*The Romance*
"Do you like The Beatles?" - asked the dark eyes
sitting next to me. The Music Appreciation teacher I no longer liked was repeating what a peculiar life Bach had carried:
his twenty children, his never leaving Germany. That day I was playing the good student, and had taken my Leo Brouwer CD,
the one that contained pieces for guitar, "From Bach to The Beatles". The dark eyes took it and asked "Do you like The
Beatles?".
The Music talk began. What other bands I liked? "I finally meet a Led Zeppelin fan!", exclaimed the nice
young man next to me. The flirting alarm was still dubitative, but intuition told me things were going to blossom there.
A week later my eyes kept looking for Reivaj, who had, as promised, introduced me to the music of Pink
Floyd. We began exchanging writings, and he read one of my sad short poems in prose, "Midsummer Night Delirium". When he
gave me his opinion on the poem, something had changed in him; he had written me a short letter declaring his literary
admiration in such a passionate way that it kept me sighing for months. That day a game of insinuations and ambiguous
smiles and phrases began. A game that sometimes felt like a torture. A game that lasted a year!
"To a very special person who was able to awake what seemed to be asleep", read the little card attached
to the package. That October evening we were sitting on the grass, and Reivaj handed me the sweetest gesture I ever
received. Two of the most precious albums I have, Pet Sounds by The Beach Boys and Odessey and Oracle by The Zombies. I
remember how much his eyes shone when I started screaming of joy and surprise! I wanted to kiss him so bad, but the games
were still on.
That year I lived in the 19th century. Both of us were holding back our emotions, struggling with our
minds, battling with all those unnecessary questions that torment people on every stage of romance. The results were
sometimes quite bizarre, because it would lead us to never-ending arguments about any topic. We would discuss so loudly
about anything, that I remember telling him that we were going to end up killing each other. But I felt so alive when we
argued! It was the first time someone had ever listened to me with attention, and was able to reply with the same vehemence.
But sometimes the consequence of that repression of emotions was a small explosion of passion, that
lead to painful moments of suspense:
-"You're wrong! The most romantic song Led Zeppelin ever did was 'The Rain Song'" -said he. "I remember
one time two years ago, when I was listening to that song and I… thought of you."
-"What!" -was my way of escaping. "You've only known me for a couple of months!"
-"Of course, but I didn't think of you as 'Melisa Marti', I thought of you as who you could turn out to
be to me."
It continued to be like that for months and months. Another Autumn was approaching, and he blessed me
with the best day I ever lived, when we went to the Woods and shared a beautiful afternoon like two hippies in love. I
will always remember that Sunset, when we were sitting by a fountain, holding our hands, our faces almost touching, and a
magical suspense that, in my head, was a constant "Will he kiss me will he kiss me will he kiss me?!".
Three more weeks were enough to make the suspense absolutely unbearable. It seemed like everybody,
everything knew we were bound to be together, except our heads (our hearts felt it already).
That April night we had spent an hour in the park reading one of his questionnaires I had answered.
I saw tears in his eyes when he read some of my answers. Later we walked to the bus stop, and when I leaned forward to kiss
him on the cheek, he softly held my chin and kissed me in the sweetest way possible. And what did I do? I took the bus!
(Extreme masochism)
The hours were endless on the next day. When I finally saw him, the last sentence of the letter he wrote me said:
"How many nights are between my sorrow and your heart, Melisa?"
We were finally able to express our love freely, and for the first time in my life I knew what love was.
I was re-born, I knew I had found the person I was created to belong to, the one that would help me to survive in this
world of sorrow, the one I would die for.
As I write this, Reivaj and I have been together for a year and three months, and we accorded two things:
he will quit smoking if I quit Coca-Cola, and we are getting married in two years and a half.
Wednesday July 28th, 2004.
4:51 p.m.