Photo by GreatEclectic

I miss the ocean. Especially the way the waves crash against the rocks and splashes against the sand. The way the sun peeks over the horizon in its orange glow. I even missed watching the surfers fail at their many attempts to conquer the waves.

It’s been about a week now. Well, I guess it’s been about a week since I met Anique at the Le Flash exhibit. I caught her goggling at a painting as I was walking by one of the galleries. I saw her just as she was pulling her hair behind her ear, exposing her cat like eyes. I thought she stood kind of awkward, holding the straps of her black purse in front of her with both hands, leaning closer to the painting as if she were about to fall into it. I walked into the gallery where she was and stood right next to her. That’s when I noticed she wasn’t as tall as I thought. She hadn’t noticed me, so I leaned over a bit and said “Looking for something?”

She turned around and looked at me with a look of shock as if she had no idea that I was standing there or even that no one else was in the same room for that matter. She pulled back her hair again and started to explain how she had to study a specific painting at the event for her art class. She told me she was an Art major at GA State College and much to my surprise, I learned she had been to most of the art events that I had been to. It’s always funny how you never see someone until one random moment in time. Anyway, we talked about art for a while…well, Surrealism to be more specific. She explained her love for the way Surrealism has no structure or control and how chaos is the main factor for it’s existence. She believed that without chaos, there is only simple boredom. I agreed by nodding my head and taking a sip of the Sangria that I picked up on the way into the gallery. I told her that I was trying to learn French and she told me that she was a French minor. She then said something to me in French that I didn’t understand and I simply replied “Je parle un peu le francais” which means “I speak little French.”

I think she got the hint after that because she quickly changed the subject. As we talked, we started walking towards the exit. I threw away my empty cup in the metal trashcan as we walked out of the gallery onto the sidewalk. As she was talking, I slowly pulled a cigarette from the white and red box in my pocket. “Marlboro Red,” she said as she nodded her head. “Ride ‘em cowboy.”

I smiled and pulled another cigarette halfway out of the box and asked if she wanted one. She shrugged her shoulders and took the cigarette from the box. “I guess this’ll be my cigarette for today,“ she said. I lit her cigarette and then lit mine.

As we smoked, we started talking about Salvador Dali’s movie, Un Chien Andalou. I expressed to her how bizarre I thought the movie was, especially with the opening scene. She, on the other hand, loved the movie for the exact same reason and even watched the opening scene 16 times trying analyze it. She took me by surprise when she told me that the eye in the opening scene was that of a dead calf. I exhaled smoke as I breathed a sigh of relief. I told her that I had the movie at home and she was already inviting herself to my place. A little part of me knew she would, but I couldn’t help it that we had similar tastes.

The movie had barely gotten passed the eyeball scene when she rubbed her hand on my head and kissed me on the lips. I hadn’t expected this to happen so soon, especially with her making the first move. I must admit though, I was glad because I didn’t have to wonder whether I should make a move and plus I hated that part of the movie anyway. We had sex that night and it was much more than just enjoyable. It was an experience! She had done things I never thought a woman would do with the way she moved her body on top of mine, never leaving me unsatisfied. I had a few tricks up my sleeve too and before I knew it, we were both laying next to each other on the hardwood floor surrounded in my white bed sheets, breathing heavily as we were trying to catch our breaths. Two minutes later, I got up, pulled the Marlboro box out of my pants pocket, lit a cigarette and headed to the kitchen. I asked her if she wanted some wine and she replied with an airy “yes.” I drew two wine glasses from the wooden cupboard and took the bottle of Sangria from the refrigerator. I walked back into the living room where Anique was sitting up against the front of the sofa. She looked so beautiful as she was holding the white bed sheet across her chest and smiling at me. I handed her a glass full of wine. After taking a sip, she asked me did I listen to The Smiths and I almost choked on my wine. With a surprised look on my face I immediately got up and went into my room. I came out into the doorway of my room just as “This Charming Man” started to play. I started to dance to the song, jumping around and imitating a young Morrissey swinging a bouquet of flowers as he sung. Anique began to laugh and I kept on dancing just to make her laugh some more. I stopped dancing and went back into my room and turned the music down and put on another Smiths song “How Soon is Now.” I brought out a small plastic zip lock bag and asked her if she smoked. She looked at me funny for a minute which made me regret asking her such a question. Her funny expression turned into a smile and she said “I’m an Art major, silly!”

I nodded my head in agreement and sat down next to her and began to roll a joint. As we smoked, we talked about her own art work and why she loved art in general. She told me she was from Boston which I kind of picked up from her accent. She also told me she learned French because her family used to travel to Francefor Summer vacations. We also discussed our similar taste in music which I think I surprised her a bit because I knew a lot of bands, even ones that she didn‘t know. She asked me where was I from and I said Atlanta. She then asked me was I sure because I didn’t sound or act like it. I took a pull from the joint and simply said “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

The next couple of days went by fast as I spent most of my time with Anique. I enjoyed our talks about art, music and whatever else came to our minds. We went to a couple of local art galleries together, and even caught a Sunday matinee. We had coffee a couple of times before she went to class in the morning. She would always order a toasted bagel with strawberry cream cheese with her usual white chocolate mocha with whip cream. It always made me chuckle every time she took the first sip of her mocha and the whip cream would sit on the top of her upper lip, giving her a whip cream moustache. She would always give me this confused look which made me laugh even harder. Since I was a music journalist, I was able to get us into a couple of concerts where afterwards she would spend the night at my place. I found it quite funny how cute she looked in my band t-shirts because it looked so big on her but yet, she still looked so sexy. After fooling around with our bodies, I would light a joint and sing her a couple of songs that I made while playing my guitar. I loved the way she looked at me as I played and sung because it was as if she were listening to each word, and soaking it into her soul. She made me feel like my music meant something more than just a nice melody and random metaphors. For the first time, I felt like I belonged to someone.

Given the extraordinary week I had with Anique, you can see why I was shocked the morning I woke up and she wasn’t next to me. I thought it was a game she was playing where I would find her in my apartment and we would laugh while tickling each other and fall onto the bed and have morning sex. Much to my displeasure, the only thing I found was a small cream colored envelope under the strings of my guitar with my name on it in black ink. I knew it was from Anique so I slowly took the envelope from under the strings. I shook my head as I opened the envelope and read the letter inside as I already knew what the purpose of the letter was for. She was leaving. Not just me, but the country. Apparently she was set to study abroad in France to gain some art credits for school. She was afraid to tell me because she didn’t want to hurt me. I immediately crumbled the letter in my fist and dropped it to the ground.

I often think about Anique. Every time I stare off into the ocean’s horizon, I can’t help but to think of those special moments that we had. All of those intimate kisses and conversations. I guess Robert Frost was right when he said nothing gold can stay. I just always say if nothing gold can stay then just make a new color. I think my new color will be blue. It’s the color of the sky, the color of the ocean and it’s the color of the bathing suit that this girl is wearing who is laying a few feet away from me with a French for Dummies book laying across her stomach. Who knows…maybe she likes a little art too!