I am seated on a patch of grass at the Arboretum. It is a Saturday morning, about 10.00am and just before all the people would fill the park. The park, though small, is wooded with ancient and labeled trees. The wind whispers softly and the nippiness makes me position my Maasai blanket on the only slither of land that has managed to open up to the sun.
I sit on the blanket and face the sun directly, eyes closed. I love sun worshipping. I connect to the bright, the hope, the heat, and behind my eyes, there is the red of dreams as my eyelids heat up. I especially enjoy these moments when I can get lost in sounds of my current obsession.
This Saturday’s soundtrack is Ed Sheeran’s “Thinking Out Loud.”
I love the bass line – it calls to me and makes my heart sigh. There is so much longing in the lyrics. And every time the song begins, I imagine myself in a field at the tail end of dusk, when the blue of night and the violet of sunset are wrestling for dominance.
I am under a pergola with slight drapes of leaves and vine – the start of a healthfully green vineyard. The table at the centre of the dining space is majestic, oak, and surrounded by chairs, benches, and other makeshift seating. I pick the bench and slouch against its gapped back. I am wearing my favorite white dress – long, no sleeves, and sweeping the smooth, cemented floor.
The crisp purity of my dress is interrupted by the brown of the earth and spots of green grass stains from the play I have indulged in all day. There are traces of happiness and food around me – where children have played with make-shift toys and where ice cream has melted onto fingers, shirts, and cheeks.
Ed continues to sing and I watch the last of the celebrating crowd gravitate towards the paired dancing invited by song. The connections reflected back are the kind that melt your insides… closed eyes… hearts full of sincerity and vulnerability. It is almost shaming to intrude into these intimate moments… but Ed is thinking out loud and I have to lean in.
And then I think of me. Oh… to look into another’s eyes with such enduring feeling – to know with surety that there is a live person to whom I can entrust my heart. And the longing – it shows and I cannot separate the no-longer-secret loneliness from the wistfulness on my face.
It is funny how dusk changes the purest of voyuerism swiftly into envy. As I begin to descend into the comfortable space of self pity, I feel a hand on my shoulder.
My breathe draws from a deep place of hope and I close my eyes so tight. My back straightens as a masculine scent fills me. Just as suddenly, I feel the essence of him right in front of me and how his tall frame crouches down so that he is eye-level with me.
“Did I startle you?” His voice is rich. Kind.
My eyes are still closed. And I do not have the courage to open them. My earlier shift from observation to envy to self pity has left unshed tears staining the otherwise white. I am embarrassed to have been found in my well-primed brood. Instead, I drop my head, breathe in deeply, and catch the smell of wine and evening on him.
My eyes open to find a small smile and eyebrows raised in question.
“Dance?”
His hands warm mine and we stand. I can feel his intent and his rhythm. And hope sours inside me. I have waited for this moment for so long. His strength drags me into some sacred circle in the center of the pergola.
Ed is now really crooning about loving arms, kisses under starlight, beating hearts. This man, that embodies my hope and longing, draws me close. Our bodies join the song of lovers. My eyes have insisted on remaining open but only so that I can look straight into his chest – to the pale blue of his shirt. His hand is splayed across my back and he guides me gently into his hips. I am so aware of every movement. Every touch. Every connection.
I now understand what it means to be led in dance. I am aptly moved into syncopated measures and together we are more than swaying to the beat. We move closer still. His forearm secures me into the last space between us. My instinct is to cling on with both hands but the stretch is long and so one hand clutches onto the pale blue shirt – the other hangs off his strong shoulder. I cannot help myself. My head falls back and just like that our eyes connect.
He smiles as if he knows. My heart is served up. He is way more relaxed about it than me. Perhaps he has known for a while. I move my gaze back to the joining of our bodies and the shirt. I smile also.
I am happy and sad at the same time. I finally know what it means to be chosen. I am sad because life has only taught me to expect so little from the world and from love.
See how silly a short five minutes of song makes me?
And just like that my day dream is over.
My eyes are wide open.
The harsh green of the park reminds me where I truly am.
Still, the sun remains and my worship continues. I close my eyes and turn upwards again.
