The Eye Of My Storm

 

"The wind was so strong, that my eyelids were peeled away from my eyes!"

She was the only survivor of the storm. Dug her way out of the rubble and the wreckage, of what used to be a picturesque small town port. 

"It was like the hands of God, reaching down to tear us apart!". 

She's shaking. Afraid to look into the camera. 

"I'll never forget the sound. Like a thousand trains derailed".

Two weeks later, she still can't sleep. Every time she closes her eyes, the howling of the storm echoes in her bones. She stares at the ceiling, trying to figure out her life. Last month has been a colossal failure. Lost her job, broke up with her - fourth this year- boyfriend, the car broke down, and then the storm.

It's 04:26. Music isn't helping tonight. The only thing orbiting her mind  is his words.

"Don't ask for the moon, we have the stars."

It was something that he often told her. Something like a mantra, after a bad day or a stupid fight. And they had a lot. Bad days with stupid fights. That ended with them making love. He would kiss her tenderly and whisper these words. She always smiled, even though she thought it was some dumb quote from a fortune cookie or sometning.

His voice was the spell, the lullaby that made every doubt shut. She missed him. It's been two years. She recalls their last fight.

"Don't try to write my character out of your script"

"But we're getting nowhere!"

"Nowhere has been a great place, the last four years."

"I want more!"

"Stop playing God, you can't control everything!"

"I don't want everything, I just want more with you. Is that so bad?"

"No. If you stop being a control freak."

The next morning she had a migraine. She was ready to do the chores, when she found a postcard in the mail. It was from a Greek Island. She recognised his handwritin. 

"You are the eye of my storm."

She got chills. Was it a joke or a sarcastic coincidence? 

She found him on a small house by the beach.

"What took you so long?"

They were both afraid of this moment. Two years apart is a long time. What if... That look in their eyes was faded? The secret language of their intimacy. Sometimes, love is like tarnished silverware. Passion will remove the dirt of unshared time and rinse the silence.

They spent the next three days on a hammock near the water.

"You knew that I would come, didn't you?"

"I was hoping for it."

"Am I really the eye of your storm?"

He smirked. Rubbed his face on her hair like a cat.

"On land, the center of the eye is, by far, the calmest part of the storm, with skies mostly clear of clouds, wind and rain. You are that place, make me feel safe, wanted. Over the ocean, however, it's also the most dangerous: inside, waves from all directions slam into each other, creating monster waves. You are also the storm, the driving force. You make the way, sometimes by destoying everything. But... I wouldn't wanted any other way."

She was touched, confused and insulted.

"What does that even mean?"

"A lot of things. But there's something more important right now."

"What?"

"Wake up. You're still inside the storm. Wake up."

She opened her eyes. She was drowning. The water was crushing her lungs. Darkness was flooding her cells. It was almost over. A few seconds before she surrendered, a hand pulled her out. It was him. He took her home. Kept her warm.

"What happened?"

"I was drunk. I started burning your letters. The smoke transfomed into a cloud and tore the ceiling. I thought I was hallucinating. I saw the newborn storm leaving. I was sure that it was heading your way. I came as fast as I could, almost crushed the car. I got you on the nick of time."

"And now what?"

He lied beside her. 

"I think nowhere is still a great place to live."

"What do you want?"

"Let's write a screenplay, a novel. Spin the globe, pick a country and go there"

"Can we afforded it?"

"Does it matter?"

"Is that what you really want?"

"I want to write a book, a travel diary, filled with photos of you. I don't care where."

"Who's a control freak now?"

They laughed. One week later, they were planning their escape.

"So, what exactly are we doing? Chasing the storm or running away from it?"

"Both. And sometimes, we are the storm."

"Is that enough, to be happy?"

"Since I've met you, I've lived everything on the edge of my seat. That's more than enough for me."

"It's not normal, living like that, all the time."

"And what is normal? Posting stories on Instagram, of food and drinks on the weekends?"

"Yes, but.."

He grabbed her and kissed her. 

"Is that your answer to everything?"

"It works, doesn't it?"

Her smile was shy.

"Did you pack the red dress?"

"The first thing I did".

She picked her phone and took a photo of him.

"This is the first story of our little trip!"

She put her arms around him, while he was packing.

"Do you really believe we'll make it?"

"Yes. We'll fail in the most spectacular way!"

"That is your definition of success? And what is failure?"

"Living in still waters and waiting for things that will never happen."

"I'm afraid."

"Me too. That's a good sign."

"I'm having second thoughts."

"You just need a second breakfast."

"You like me chubby, don't you?"

"You say that like it's a bad thing!"

Intimacy is an art. The inside jokes, teasing, those looks and gestures, that mean everything without saying anything. Pieces of a puzzle that are never lost, only shuffled by life. There are defining moments, that sever the present from the past and the future. A part of innocence is restored. 

They took the first step out of the airport.

"Are you still having second thoughts?"

"Don't ask for the moon, we have the stars."