Letters from NYC

Il m'aime...

This evening, I was brought back to a gentler time and a sweeter place that I often long to revisit. A time when the sound of crickets and soft lapping waves lulled me to sleep every night, and in the mornings, I'd be awakened by the calling of sweet song birds. Barely awake, I'd jump out of bed, and while still in my pajamas, and without even stopping to put on my shoes, I'd run barefoot out of the house and cross the road. Without slowing down I continued running full speed onto the beach all the way almost to the water’s edge. I was anxious to see if any of my make shift crab traps had caught anything the night before. To my amazement, and my mother’s horror, I would often arrive at breakfast with a bucketful of live crabs.

On nights like tonight, when I was restless or worried and thinking too much about all the unknown's in my life, I'd slowly walk across that same road to the beach, picking up a few wild flowers along the way, hoping that in my hand I’d have the right flower that would divine and secure my happy destiny.

I would usually sit in the same spot of sand, leaning my back on a low coconut tree that had grown sideways and in which someone had conveniently carved out a back rest. As I sat there, taking in the flower’s features, I'd pray to God in the sky for my heart's deepest desire to come true, and for a sign to somehow tell me to be patient for it was so. I'd sit there for what seemed like an eternity in a meditative trance, hoping that by staring at the flower I could pick the right moment for my destiny to unfold. I was afraid that one impetuous move or premature moment might wreak havoc with the rest of my life. At twelve, 60 years loomed over me like a huge gray wall of water just waiting for the right moment to crash over me and begin the unbearably long sentence of living a life of discontented quietness and unfulfilled dreams.

So I’d sit and wait for the right time... the right moment to begin. Then, and only when I felt it was the right, divine moment, did my sweaty trembling hands begin the rituals as I whispered to God: “Il m'aime... un peu, beaucoup, passionnément, à la folie, pas du tou.t” (He loves me... a little, a lot, passionately, passionately, not at all.) If I was successful during the first flower I’d stop then and there having achieved the fate I had wanted. If I didn’t I’d move on the next flower, holding it interminably longer than the first, all in an effort to manipulate the desired outcome.

Today I caught myself staring at the phone, hoping he would call. Looking down at the number I had for him I vowed not to call until the appointed time. I kept peeking at the card through the corner of my eye, then back up at the phone wishing, praying and hoping it would ring and that I'd be successful in seeing him. All my hopes hinged on that one call. I had no one else to turn to. Once again I prayed, hoped and pleaded with God for destiny to give me a positive outcome.

Picking up the receiver I hesitated before dialing. Upon hearing the receptionist’s greeting I took a deep breath and quickly exhaling said: Good morning, my name is ME and I’m calling at Dr. Middle’s suggestion. She’s referring my son to Dr. Stout for a surgical consultation. Dr. Middle believes that dental surgery needs to be performed on him as soon as possible and spoke to Dr. Stout about my son’s case this morning….

While put on hold I once again held my breath hoping that I could somehow hold time still, long enough for my racing heart to slow down, and for even the possibility that this was all somehow a dream tied to an errant petal I forgot to pluck from so long ago. After a few minutes, I had no choice but to let go and inhale once again in the hope that in doing so, I could secure composure and decisiveness with my next breath.

Posted by Michele at August 22, 2006 12:48 AM | TrackBack