VIVO PER LEI

It was time. Nine months since their first innocuous exchange. The time it takes for a child to be born, only this child was conceived through words; an entire volume of musings passed back and forth across the vast literary sea dividing worlds.

It was time. The days had passed one after the other, the nights between filled with the next day's words already in place. Filled too with dreams, hidden moments unshared, yet felt each in the other, in the short silences between the tapping of keys.   

It was time.        

             

She boarded the plane, the twenty some hour journey frightful, the sense of panic palpable. Three books, a note pad and several pens. The man sitting beside her was thankfully far too busy on his laptop to notice her trepidation.

Would he be there?

He shouldn't be, really.

But he might be.

She knew him as she knew herself, she knew him as though he was herself. Yet she only had a photo. A single image, without a date... an image she'd poached and often stared at. Nothing remarkable about him really, he was every man. Only the staring had evolved him into the only man.

Would she recognize him?

Did it matter? Andrea Bocelli in her ears... Vivo per lei - she'd had to look up the translation months ago. 

"I live for her since you know

I first met her

I don't remember how, but

she entered my soul and she stayed there.

I live for her because she makes

my heart vibrate strongly

I live for her and it's not a burden."

The music... It was about the music yet it was about her because she was his music.  And he was her muse, he wrote the words punched in the night when really she should be dreaming but instead she was within his dreams... meandering past memories and exploring hopes unseen even by him.

This child between them, this word-full weight she carried was demanding birth. It needed to be held by him - like she'd held it and nurtured it and kept it thriving - it now cried for his arms, his lullabies. She was delivering this child - now the hours had shortened by half. 

Would he love it?

Did it matter?

She loved him.

This whim, sending her further than every past horizon, it had formed as a scene she'd repeated nightly for so long she was unsure if it was real, not yet another rehearsal, seeking the most perfect ideal. Hundreds of rehearsed alternatives until they all morphed into this one. This one.

Three hours. The journeys in two books had sent her mind away for a time, but now - now she was near. She would either wake to four walls or to the mouth through which she drank the words so long now even this brief pause had parched her insides. Water could not quench the thirst emotions caused - not unless the water in her tears could be drunk... "Oh Andrea, you say what I cannot," she thought.

"You're far away from this heart,

I'm flying to you in my thoughts,

I don't want and don't hope anything more

than having you always sheltered in me"      

The wheels touched down. The thump woke her and she saw blue where there should have been cream, green where brown had been and glorious sun where darkness was the place she'd lay. Every day.

This was no dream!

She pinched her arm and saw the blood return.

Followed the shuffling crowd past the gate and in her confusion thought she'd lost her passport. At the counter she tossed her bag inside out, her bits of life displayed as frantic fingers fought this last, this final hurdle. Shaky hand handed it across and the man smiled. Could he see perhaps the clandestine twinkle behind her somber eyes?

"For real please come

I look out everywhere

You're wind's breath that makes all bells ring lively

I rush to you between the ground and clouds

I feel time pass so slowly, I can't wait"         

"I am sorry? I don't understand?" Her voice - she snatched at the ear-buds. What had the man said? Andrea's words were the only ones she'd heard.

"I hope you enjoy your stay in beautiful Cancun, madam,"

"Where is he?"

"I am sorry?"

"Never mind." She retrieved her bag. The door ahead opened and closed as others before her exited. She stood transfixed. Mere feet away. Others nudged past; others threw confused looks at her. She stood mesmerized by the opening, the closing. This then was the final door?

Someone took her arm. "Are you okay ma'am?"

Ma'am? Was she old? How old was she? Her heart felt young, the beating, pulsing rhythm infused with abundance, a willingness known only by those who've barely lived and wished to do so much!

"Ma'am?"

"I'm fine, thank you. I just..."

"Is someone meeting you?"

Was someone meeting her?

She took a step, then another. Without the music, the thoughts were hers now. Crowding and vying, tumbling and scrambling, the rush confusing. Was someone meeting her?

She smelled flowers. Mixed with jet fuel and some lingering saltiness. The door opened before her.

Oh Andrea, I should never have disconnected you... 

She stepped through. A middle aged woman with uncertain eyes gazed at her once or twice as her eyes swept... No, it was the mirrored glass! Her gaze had passed over herself!

I am too old, Andrea, you should have kept me company at home... Why did you bring me here?

A sea of people coming and going, brushing too close. She felt like she was sinking, drowning, she fought for breath, sought to breathe high, above the chattering greetings and the laughter of children.

Is he here?

He shouldn't be here.

Here was a dream; here was a whim, a longing. Here was a lifetime of believing there existed this here, this now. He -

"You came."

Arms enfolded her. Who was holding her? Andrea, is this he, is this he?