THE ANNIVERSARY
It felt like such a long time ago, that night when she sat bleary eyed at her desk, scrolling through the comments and messages on her Facebook page. Having decided to keep her personal life out of the public forum after a particularly nasty incident with a family member, she had only been using this profile for professional reasons, to advertise her books and paintings. As she searched through the artworks posted by other members, looking for just some inspiration, her eyes fell on a poem posted by a stranger. The poem was subtly erotic. It touched a nerve, she felt alone and abandoned.
Reading through it again she decided to click the ‘like’ button. The date on the post, 7 January 2010. Sighing deeply, she sat down at her desk, moving her coffee out of the way. She had a deadline to meet, yet she still had no idea how to finish the story still stewing on her computer. Yet again hoping to find an idea in a picture or a comment, willing to open herself up to anything which she could turn into an ending for her book. In the corner of her screen flashed a single message in her inbox. Disinterested she opened the message, but instead of words was a video of Demis Roussos singing ‘Souvenirs.’
It was sent to her by the writer of the poem she had read a week ago. “A lonely room and empty chair. Another day so hard to bear…” How did the man know? Could he read her mind long distance? “Thank you” she typed back. Out of curiosity she opened the man’s profile. A foreigner from a country she had heard of yet knew little about. A professional photographer and poet and part time musician, the face that stared at her from a photograph showed intelligent blue eyes, prematurely grey hair and although smiling at the camera, sadness lurked in those blue eyes. Another message popped into her inbox. A simple “How are you?” from the same man. And so started a friendship between two lonely people separated by thousands of kilometers. It became a night-time ritual to sit down at her computer when the world turned quiet. Within seconds after typing “hi” his reply would pop onto her screen, as if he had been waiting for her. For the first few months their discussions were mostly intellectual ones, about his photography, their writing and music. They just never seemed to run out of something to ‘talk’ about.
For months he did not ask her about her family or even whether she was married or not and she did not ask either. It did not matter to her. She was resigned to spending the rest of her life alone and being an author was a lonely and selfish profession in any event, not leaving much room for anybody else but the characters in her head. The conversations she had with him filled a void in her life and she felt less alone. She also worked with new vigor, even if sometimes it was just to have something to tell him at night.
Without her realizing it, their conversations became more personal. Personal matters were casually mentioned, hidden among other issues in their text. She learned that he had never been married but had two children with a woman who was not his intellectual equal, nor interested in the arts, but who was very beautiful in her younger days. She learned that they had a very friendly and amicable arrangement and lived completely separate lives and have done so for many years, that his children had grown and left home and had successful careers of their own. She told him about her husband’s passing and her daughter who had emigrated with her husband soon after they were married.
One night when he did not come on-line after she posted her customary ‘hi’ she worried and realized how much she missed him. When there was no message on the second day she panicked. The morning of the third day her cell phone rang, an odd number showed on the screen, she knew it was him. They could hardly hear one another, but that was the first of a few monthly phone calls and it felt good to hear his voice. She knew she cared for and maybe even loved this faraway stranger and all she could do was hope and pray that he would remain a part of her life, even if it was just an inbox message once a day, it surely was better than nothing. She dared not even dream of anything like the message she received a week short of a year since they started corresponding. “I booked a flight, see flight itinerary attached.”
The day finally dawned when he stepped off the airplane carrying a backpack and portfolio case. Regardless of having written many, many messages to one another there was a moment of shyness between them. Dropping his portfolio case at his feet he reached for her, slowly she moved into his arms. What she imagined would be a passionate kiss in reality turned into barely a peck. They laughed at their own silliness. How could two people who knew each and every intimate detail of each other’s lives be so shy and wary of one another? Safely ensconced in her cozy little home, conversation became easier and more natural. Little by little they eased back into their earlier conversations. He was everything she thought he would be and more. He was taller than he looked in his photographs, his voice just a little deeper than it sounded on the telephone during the few halting long distance calls they had. As they both reached for the sugar their hands touched. He closed his hand over hers. His hand was warm, hers cold. Mesmerized they stayed like that for a long while. They knew instinctively that this was a new beginning for them both. “You know that I love my country very much, but it is an empty place without you. I have come to fetch you my love. Will you return with me?” His voice was thick with emotion, his accent even more pronounced than before. It was January 7th 2011 when she said yes, she will return with him.
They sipped their wine, sitting on the porch of the cottage on his farm in this strange country she had come to love as much as she loved him. “Did you ever finish that book my love?” “Yes I did, you were the ending I was looking for, the happy ending I could not find before.” She smiled shyly. “Honey, do you know what the date is today?” He reaching over to her, he took her hand into his. “How can I not know,” she laughed “it is the 7th of January 2015, exactly five years since I clicked the ‘like’ button.
Copy Right
Lynne Lexow