Last night I did it

I don’t know what others are doing when they find themselves alone and thoughtful but some 10 months ago it happened to remember a dearest partner in crime I had for a long while. We were stealing horses together and we used to ride them far and wide, running through the night although there was no injured interest on our tail whatsoever. And the dawns used to find us at the edge of a cliff, with our legs hanging over the abyss, staring each other thinking that we did it again and make it to safety, to live another day. Things went on and on until one night we realized there were no more horses to steal. You can’t imagine the perplexity and frustration being aware that our outlaw era was about to reach its bitter end. And there was nothing left to do than letting ourselves trapped in a strong hug, and I think I remember she was murmuring undertone words of farewell.

Alone and thoughtful I found myself in front of my computer some 5 weeks ago. Typing her name in the browser search bar lasted an eternity, rebuking my lonely man consciousness for hunting lost horseshoes. She has a rare name with a significantly Greek flavor so the results would have to be quite at narrows. Meanwhile different links were already on the screen, my emotion was keeping my heart at bay and my pulse was waving from behind the blood pressure unable to catch up.

The first link says: Vimeo “My wedding at…….” followed by her name. I click on it. And there she was. I watched the entire movie, seeing how much happy she was that day, kissing her husband and embracing her friends. Quite surprisingly, no shade, no particular memory and no history came into my mind. I was placid as a happy sheep lost in an herbal TerraNova paradise. I was absolutely happy for her. I left a congratulations message and my email address signing my name then, I closed the link while the glass of wine on the desk was disappearing behind the silhouette of my hand.

The message was short, concise and alphanumeric: Call me! I felt like a block of marble on Michelangelo’s workshop, frightened by the perspective of a chisel plunging deep into my amorphous structure. I dialed the number and…….

By the time that David’s wisdom was eclectically synthesizing (not avidly willing it) the good from bad and bald from hairy, I was on my way out, having my destination precisely pointed, with an accuracy that would have made a surgeon die in shame.
Stepping inside her house was a colossal return to innocence and the wine was the best and most frivolous ever to indulge my palate. I can tell without any reasonable doubt that every particle was falling right into place while laughter and shyness were slowly unveiling a strange sense of guilt.