11 The Sweetness of Doing Nothing #2
I replied as usual: “Yes, doctor,” in a slightly cheeky way, and every time you let me get away with it—partly because it amused you and partly because it flattered you.
And I inevitably thought to myself that it was lucky you weren’t a gynecologist, because who knows what you would have said to me at certain particular moments.
I started laughing at the thought, but I quickly told you not to ask why I was laughing, since it was just something silly.
You liked it when I laughed, because my eyes laughed too.
After dinner, we took refuge at the bar, where they’d organized a live jazz night that evening—something we both enjoyed.
We sat down at a table and spent an hour playing chess and drinking hard liquor.
You’d ordered a tequila, while I was struggling with the bits of fruit floating in a glass of sangria.
My face was starting to turn red, and my eyes were shining like two lanterns; maybe I’d mixed too much alcohol, and in fact I felt lightheaded and euphoric.
The chess game had ended in a draw, so I challenged you to a game of checkers.
Things started to go wrong when I jumped over two of your pieces with one of mine and removed them from the board.
Up to that point, my gesture didn’t seem strange, but just as I was about to put them in my mouth, you asked me, “But honey, what are you doing?”
I replied candidly that the rules of the game said I had to eat them. You realized what state I was in and hurried to get me out of there before I caused any trouble.
The whole way back, I tried not to laugh, but it was hard.
Once we got to the bedroom, I staggered over to the bed; I felt like I was floating, the room seemed to be spinning, and I told you so. You undressed me and tucked me into bed, then joined me shortly afterward. Resting my head on your chest, I fell asleep telling you that I loved you so much.
I woke up with one thought on my mind, wondering what had happened the night before.
You were next to me, one arm under my head and the other under the pillow.
I just couldn’t remember anything except the wonderful rainy day I’d spent with you.
I couldn’t recall what we’d done that evening.
It seemed strange to me that we hadn’t had dinner before going to sleep until the next day.
I wanted to wake you up to ask you about it, but you were sleeping so peacefully that I put off my plans for the time being.
I felt strangely unsatisfied. It was as if, for the past eight hours, I’d been in limbo, waiting to purify myself from I don’t know what.
To calm myself, I gently pressed my lips against yours; they felt like velvet, and I felt like crying from the emotion I felt every time I connected with your soul.
You had a delightful personality and impeccable manners, yet at the same time you were open to any strange situation I regularly got myself into.
You knew how to play along and still make me feel safe.
I couldn’t wait for you to wake up; even though you were right beside me, I missed you, and I’d never understood how I’d managed to stay away from you for months when you’d been sick.
I was impatient, and since I couldn’t wait for you to wake up on your own, I started whispering “I love you” in your ear.
When that didn’t work, I lifted one of your eyelids and tickled your side.
After a few more clumsy attempts to get you to come back to me, I stood up, waving the white flag, and started to get out of bed.
Just then, I felt a hand grab my ankle, making me jump a meter into the air.
“Are you crazy?” I yelled at you, startled.
Laughing uncontrollably, you replied that you were crazy about me.
I didn’t want to ruin another pillow by throwing it at you; you’d given me quite a scare, but I was glad you’d woken up.
I just held you tight, closing my eyes.
I remember when I did that for the first time on the day we met. We didn’t know each other in person yet, and we were both very scared for different reasons.
I was afraid you wouldn’t like me and that you’d think I was too much of a kid, always ready to joke around and get into trouble. Still, it felt like I’d loved you for a long time, and I don’t know what I would have done without you.
You, on the other hand, had filled your head with so many doubts about yourself that you couldn’t even list them all.
Sometimes you’d tried to confide your fears to me, but I’d passed the buck back to you.
I wouldn’t listen to reason, because I loved you and nothing would have changed my mind—not even the Antichrist, who seemed set to arrive on Earth by the end of the year.
For me, the world ended with you; after that, there would be nothing but emptiness, because to me, you were everything.
When I was in your arms, I almost forgot to breathe, and I never wanted to let go—like little monkeys clinging to their mothers.
I wondered if you, too, needed physical contact as much as I did.
Your voice momentarily pulled me out of my thoughts: you were suggesting we go have breakfast, adding under your breath something that sounded like “let’s hope it pours again today.”
I got dressed in a hurry and stepped out onto the porch to check how many clouds were in the sky.
That morning I was in the mood for something special.
I wandered among the restaurant tables overflowing with delicious food and chose two sandwiches—one with sesame seeds and the other with walnuts; I filled a small glass bowl with rose jam and another with papaya jam;
I filled a large glass with passion fruit juice and stocked up on small pat of butter.
You weren’t far behind: lined up in front of you were several small plates filled with honey croissants, apple strudel, fresh papaya, chocolate cake, hard-boiled eggs, ham on toast, and blood orange juice.
You must have been really exhausted the day before to have you stuff yourself so recklessly, and I pointed that out to you.
I should have known that you should never wake a sleeping cat. I realized this too late from the response you gave me, looking me straight in the eye with an expression that was somewhere between serious and playful: “Don’t worry; you have the whole day to make me burn off all these calories!”
I sat in silence, watching a resort guest who was struggling with his water skis.
He couldn’t get going because he was leaning too far forward.
I thought with regret that I’d never wanted to try that water sport, and a certain idea was taking shape in my mind.
I suggested we try them both, but your refusal was categorical because you were still recovering and would never have dreamed of doing something like that.
You were right, as always. I thought that if you hadn’t been there to rein me in, who knows what else I would have come up with—maybe a treasure hunt among the countless deserted islands dotting the Indian Ocean, with the danger of encountering real pirates.
I passed the buck to you, leaving you the opportunity to plan the day.
We spent part of the morning under the skilled hands of the Thai massage therapists, and I really loved the new experience.
Then we tried the whirlpool together, before finishing with a Turkish bath.
We left the beauty salon with smooth, fragrant skin.
It was still an hour until lunchtime, and you were feeling a little tired.
Since we needed to change, we went back to the room and stretched out on the bed.
The cool sheets against our warm skin brought us immediate relief.
I wouldn’t have gotten up for anything in the world; you were right next to me, and I still couldn’t believe it.
I’d been longing for this for months, and every time I looked at you, I felt something hard to explain; I just knew I’d never wanted to be there at that exact moment so much.
You were quiet, and I didn’t dare disturb you, so I just watched you.
Every now and then, your eyes grew sad. I knew that what you’d been through had been very hard to accept, but you’d made it through.
I rested my head on your shoulder and looked up at the ceiling, following the shadows of the palm leaves.
I don’t know how, but the image of Peter Pan came to mind; maybe because with you, I felt so much like Tinker Bell.
I wished I had the magic dust to blow on you and make you fly.
As I voiced these thoughts aloud, you seemed to come down from a cloud, looking at me differently than usual.
“Stop that look, or I’ll fall too deeply in love with you,” I said, smiling.
“Then close your eyes and imagine flying,” you replied, moving closer to me and brushing my cheek with your lips, then continuing on to my mouth.
When I kissed you, I was sure I was physically lifting off the ground, that’s how light I felt.
At one point, I no longer felt your lips; I opened my eyes and plunged into yours.
I wished I could swim in those little alpine lakes, cling to your eyelashes, and then dive back in, and when I grew tired, I wanted to emerge and climb, dripping wet, onto your hand while you gently blew on me to dry me off.
What I felt for you was immeasurable; it felt like I was living a fairy tale, but I didn’t want a happy ending—in fact, I didn’t want it to end at all.
I looked at you questioningly: “Why did you stop kissing me?” I asked, curious.
“Tell me you want me, and I’ll keep going,” you replied.
I thought for a moment before answering: “I’ve never told you that.”
“That’s not quite right. You told me while you were sleeping and dreaming, and then I fell asleep too to enter your dream,” you clarified.
I didn’t want to believe you; I had a vivid imagination, but you were really outdoing me.
Seeing my skeptical expression, you told me everything that had happened in the dream, down to the smallest details, making me blush several times.
I thought to myself that I wouldn’t have expected you to be so “open” when it came to sex, but I didn’t say that to you.
In my naivety, I asked you, “But what if I told you that I want us to do everything that happened in the dream?”