The Songstone

Freezing panic, appalling loss; I could not breath for a moment. "Wh... What?" and the young American's voice became impatient. "Sorry, that's what she said, it's really nothing to do with me."   I suppose it wasn't, and I can forgive her for that, for she was only a messenger, but I think I understood at that moment the customs of the old Kings of Persia, who would execute the bearer of bad tidings as though he were the originator of them. But... "Well... OK," I said, choking. "Will you ask her to call me when she can?" She never did call, but I knew she wouldn't. There was a terrible finality in that voice; a tone that said, "Oh hey, here's a loser calling for Michela." I heeded it for a week, desperately hoping that every phone call was her, hurting so bad that I cancelled lessons, staying indoors with drawn shutters, ignoring the New Year, hoping she would tell me everything was fine. And then I had to try ...

I was dazed; she was too. We knew something then that I think is hidden from most: a secret that cannot be shared with others, for there are no words to describe it; only that it was an exaltation . The kisses became more passionate, and the hands wandered more freely, but we did not go further. "Who says I'd let you?" she said, and we laughed; I think we did. At least I laughed, but looking back I cannot see her. The touch, the smell, the happiness are as clear as today, but I cannot see her laughing face: it is lost to me now. Finally it was time to say goodbye, for darkness was coming. I had another lesson, she had to pack. Our parting hug was lingering, unhurried, our final kiss exquisite, and the memory I have of Michela is her standing outside the door, in the same place she had stood the first day, smiling down at me. I never saw her again. She went to Canada, and from Toronto I received a postcard with 'having a great time' and 'love and kisses'...

But there was a problem. I was living with Dani and had been for over three years. Now the relationship had the sour aftertaste of too many rows, of too many things said that could not be taken back. I was to move out after Christmas, so we had agreed weeks before I met Michela, but Dani was determined that my moving out was only to be a new phase in the relationship, a chance for us to regroup and rethink, while I knew in my heart that it was the end. It was the jealousy, you see, the snarls I would get even for smiling at another woman, the snooping in my computer's  files, the searching out of any detail that might smell of treachery. I felt trapped, and the greener her eyes became the more I was repelled. Michela knew this, for I hid nothing of it from her, and the holding hands became hugs, and many sweet words of care. She had an ex herself, whom she saw occasionally, but only as friends, she assured me; the spark between them had died, and she was going to Canada...