There was some fear, on my part, that our sojourn might damper what made our encounter so special in the first place. A roll of the dice had determined that our planned coffee date six months ago would evolve into a fated afternoon and evening together, where we seemed to slip into a parallel dimension for a moment in time. I always thought this type of connection had to be the work of something beyond our comprehension – how could such a fleeting encounter leave so strong a mark? I couldn’t help but wonder if we’d have had the same effect on one another if we’d known each other for a full month instead of half a day.
***
It was early February, a few days before my birthday. I was late as usual, and to make matters worse we’d arranged to meet for an exhibition in the 18th arrondissement, one of my least favorite areas of the city. I’d been feeling particularly disillusioned and tired of my usual proceedings with men, as I inherently distrusted most of them but still enjoyed their company. I remember having chosen my attire with this feeling in mind – rather tired of being viewed from the lens of sexual desire, but still aware of the effect I had on certain men and basking on it.
No matter how many dates I went on and how comfortable I was in social situations, this was always a rather dreaded moment for me – the awkward scanning through the landscape trying to find each other, the gaze full of measure and expectations, the getting-there stage. Before I even had enough time to feel the suggestion of apprehension regarding this particular overture, I glimpsed his yellow hair as he hunched over a table outside the venue, draped in a brown wool coat. I approached steadily and reached in to greet him – the French way, a kiss on each cheek – before sitting down across him and apologizing for my tardiness. Within these first few seconds I could tell he was very happy with how I looked, a roguish grin lighting his face up as he appraised me.
***
Hours seemed to melt into flashes of daydreams as we shared unbelievably natural and humorous banter, ranging from subjects such as childhood mischievousness to our notions of the future. I found myself questioning my own vow to not spend the night with him – he was by no means handsome in the traditional sense, but I’d always been attracted to men who seemed to have a dark disposition about them. This chemistry we had fueled my imagination as we sat in his living room into the wee hours of the night, sharing a bottle of wine and sharing stories and anecdotes with the type of abandon one would only offer a stranger they’re not likely to cross paths with again.
He moved out of Paris a few hours afterwards.
***
I was afraid that within these months, with the gentle encouragement of distance and uncertainty, our connection and attraction had grown into absurd proportions in my mind.
***
As we embraced in the walkways of Malpensa airport, any doubts I might’ve had dissolved in my mind. I would happily take whatever came of the excursion – a good time, a bad time, a friendship, a budding love.
***
We made a first stop for coffee after about an hour on the road, where I handed him an envelope with printed photos taken during our first meeting. It was sweet watching him go through our memories, small moments captured on 10×15 amber frames. This interlude was tinged with sweet disbelief, with the reacquainting of ourselves with each other after our six-month long separation.
– love, mia –