-How do I know what I want? Really want?
We are walking side by side on the sand, near the waves that break softly in white foam. We are alone between the ocean and the dunes. The woman next to me answers.
-Shut wide your eyes, and even hold your breath until your lungs empty and your stomach contracts. If it’s still there what you think you want when you’ll grasp for air, you probably really want it.
Although her old voice sounds familiar I can’t recognize her face, because her features are blurred. Then I ask.
-How do I go and get what I want?
A dream.
I don’t hear her answer because I wake up under water.
I can’t see the bottom nor the floor nor walls all around. It is just me inside infinite water and I need to breathe.
And the lungs get emptied and the stomach gets tight and I grasp for air when I am waking up.
For real this time. I hope.
…
Once upon a time I thought life would be like an Ingmar Bergman film, maybe Cries and Whispers, with a face that was beautiful, a face that was strong, and a face that was dying.
But life turns out more like the opening of Millennium Mambo. A woman stomping over a long and elevated passageway.
…
At the end of the passage people wait for the train. The train stops and I get in. I walk pass a woman with a baby towards the end of the wagon. Then I lock eyes with the most beautiful man in the world. Just for a second.
Baudelaire has that poem, À une passante.
Un éclair… puis la nuit! — Fugitive beauté
Dont le regard m’a fait soudainement renaître,
Ne te verrai-je plus que dans l’éternité?
Ailleurs, bien loin d’ici! trop tard! jamais peut-être!
Car j’ignore où tu fuis, tu ne sais où je vais,
Ô toi que j’eusse aimée, ô toi qui le savais!
I open my mouth, but I feel the voice trapped in my throat. The most beautiful man in the world looks at me for one more second before stepping out in the stop before mine.
…
I am blocking a number from my phone. We have met four times for language exchange at the library. But the fifth time makes me anxious.
I block a number because a “no” answer is ten times better than a lingering question.
With odds I can play, but possibility is a bitch.
…
I stand on the edge. High up. Under my feet, a steep wall of stone and then water. An old quarry turned deep pond. I can’t see the bottom nor the place where the stone wall meets the water. I know I can jump from the higher spot because I already survived a dive before, holding a hand.
I jump alone.
Under the water, I swim towards the surface. One, two, three. The lungs emptying and the stomach contracting right before reaching the surface.
And I breathe.