A perfect bubble

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Let me take you on a journey down the time tunnel. We are falling fast, going back in time. Now, picture the following scene – 22 year old me, a Law student, golden hair pouring down to my waist, skin the color of mocha latte from two days of sunbathing on the shores of the Red Sea, wearing one of those dresses that were in fashion back in the 90’s. Does anybody remember those? They had a clingy top with spaghetti straps and a puffed out short bottom part that was held by layers of toul. Mine was white, with big exotic flowers, and it shone violet in the ultra light of the club in Eilat, the southernmost city in Israel, I was in.

This was the picture you could see on the outside. On the inside, everything was black. I was sad, angry and betrayed. I felt like I had been broken into pieces, then those pieces were broken again into shards, and those were ground into a very fine dust. The only reason I wasn’t contemplating suicide was that I felt that with any light breeze I would disappear naturally.

What was I doing in the very merry city of Eilat in such a state? That is a good question.  Mainly, it was because I felt bad for Sean. Sean, my American friend, has flown in especially to comfort me, only to find out that not only I had the end of the year exams to pass (“I feel rotten” did not pass as an excuse to failing tests with our dean), but the kind of comforting he had in mind to offer was out of the question. He came to terms with the situation, but that didn’t stop him from moping around the house until I finally said I’d take him to Eilat after the last exam.

And so it was that I found myself that night in a club in Eilat, drinking Shandy and counting the hours till I got back home. Sean went to the bar to get another beer, and to my surprise came back with six other Americans, most of them older than us. “These are my new friends.” He said. “I met them today at the Egyptian embassy. They are soldiers serving in Sinai.” I smiled at them and they all sat down with us. It was painfully obvious that they haven’t been close to a woman in quite some time. Each of them tried to top his friends in impressing me, and it was funny and a little sad, since none of them stood a chance. Only one of them, the youngest, younger than Sean and I, sat quietly, looking at the dance floor. I could barely see his face in the dim light. The evening wore on and I started to get bored. The darkness inside reared its ugly head and everything seemed so futile to me, and then I heard the song that started playing on the dance floor. It was R.E.M’s “Losing my religion”. “I love this song!” I jumped up from my seat. “I’m going to dance. Who’s coming?” And before the other guys even had a chance to react, the young soldier jumped up and said “I am.” And then, for the first time, I really looked at him. He was a cross between Tom Cruise and MacGyver, tall, with light hair and blue eyes, and well built, breathtakingly handsome. I followed him onto the dance floor.

One hour later, the other guys and Sean came to say they were moving on to a different club. Disappointment was well written on their faces – someone else has won the prize. It was that obvious. To me, nothing was obvious except that in that moment the darkness inside filled up with tiny flecks of light, and it was all that I needed.

When we grew tired, he asked whether I wanted to take a walk on the beach. We found a place to sit down, away from the lights and the noise, where we could finally talk. I was surprised to find out his star sign was Aeries, like mine, and we were very much alike in the way we thought. He was perfect. He told me he had dreamed of me two weeks earlier, in that exact spot. To me it all seemed like a dream. Time flew without us noticing, and when he admired my long, red fingernails I offered to show him what I could do with them. I ran my nails down his back and he started to shiver all over. I got a little scared, I have to admit, and stopped what I was doing. “What’s wrong?” I asked, “Is anything the matter?” “No, no.” He said, “It’s just that I haven’t felt a woman’s touch for so long.” He said and lowered his sky blue eyes. I was so in love with him at that moment. “Then should I stop?” I asked. “No!” he smiled, “Just go slow.”

And so it was. Since this column is intended also for people of a younger age, I won’t specify what came next. All I can say is that we kissed until the sun came up, wondering at how right it felt. After that, it was perfect, in every respect. He was perfect, and our chemistry was perfect, and the admiring look in his eyes was like a calming drug to my wounded soul, and that was all that I needed or wanted.

I was sure that after he won me, like every man who’s friends are waiting for to start a short, long anticipated leave, he would be gone like the wind, but I was wrong. For three days his hand never left mine. We hung out with his friends and with Sean (who also met a girl), but we also spent time alone. For those three days I was someone different, someone who wasn’t hurt and bleeding and who didn’t think she wasn’t worth anything.  I was a sun ray, a flower, an object of admiration and desire, and I was happy.

Three days go by quickly in the sun. His leave ended, and so did my break. The military base was waiting for him, and I had exams to get to. I sat on the bus back to Tel-Aviv alone (Sean left for Egypt), his baseball cap on my head, closed my eyes and smiled. There was no pain in that goodbye. Neither of us expected more or ever thought there could be more. We were a three day love story, a perfect, colorful bubble that will stay sparkly and beautiful forever.

I went back to my life a different woman, and everybody could see the change in the way I walked and held my head, in the light that returned to my eyes. My life was saved, and the future was once again promising and shiny.

Did I ever hear from him again? I’m sure you’re wondering. The answer is yes. We wrote a little, and I even came to see him once on a coast to coast trip with my boyfriend. The sentiment hasn’t changed. We had something perfect, and it left behind a kind of friendship that is hard to explain. Years went by and brought distance. Some time ago I found him again, and now we’re Facebook friends. He has a wife that he loves very much and four perfect girls. He’s a little goofy, and funny and sweet as ever.

There’s one thing I know – that man had saved my life, and if there ever is anything I can do for him, I will, without a second thought.

***

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

 

 

Queen of Hearts

Queen of Hearts, הבלוג של: Gal Barkan

My role in life is to speak in favor of LOVE, all love.As edtor in chief of Amour, I decided that our readers in English deserve more than Google translate :)So this is my English blog, for your pleasure.

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