no date. There is no stamp. That postcard was never sent. I touch the chain around my neck, finding comfort for a moment and put the postcard into my pocket. I look at Sue, who is still wearing my shirt and my boxers, and say.
-We need to get you some clothes.
That night we stand in front of the auditorium. There is not a big crowd in there. Not a lot of people are interested in classic music nowadays. I am not even really into it, I prefer rock actually. Rock from the late eighties or nineties, or even some modern. Mostly vocalic songs, songs that you are able to sing for hours. The only fond memories of classic music are from my childhood. When on every January First I would awake early and run to the TV. Grandpa would already be there, with a mug of hot chocolate waiting for me. If the cacao was cold I was late. We would sit there, both of us drinking chocolate and listening to the concert. Then at the Radetzky March we would clap following the rhythm. Clapping the Radetzky March meant “goodbye past, hello present”. I have never missed one of those concerts. Sometimes I would be alone or at an after party at someone’s house but I would never miss that concert.
When Rachel and I were together we would watch the concert, dance the Blue Danube and make plans to go to Vienna. Rachel really loved music. She was scared of planes but she would try to overcome that fear only if she could go to Vienna. We never went to Vienna. Well, I went to Vienna, alone and being there without Rachel was almost unbearable. There was the last time that I heard to classic music, except for the new year’s concert.
And now here I am. With Sue seated in a theater. And there she is. With her Stradivarius seated in the scenario. It is weird. I thought that when I would be able to see her again her eyes won’t be so bright or her hair so dark or herself so lovely. I was wrong she is still perfect. She chats with the violinist standing next to her. “Have you seen the guy in the seventh row? He is here for me. I love him.” Of course, I am not hearing what they are saying, but I always imagine things.
The conductor arrives to the scenario. Everyone claps. Everyone but me when I realize that he now stands just between me and Rachel. I listen to Brahms’ Symphony No. 2 only having glimpses of Rachel. When it ends everyone claps, and I am starting to think about getting a rifle and kill the conductor.
The concert takes about two hours with some glimpse of Rachel. At the end the conductor would stand and leave its place and there she is. Dressed in black. With her eyes glowing so bright that for a moment I think its noon.
-The next piece is a very important piece for a dear friend. He used to say that it meant “goodbye past, hello present.” For now forget about the past, raise your hands and feel the music.
I almost cry when the Radetzky March starts. The conductor looks at the public and makes them stand and starts clapping his hands. Everyone in the room claps. I am transported over the tune in the most enjoyable three minutes and a half that I can remember.
The concert ends. Everyone claps. Everyone leaves. I stand there for a moment with Sue looking at Rachel and her Stradivarius. After a moment Rachel gets down from the scenario and starts to walk to the exit. Sue says something, but my whole attention is focused in Rachel. I start to walk towards her. We meet.
She looks at me smiling with her lips and her eyes. She waves a hand in a hi. But I cannot help myself to run to her and embrace her tight not wanting to let her go. I notice her smell a mix of jasmine and olives. Then I say.
-I have missed you. How long has it been?
-Three years, four months, twelve days and… What time is it? Well it doesn’t mater, I missed you to baby. How are you?
-Fine.- I realize that it is true. I am really fine. She looks at Sue trying to confirm my words. When Sue nods she says.
-You better take care of him, Sue.
Then we are interrupted by other musicians. It seems that they are going to a restaurant to have dinner. Rachel says that it is important to her to go. That if we want we can go with her. For a moment I am seduced by the idea but I know myself. I would try to kiss her and I would ruin everything. It is clear to me know that we still love each other, but we have to move on. I have been trying to move on for three years, four months and twelve days. I have had my share of women. Actually I have had more than my share of women. I look at Rachel. I take the postcard from my pocked and hand it to her.
-Rachel, I love you. I really love you. I would like to be by your side till the end of time but it is impossible. If I stay with you for tonight I would ruin it, both of us know that. So I want you to have this postcard. Goodbye.
I turn myself and start walking away it takes all my willpower to not turn back and run to Rachel and kidnap her but she has her life and I have mine. Our path separated a long time ago. I stop for a moment at the exit of the theater. I raise my hands to the chain around my neck and unlock it. I examine the tiny silver chain and I put it into my pocket. Sue catches me there. We left the theater and walking through the street I smile at her and say.
-Lets go home.
I tittled it Amore, more, ore re, wich is a Latin expresion that means that (true friendship is shown by) love, behaviour, words, actions.