Driving Through Cellos

I went for a drive today, and you know how much I love that. Alone, out on the road with my thoughts, no distractions, just me and you. The low, rumbling melodic pulses of Haydn’s Cello Concerto in D major echos through the truck sending the sweet notes to my very core. They say the cello is the only instrument that can ‘touch’ a human being because of the low frequency sound it emits, when played by a master.

My mind wanders through the checklist of the day’s events and the things I need to get done. Such menial things… a lunch appointment with an old friend, a report for a client and booking some upcoming travel. Just mindless thoughts to occupy the time.

The sunroof is open and the crisp smell of fall wafts through the air and in an instant I am taken back to the weekend in which you surprised me at the cabin in the mountains.

I remember going up there for the weekend to get away from the bustle. The leaves had turned, the lake was empty and I was enjoying the solitude of the moment, neatly dusting the cobwebs of neglect from the corners, splitting the wood for the fire and stocking the supplies into their respective places. As the sun began its decent into night, I took up residence on the couch in front of the fire and began to read my book. As I read, my thoughts quickly turn to you. Those moments when we just look at each other across the crowded room and smiled, sharing our secret once again with that simple glance.

I remember the private times when we stood alone in a crowd together, the times when it was just us. Walking and sharing the days, alone and together at the same time. The quick ‘snack-dog’ lunches at the park, the old abandoned airport, the benches near the water. And in those moments, the world stopped for me and I could just be with you. The conflicts of our lives momentarily paused.

As I sat there in the cabin alone, snow begins to fall lightly outside, and darkness starts to envelop the cabin. I try to focus on my book… but your smile, your hair, your soul-filling eyes play loudly in my conscience, as if it was a movie that I could not turn off. As the hour approached 8 and classical music filled the cabin, two headlights begin to flicker against the darkness on the drive up to the cabin. I was not expecting company and people often turn up this drive in error. As I gaze out the window, dual headlights come closer and I start to see the shape of the car approaching out of the darkness. My heart races, my senses sharpen. I begin to recognize the shape of the car. ‘Can it be?’ screams loudly in my ears.

I see you get out of the car, walking slowly up the path. I open the door to see you standing in the snow about 10 feet from me. That look of surrendered excitement on your face that I saw that night at the fair so long ago. The expression of “I shouldn’t be here in front of you, but I need to be.” was so clear on your face, as the snow falls quietly around you. Tiniest of crystalline snowflakes stick to your hair and shoulders reflecting the flickering light of the cabin and its fire, giving you in an angelic, pure white glow.

We stand in silence, staring deeper into each other, connecting all the feelings and memories from our past. The distance between us, that has been our forever, slowly melts away.

I approach you slowly as you stand still, unsure of how to proceed. I lightly kiss you on your lips, touching your forehead to mine. Our breath warms the other’s face as we hold each other tightly in the new snow. I take your sweet face into my hands to stare deeply into those wondrous, innocent, childlike eyes. The same eyes I first saw on our first day, so many years ago.

I kiss you lightly on your head as we return the warmth and solitude of the cabin.

That weekend we never made love. We spent our solitude together as one… walking the lake, talking under blankets on the couch and holding each other as we slept.

And that’s what I thought of today, a memory in the future, as I drove to the ocean.