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Thursday, November 16, 2006

3 Love Songs

Alone, he drove the wet and deserted streets of the sleepy town, listening to oldies at the whim and mercy of a disc jockey from a distant radio station. Memories were flooding through his mind as the music flowed. All of his life, he has been falling in love and each song brought back what was then the only one. By the time the third song was over, he parked his car underneath a lonely street light. He stepped out, lit a cigarette, and walked down a wooded hill in the light drizzle and falling fog.

His elbow accidentally brushed her breast. They were both around twelve. He was reaching out to kiss her on the cheek for the very first time. It was a hot summer afternoon and they were on the roof of a long-gone building. It was round, her breast. Round and firm and small and beautiful and it was worth the whole of his life. Nothing that ever came afterward was as magical as that moment.

He stood in an airport kissing her goodbye. He could never get enough of her lips. They were red and they were parted and they were strawberry sweet. It was the last time they would ever see each other. The smell of her hair stayed on him. When he reached the empty apartment, he stared down at the unmade bed. He threw himself upon it, sniffed her and cried for a long, very long time.

She was taking a shower as he lay in bed. When she’d come out he’d tell her that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. No. Why wait! He knocked on the bathroom door. It was partially open but he didn’t go in. “What” her voice came from behind the curtain. He hesitated, then mumbled something stupid like “...nothing I’ll tell you when you come out”. He sat on the sofa facing the box but not watching it. She came out, gift-wrapped in a white towel and sat on his lap. She kissed him and asked him what he had to tell her. He held her close and worshiped the smoothness of her fresh and milky skin. He never said a word. Days later she was gone.

He got back in the car. The deranged disc jockey was still playing nostalgic oldies. There was a fourth, a fifth, a… fuck the radio. He switched it off.

Was it a smile at the corner of his mouth or was he just licking the honey off the walls
of his memory? He drove on toward the lights feebly shining from behind the drapes of closed windows.

12 comments:

Dubai Jazz said...

lol, looks like the whole evening gig is not going to suffice this guy's experience!
Tell me Abu Fares, is this guy related to you by any mean? ;)

abufares said...

Hi Dubai Jazz
I'm the guy's best friend and confidente.
However, he might be lying or dreaming up the whole thing.
I'm only a messenger :)

Omar said...

2 days ago, I was watching TV at home, hiding from the rains of a dark and sleepy and wet montreal. and suddenly: "Once, there were green fields, kissed by the sun.." came bleeding from my TV speakers. I waited until the song was over, turned the TV off and went outside on the balcony to smoke a cigarette, looking over the yellow streetlight flooding the sleepy homes... and it all came back to me.. the smell of a long gone lover's hair, the first kiss in a darkened street in Damascus, with out hearts pounding - fearing that we'd get caught... the first sexual awakening, the awkwardness of the moment after, and the sleepless night after it...

but the more I go further away from these memories, the more I enjoy the mental reflection than the real experience..
man, reading your blog is like looking in am existential mirror for me... love it.. just love it....
a classi as usual About Fares

Omar said...

Very nice Abu fares!
In a recent interview Margaret Atwood said that every book she's written was autobiographical in a way. Is it safe to assume the same for you?

abufares said...

Hi Omar
The human experiences you've mentioned are universal. Years later, their unique allure never seems to fade. We might go for a whole decade without remembering a particular face or name. Then, a song, a smell, a word can trigger the nostalgic process and it all comes back to feel almost real. We find ourselves school kids again panting after "the love of our life", or somewhere else burried deep in our psyche.
When these thoughts surprise us like that, they are always a pleasure. And, you're right, at times, the memory itself seems more perfect than the distant reality.

abufares said...

Hi Omar the Second
... in a way.

I love Munich said...

SO BEAUTIFUL Abufares - one can literally SEE the situations behind the closed eye!
"I'm the guy's best friend and confidente." .... I understand!! ;)
GREAT post - as always!!

abufares said...

Hi Karin
I'm glad you liked this one. Sometimes my brain seems to be jumping all over. I'll tell you what, I'll post a recipe next time.
By the way, I'm the best friend and confidente of many, so it's no surprise that I have plenty to tell :)

ArabLady said...

Oh ok first of all I thought I was on the wrong blog…ok ok its sound I must come more often..Great post ya Abu Feras!

abufares said...

Hi Arab Lady
I guess my blog must feel wrong to some people some time.
Well at least I try to please some people some of the time :)
Anyway, I'm real glad you've passed by. Thanks

Ascribo said...

WOW! I had to read it over and over to have the right sense of it! "That" part of myself seems buried under the heavy piles of textbooks, miserable philosophy, and all the technical shit. I agree that one needs to get back to the past sometimes, even if unvoluntarily doing so...

Wonderful post!

abufares said...

Hi Ascribo
Listen to Nostalgie Radio Station when in Tartous. It might set you back in time (well in your case only a few years).