Questa è Enida

It was a stroll along The Old Arbat Street on an easy Sunday morning looking for some Russian souvenirs to bring home. All I had in mind were those colorful matriyoshka dolls and the list of families, friends, foes, fans and foei gras. And oh, of course Facebookers. I had one particular person on my mind, but he is a long story. Longer than the list I had. So, not today.

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I wasn’t looking around or anything when I saw the face on the street. The one face that caught my eyes instantly. We exchanged what felt shorter than a glimpse, but longer than a gaze. I looked away, naturally, just a micro-second after our eyes met in a strange contact. And as strange as strangers that we were, I looked at him again, looking for another strange connection of some sort. And that, only to find that he did the same.

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I bet you can see it from the way I am now struggling to describe it all… but our eyes, Mr. Stranger’s and mine, met again. And that second glance made it feel like I had known him for… ever.

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He nodded. A nod to which I smiled.  When his whole face just bloomed like an open tulip, he gave me one of the most beautiful springs to remember. Still wearing the smile, I lowered my gaze in the softest nod I had ever strangely given as he kept his eyes on mine. His smile wasn’t so much on his lips. He did it all with his eyes. His glance turned to a gaze and a gaze turned into a wordless conversation from across the street. The Old Arbat Street.

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We kept on walking on paths that I knew for sure were not going to cross with each other – although we were going in the same direction. Neither of us could tell, then, if we had met before, or would ever meet again. But when he stopped a few steps away ahead of me only to turn back to find my eyes again… I knew, that I knew him. It was then that I caught him catching a deep breath almost in a relief to have found me.

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The tulip smile on his lips was now a sunflower on his masculine but sweet face. And I didn’t know what to do with such brightness! So I waved at him with just one open palm, a ‘motionlessly’ quick wave to let him know I acknowledged him. The moment I thought I couldn’t be touched deeper by a gesture, he ‘caught’ my wave like one would catch a flying kiss, and he brought his hand to his chest.

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Two seconds later as I was walking past him in what felt like forever, he gave me one lingering smile. A sunny smile, at each miro-second was growing brighter than the one before. And with one clutched hand on his chest holding my wave, he closed his eyes as though he was trying to freeze the moment. When he opened his eyes, he took another deep breath. His gaze then told mine that we would meet again someday. He nodded as he opened his palm on his chest reassuring me that I would be save there. In the most silent space of his being.

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I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. There and then. On the Old Arbat Street. Maybe it wasn’t just a stroll on an easy Sunday morning after all.

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Postlude:

Would you believe me if I said that this really happened to me?

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