The Ocean and the Sun

The general plan on Fridays is to showcase a creative piece, either written for that week or pieces from my vast archives, the majority of which have never seen the light of day. This week’s is a short story very loosely inspired by a situation I found myself in during my junior year of college. I took what I had written all those years ago and gave it a significant amount of polish. Hope you enjoy!

Nobody ever remarks upon how intoxicating it is to dine with an angel. In an old, familiar Italian restaurant, with ivy creeping up the walls outside next to the door, and a wine cellar that would make the average king jealous. Tan stone walls and a tiled floor with warm-hued kaleidoscope patterns that mesmerize in the soft golden glow of candles and antique lamps with glass shades call to mind lands far away. A multicolor mosaic of a Tuscan valley on the far wall is brightened by hidden accent lighting to ensure it is visible from everywhere in the dining room. Inside these walls, bouncing the sounds of lovers and friends amongst the clinking of wine glasses and clanking of forks on plates, you would believe that you are in Rome, able to step outside and walk down cobblestone streets which have seen the footfalls of a hundred generations.

The ruins of the Romans are five thousand miles away from here.

Tonight’s real splendor sits across from me, the flickering of a candle bouncing off of her eyes. Deep blue eyes that hold the power of the ocean, and golden rings of the sun in the middle of them. They are, without a doubt, the most beautiful eyes I have ever been lucky enough to see. She has a soft smile summoning summer sunshine even amidst a cold, dark winter.

I am a firm believer that every person has their own set of relationship tests. Everyone has a set of scenarios they either have to live out or think about with someone before deciding whether or not they want to be with someone. One of my favorites is what I call the Café Test. Is this a person you could imagine yourself sitting across from in an Italian café, sipping on a handmade coffee while the locals shuffle past, laughing in the Mediterranean sunshine, with the breeze from the water causing her golden hair to gently sway, and the gentle run of the river topping off an idyllic sweetness that can only be topped by the candied dreams of a mind at peace?

Naturally, she passes this test with flying colors.

In fact, she passes this test so well that the description became so tailored to her, and I cannot think of anyone else. It’s why this restaurant became my favorite place to go out to eat with her, since it’s the closest we’ll ever get to living that out together. The closest my fantasy-riddled brain will get to living a life I know will never come to pass. A series of self-indulgences to satisfy my own weakness while I try to regain control from this emotional flat spin.

I have become Sisyphus, the Greek tragedy at never quite reaching that which compels me onward with such single-minded ardor and devotion. Cursed to be the victim of my own worst desires. Forever chasing something that will never be mine, and fighting hard to accept the reality of the situation even as my beating heart vainly tries to remain the last thinker standing. The long term objective must be to break this destructive pattern, but the poison would not be so tempting to drink if it were not so sweet.

“So, tell me, how has the dating game been going for you?” She asks with a laugh. Gods above, I find the songs of the birds in her laugh, even as she is deaf to chimes in mine. It doesn’t matter anyways; I need to sell my illusion.

“Oh, you know how it is. First dates that don’t go anywhere. Nobody excites me anymore. I’m probably going to take a step back and focus on sorting my own head out.” I play dismissive, and hope she buys it. Nothing I said was a lie, I just omitted the reason why. I’m an utterly terrible liar, I refuse to play poker for this reason. My heart is written across my face. Every sentence I speak must sound like a lawyer without sounding like a lawyer. Eloquence and drama as normal speaking patterns permit more complex statements that bury the lede. That’s how I’ve gotten by this far. Nobody is this calculating about masking intention without lying, even if it is well-intentioned. This friendship is more important than any delusions of what could be in a different world. I know the score, even if my heart is trailing behind my head.

“Honestly? Same here. I haven’t found anyone worth my time lately. Nobody I’d be willing to give up my independence for, at least.”

I have theories as to why she is the way she is. I don’t dare mention any of them. I could just as easily be wrong, and I recognize that my motives may not be as pure as I wish them to be. Still though, the years of knowing each other have given me insight, even if I cannot trust my own clouded judgement.

My heart was hers the first night we met. She never even had to ask.

“So, what big things are you working on?” She tosses her golden hair over her shoulder, and it catches the candlelight in a way that looks as though it’s aglow with fire itself. She is the sun: warm, radiant, life-giving. Everyone who has known her has said the same thing: a wonderful soul too good for this earth. I’m lucky to count her as a friend, lucky she’s here. If her amazing nature wasn’t so incredibly overwhelming, this mess would be much easier to navigate.

“Thinking about all the places I want to travel to this summer, knowing I won’t reach the majority of them, because life has that funny habit of getting in the way.”

“Ahh, dreaming again. You have such beautiful dreams, but one of these days, you’ve got to make some moves towards making them happen.”

A wry smile causes my stomach to flip. She has a comfort and ease about her that draws me in, steadies my breathing. It’s wrong, it’s not what I promised her, it’s not what I want myself logically. If it were meant to be, it would have happened by now. I’m papering over flaws even as I try to remain grounded with a clear and focused lens on the world.

“Are you okay?” Her smile sinks and the sparkle of the sun on the water is replaced by true concern in those ocean eyes. The flames flicker in her pupils and she stares right through every pathetic little wall I try to put up. A friendship that is true. It’s a terrible gift to waste, which is why I’d rather make it more difficult for myself in the meantime, before I can make my peace. Even if it means I can’t listen to the music she introduced me to because it pokes and prods at a wound that’s too raw.

“Of course, I’m fine. I’d tell you if something was up. I wouldn’t lie to you, I promise.”

I toy with my necklace because it keeps a hand close to my aching chest. I was never one for much jewelry, I still don’t think I am in all honesty. But this necklace was a gift from my parents: a small compass with a black opal in the center. A reminder that I can always find my way home. Twisting its chain around my fingers and gripping the pendant so hard the stone leaves an impression in my hand is a nervous habit. My stomach should crawl up my throat and strangle me from the inside. I play it as something to occupy my hands and a small fragment of my supersonic mind. She knows I think about eighty things at once, at all times. My longstanding personality defects provide me with some measure of cover, even if they’re also what’s causing my current conundrum.

The dream I’m attempting to avoid is a fantasy I’ve dreamt of playing out for ages predating when she and I met. And yet, since then, she has become its featured player. Dancing on the boardwalk to the sound of waves gently kissing the shore and music only we could hear. It’s still too hot on a summer’s night, but the rhythmic, steady breathing as her dress swirls and her feet ever so lightly tap across the boardwalk into and out of my arms again and again drowns me in cool water.

The ocean is so mysterious. Calm on the surface, infinite in its reach and depth. It’s a worthy thing to emulate. The storm underneath the surface isn’t for public consumption. Even when I’m disordered and wracked with discord about other things, the tempest must remain over the horizon. Out of view. A gentle smile and tired eyes turn away inquisitive looks and growing questions.

She calls for the check. My money is tight, but there is no way I’d let her pay. Self-sacrifice is my perpetual play, and tonight is no different. Before she can even reach her wallet, my card is in the hands of the waiter. She begins to protest, but I wave her off. If I’m not doing at all times for those I care about, I’m not proving my worth. A trait of behavior which isn’t specific to her, but something which is still vitally important. Even if her feelings were different, I know now I’d be an abysmal partner until I sorted out some of my other shortcomings. Makes me grateful, in a way, for the way things have played out.

Today is a day for things that shouldn’t be here. Today doesn’t always exist. So, if I were to decide to say something stupid, today would be the day. It’ll be four years before the first anniversary of me chucking a grenade into the whole situation. That’s enough time to deal with the fallout, right?

I whisper words in Italian as she gets up and I help her put on her coat. She questions as though she hadn’t heard, but I dismiss her that I was just muttering to myself about something banal I’d have to take care of after I dropped her off and got home myself.

It was a lie. I had promised not to lie to her, knowing full well that promise was a lie. She can never know, even though I have no secrets from her except for this.

What I had said was: “Tu sei l’amor che move il sol e l’altre stelle.”

I cribbed the line from the ending of Dante’s Divine Comedy.

It means: “You are the love that moves the sun and the other stars”

My sun rises and sets with her.