betweencoconutsandconcrete

[betweencoconutsandconcrete]

So close, last night.

I dreamt of you last night. You felt so close. 

All I can really remember is this feeling of hearing your breath in sync with mine as we laid in bed next to one another. I was turned a bit to my side, and your arm was hugging me across my chest. 

I was pulling and combing and playing with your arm hairs as I always loved doing. So calming. So therapeutic. So part of you. Especially the hairs on your knuckles and fingers and the ones on the side of your hand. I don't think you ever liked it, but you knew I did, so, you let me. 

I loved all your hairs. Makes me giggle just to think of it. Part animal part caveman part proof of all the testosterone you carry. You remind me of what the “vintage” man was like, and somehow, being that vintage man now, is almost an act of rebellion. With all the manscaping and the way this - clean cut cult -  of today has shaped our men, you stand tall ( and hairy ) . 

As much as I try to move on though, you remain. 

I write, as a way of not losing you. Even though our story may have detoured into two parallel roads heading towards different directions, I still see you in my horizon. ( Perhaps because I keep looking back, instead of forward. )

But you felt so close last night. Those kind of dreams that are in full radiant bloom color and all the senses are activated. I could feel your energy orbiting mine, I could settle my skin into yours, I could hear your laughter that filled my soul with light, I could honestly almost believe that this year hasn't passed us by, without ruining me. 

So many questions unanswered, but one thing remains. 

Love. 

Because somehow Love feels like Hope.

& Hope and I are friends.

[betweencoconutsandconcrete]

[betweencoconutsandconcrete]

Did you hear what the Police said ? - Key West, Florida




“You realize this is still a situation-ship yes ?” I said.


He stayed quiet on the other line of the phone. I wasn’t sure if he was quiet because he was admiring my charming title of our current exchange of energy, or if he was done with my slow paced suggestion and hung up.


“Ah is that what this is?! Ok ok, I am flying 5,000 miles for a situationship? Ok Ok !” There was an evident smile as he spoke and he mocked the word a few more times as if solidifying my description of us.


He was traveling for many reasons ; to have a glimpse of what my life looked like alongside coconut trees and damp humid skin, to meet my family and friends, and to convince me to do the same for him soon, 5,000 miles away, in Italy (but without the coconut trees ).


We met in a way that felt surreal. Even the most cinematic of romantic tales seemed to be missing what we found those days. We were both on a cruise ship for work. I sang for the beautiful hearts of honeymooners, families, and retired couples. He engineered and installed parts for cruises and planes and their massive engines. We both were in the business of great machines.


By now we had been talking for about 4 weeks. On the ship, we only spent 3 meals, 2 islands, and 1 kiss together before he had to return to Italy, but those were enough events to know something exciting was brewing. 


His arrival caused my body to shake, my heart to pound and my face to glow. His assurance of me, of an “us”, was a trait I viewed highly sexy, before this moment, I wasn’t aware how the power of a mans firm decision could have over me. Hugging him made me feel juvenile and keeping a straight face long enough for a full sentence was a challenge. It was like that puppy love you have in school and take your first booth strip pictures with at the mall. It was freeing. It was intoxicating. It was a different kind of Love. 


As we sat into his rented cherry red convertible American Mustang, we headed south, to the southern most point of the United States : Key West. Predictably he complained and compared the American Mustang to Italian cars and made facial expressions of disappointment as he hit the accelerator.

 
“Hahaha American mustang! What a shit!” he described to a friend on the phone. 


I responded with the typical Italian hand gesture saying “Mamma Mia, Italian Arrogance at its finest! Mamma Mia!!”


As we were speeding down over the countless bridges towards the Keys, I was feeling weightless. The sea on both sides, hair in the wind, a short yellow dress, and the discovery of this mans essence had my soul flying. We were both in constant affection and wonder that we were finally in front of each other. As he drove, he kept his hand on my thigh and I kept my hand on the back of his neck. We sang old songs at full volume and displayed our musical taste to one another taking turns playing our favorite tunes. 


At one point I decided be rebellious and unbuckled my seat belt. I leaned all the way over and kissed his neck and cheek and placed my hands all in places it hadn’t been before. The curiosity was killing me and the moment called for a memory. 


“Eyy, this is illegal! Is this what people in situation-ships do?” He said as he giggled and slowed down.


“Mmmhmm, and by the way, nothing is illegal until you get caught!” I painted a devious smile on my face.


“Wow, what American Arrogance mamma mia!” His smile gave mine a run for its money.


As we were in the throws of such a moment, we hear the sirens of a police car. He must’ve driven past one as I was leaning over kissing him, feeling my hand on his chest lost in the delight.


We pullover and stop. He asks if he should give the officer some money, and I quickly widen my eyes and nod no before the man arrived.


“Do you know why Im stopping you sir “ the officer said.


“No officer, mmm, maybe the speed?”


“The speed? You sir were going 20 in a 50. Now congratulations, you’re in love and in a relationship, but you need to keep your eyes on the road. And you miss, you need to keep your seatbelt on and stay seated.“ The officer took the license and registration and walked back to his car. 


He tried to warn me. It was “illegal” and now being that we were caught, there was for sure going to be an expensive ticket waiting for him. We were both quiet in the car and I sensed that the joy in the air was ruined because I decided to be “memorable”. I was sure he was furious and uncomfortable. He turned to me and said;


“Did you hear what the police officer said? Congratulations you’re in a relationship. See, now it is official! No more situationship, a police man in America said so!”


I blushed and laughed in amazament. I couldn’t believe that is what he was paying attention to. I knew at that moment we were something more, and I couldn’t wait to keep our adventurous relationship afloat. 


The Officer returned and let us go with just a warning. I thought, what a hysterical way to start this phase of our story, better than the movies.

[betweencoconutsandconcrete]

[betweencoconutsandconcrete]

UBRIACO - Liguria, Italy

The water seemed to speak. I would stare at how the sun carefully glistened and danced with the waves and hear its undercurrent song of loneliness and love. The water would hit the rocks and splash my skin. My skin that loved being touched. My skin that loved being touched by him.

“Mi Splendore” would be his nickname for me that summer I arrived. It was often whispered in between sweet stares and early morning risings. He loved to sit at the “seaside”, as he would call it, and watch the water hit the rocks. He would meticulously gather smaller rocks and make any kind of  geometric Tetris shaped wall in the sea. He enjoyed changing things, making things, engineering things.

If he had to think about something, he’d prefer to sit on those rocks and think. If he wanted to relax and de stress his entrepreneur brain a bit, he’d be on those rocks melting his gaze onto the horizon. And when he was deciding and questioning whether or not to make me, a Hispanic American, a part of his life here on the Italian Riviera, he sat on those rocks and found his answers.

He was tall and long. Dark hair, dark eyes and plump lips. Thick soft black hair that he would keep from his eyes with his expensive sunglasses on his head. A light beard that surprisingly had red hairs when the sun would hit his face. His ethnicity was ambiguous, being that his skin tone and specific features could be Persian, Indian, or Italian. Dinner at Shapla’s Indian Restaurant in Genova was always an event, as the waiters, wide eyed and curious, would ask him if he was from their native Indian country. He, with his predictable European pride and cliche, but endearing English accent, would nod No and lean in to tell me, “I am Italiano, all Italiano.”

He actually had never had Indian food before I arrived . The spices, the words, the scents, food is always the easiest way to travel into another culture with someone. I enjoyed observing his childlike enthusiasm as he would scoop every spec of tiki masala sauce that was left with his garlic naan bread, and after, attempt to regain maturity and respect with his stiff upright posture. Nonetheless, I was seen wiping the sides of my handsome and “mature” dates mouth as if he was simply just another messy kid.

There was an innocence about us.

For example, on Halloween we had plans to dress up and hit a local beach front bar in Varazze, drink limoncello and laugh at my attempt of speaking italian. We spoke for days of how loud we would be, how drunk we would feel, and the tangled like super sex we would have. We, at times would be loud love makers, and bothered the neighbors from our 2nd floor apartment. We joked that on Halloween night, our drunk sex would drive them to call authorities, fearing someones life was in jeapordy.

“You’re crazy eh! Sei pazza totale!” he would say as we would catch our breaths from laughing.

It rained that evening in Genova. Poured. Our outdoor plans ruined, and we were left with over 200 euros worth of makeup, costumes and wigs. We decided to dress up regardless, he would help allocating my wig and zipping my “Dead Bride” dress, and I would be in charge of his facial transformation along with finding a hat to match his “Skeleton Circus Ring Master Groom” concoction we came up with. I loved how open he was, letting me plaster white makeup on his skin, delicately draw the skeleton jaw and teeth over his thick lips. I felt as if we had time travelled, we were both kids, playing. But being that close to him, to his face, I wanted to ravish him in the midst of our dress up time. My attraction to him was effortless.

Once our transformation was complete, we hit record on my camera and began acting like zombies running from each other through out the whole apartment. We made rules. If one caught the other, they had to make a sound as if they had an orgasm, fall to the floor, and then return to zombie mode. This lasted until our dead zombie orgasms, laughter and running inspired the neighbor to pound the wall in an effort to remind us it was a Thursday.

“Sono completamente ubriaco di te..” he said in a wide smile.

I always tilted my head when he would go into italian and not understand what he meant. He knew when I didn’t understand.

“Drun ked. I am drun ked”

My face led on that I now understood, but his English was worse than my italian at times.

”You mean drunk? ” I mumbled in my own cocky American arched eyebrow way.

It was true, we felt as if we were drunk, without a single drop of anything. We were drunk, but completely off of each other.