Goodbyes are never easy. A scene from Risky Fever: Mica stepped toward her, eyes shining like two black ponds reflecting stars at night. With no word or hesitation he embraced her, lifting her in the air as if she were his woman, pressing her against his large chest. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, her ear brushing against his golden ring. Rebel locks from his ponytail tickled her nose. He had shaven. She inhaled the mix of soap and his familiar manly scent, felt so at home, didn’t want to let go. Not yet. She held him harder, wished they could melt together. He turned his face a little and whispered to her ear, “Ti amo.” Her chest tightened as if compressed by vices, not from his strong hold but grief. They had promised to stay in touch, but it didn’t really mean a thing. It may well be the last time he held her in his arms. She wanted to return the gesture and say, “I love you, too”—it would be a nice goodbye present—but she told Brian the same words minutes ago, so it felt absolutely inappropriate. Besides, why feed her pain with such a statement? Now came the moment to make up her mind: nurture the fresh scar of their separation, or be thankful for what they experienced together and live on with their respective lovers. He put her down, kissed her cheek, and stared at her. She couldn’t meet his look. Her head buzzed like a beehive, tears threatening to screw her composure. One more second and she would bawl. Go, just go! He did. She heard the friction of rubber tires on the asphalt, the pedals squeaking, the gravels spraying, the cheerful goodbyes exchanged with Brian… but she didn’t see Mica leave. Instead she stood immobile, eyes fixing a spot on the ground as if the lack of motion could conserve what little strength she had left.
Posted on: Sat, 01 Feb 2014 15:02:10 +0000
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