The weather could not be more perfect at the pier as I wait for the boat, a bright sunny day with a pleasant cool breeze. I am standing on the small green spot where our hug was first conceived. I remember the silly moment when I asked an older couple to take a picture of me hugging a dear friend, invisible to them, but not to the recipient of the photo.
The moment she steps out of the boat, dressed in black and in all her splendor, I feel a boost of adrenaline. Her eyes find mine in the distance and our gazes lock for an instant that seems an eternity, and we both smile consequently. It reminds us of the memorable pre-Covid day when our eyes first met. Like then, the world in general and other people in particular fade away as our souls engage in the tunnel of our stare.
The good thing about talking with the eyes is that there are no language barriers, misunderstandings, exaggerations or understatements…
She steals me from her look, and thus from my thoughts, in order to find her way off the ramp and walk towards me. I feel an urge to walk her way too, in order to encounter her halfway and, most importantly, in half the time, but we had agreed to meet at this garden, some sort of a promised land, in view of everybody, but apart from the path where bouquets of people walk full of enthusiasm towards adventures around town, or back to the boat carrying groceries for their dinner parties on the island.
As I wait for her, I ponder about all the words that we have shared over the cyber space, where our friendship has bloomed so beautifully. It has been years since we last saw each other in person. The difference in our emotions between now and then is significant.
The first time we looked into each other’s eyes, we did nervously, shyly, and curiously, yet daringly and perceiving a strong connection despite being almost total strangers.
This time, in contrast, we are meeting with a cherished old friend who knows about our flaws, struggles, challenges, dark secrets, etc. and loves us anyway.
We have been some sort of mutual psychiatrists who have enriched each other’s life by lifting our spirits, filling our hearts and motivating our minds, mostly by reading without judging and counselling without conflict of interests, with the sole purpose and satisfaction of seeing the other flourish into their best self.
This time our gaze is charged with endearment, expectation, gratitude and excitement. A small dose of infatuation still exists and probably always will.
If “Love is friendship set of fire,” some friendships ought to be chilled love.
As she approaches, I cannot resist looking down at her shoes, the pedestal of her greatness, and realize that she has chosen heels that make our heights equal and thus, our hug perfect.
As the distance between us is about to disappear and our first hug ever becomes imminent, we look into each other’s eyes, briefly, deeply and intensely; kiss each other’s cheek, hurriedly, forcefully and lovingly; and wrap our arms around one another, effusively, tightly and wholeheartedly.
The feeling of the embrace is so reassuring, the warmth of our cuddling so comforting, the mixed smell of our perfumes so inebriating, and the joy of being together so great, that happy tears roll down our cheeks, tickling all their way to the lips, where they taste like future nostalgia and a little salty.
The moment is incredibly beautiful, and I cannot calculate how long it has lasted, but fearing that it might end soon, I declare: “hearts synchronizing, do not disconnect” and she agrees by holding me tighter and giggling silently. We both sigh and are curious about each other’s thoughts and likely faces, wondering how our next locked gaze might be like.
The bad thing about talking with the eyes is that the pupils sometimes dilate, delight and divulge…
But for the time being, we both much rather stay wrapped around each other, than anything else in the world.
The End
Hug is fiction and any resemblance with real people is mere coincidence. However, it might seem quite familiar to many relatives, friends, lovers and crushes that were separated indefinitely by the global lockdown during which the story was created in wishful thinking...
Painting by Peter Wever
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