Part I: The Story
I took two hits from a joint in between his fingers, my hands gripping the steering wheel as I made a sharp turn on the 163 highway to get to the airport.
Here we are.
at the end.
The car ride was mostly silent except for a muffled radio. But I could see in my rearview mirror, subconsciously, my brows kept furrowed to remind myself that I don’t do ‘goodbyes,’ or that we both had some understanding that this is, what it is.
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Three weeks ago, I made a rash decision to sell my Coachella ticket and book a flight to somewhere new. I had done the festival so many times before, and truthfully, I needed a break from that lifestyle, the people and I needed to do my own thing. It had been awhile since I did a trip on my time, on my agenda.
Ha, but in all honesty…and it took some balls to decide I would share this, is that three weeks ago, I bought a flight to Puerto Rico with a perfect stranger.
Okay...let me elaborate. Not exactly a stranger but I had only hung out with this guy a handful of times, and by handful, I mean two or three? Back when I still lived in San Francisco.
…Someone I haven’t roughly seen or had barely spoken to in five years. Can you imagine?
Setting the tone of our relationship prior to the trip, conversation (though obviously long distance and mostly through daily FaceTime) began with connecting over our heartbreak. He read my series. *swoon. It means a lot when people read my stuff and I don’t ask them to* And as normal friends did, we confided in each other for guidance, advice and the occasional laugh.
But as the days went by those FaceTime sessions faded into more conversations about just ourselves individually, to long nights of laughs and sarcasm, to texting all day.
And then I told him I was going on a solo trip.
“Come with me…” I must’ve said it with the biggest, goofiest smile knowing 1. he wouldn’t do it, and 2. the thought of us running away together into paradise was some unrealistic love novel, like the kind my old cigarette reeking, babysitter got at the checkout line at Lucky’s.
The very thought of a secret rendezvous melted me.
I questioned his authenticity and told him he ‘wasn’t really down,’ and as playful as I was being he took the challenge, and matched my mouth.
And there I was two weeks ago, meeting him at Gate 27 for our first real date at the SFO Airport. God, those moments, minutes, seconds leading up to his arrival at the gate was nerve-racking. I paced the airport floor, continuously texting one of my girlfriends telling her I was so anxious, I had a thousand things going through my head.
“Do I look okay? Did I pack a toothbrush for the plane? Hair up? Down? Act relaxed Arielle. Why the fuck am I even nervous, I don’t get nervous. Game face Air c’mon. Is that him? Okay, no. Deep breaths…”
“Are you guys gonna kiss when you see each other?” ….my friends are so stupid.
But shit, are we?
And there he was, all the planning we did leading up to this point; The life we lived in secret. We told very few, in fact, I only told my roommate and the other girlfriend I was texting, mostly because it’s hard to go about my daily routine with them and do anything. I lied to my parents, friends, co-workers…etc. And everyone will be finding out about this first-hand the second I publish this blog.
My initial intent was to go alone, but like I said, the very thought of having a covert affair across the world seemed too good to pass up.
There’s honesty in transparency and I think we both had been burned so bad before that that’s all we craved; An adventure, an escape with new experiences, unattached company and a steamy overdue romance that could be left on an island. We’d come back refreshed, ready for the next chapter of our lives, a move, new jobs, mentally equipped to take on whatever came our way.
To answer my friends question, yes, we kissed when we first saw each other, followed by huge smiles and a hint of innocence (something rare these days). And as much chemistry that we had through the screens that kept us close between the 497 miles that separated us, upon initial contact the physical chemistry was unreal.
And man, did we have a day. 12-15 hours of travel time to get to Puerto Rico and everything that could have gone wrong, went wrong. Delayed flights, lost phones, no food, no sleep, took forever to get the rental car. But surprisingly it was the most relaxed I’ve felt while traveling. Shit was just easy, that’s all I can really say about it.
We got in around 3am and had to drive through thick grassy Puerto Rican country side to get to the house we were staying at. We stopped at a 24-hour gas station for a can of spam and some eggs to make for breakfast. And so, it began.
That first night in town, we spent hours at a remote beach under the stars. I remember laying on my belly and really taking in the moment. The sky was lit by the constellations, and empty Corona bottles stuck in the sand reflected the porch lights from nearby homes. If I looked to the left I only saw silhouettes of palm trees and brush, the glow of a walkway, him sleeping. I lied there topless but the breeze kissed my sandy skin and was warmer than any blanket. In the distance, I heard soft chattering and laughing over the ocean and I felt the most peace I’ve had in such a long time.
The week pressed on and it all moved so fluidly. We didn’t keep track of time and moved through the days by the beams of the sun, the growl of our bellies or the ability to soberly drive home from the beach.
We’d fall asleep long after the country side did and would wake up with the sun. Constantly moving.
We took a two-hour drive into Old San Juan. I asked where the navigation was taking us but he told me “don’t worry about it.” He takes me to one of the best meals I’ve ever had. (& y’all know I be eaaattttin) A pitcher of PR’s famous rum punch accompanied dinner in a small, over crowded, family seating style restaurant that was completely off the grid. We laughed, we drank, we confessed. Our evening carried on through the streets and we danced to Reggaeton in the cities bars and clubs… locals we could’ve been.
In the morning, he and I stood in the middle of a protest in front of the capital, walked the blue cobblestone streets to unknown destinations and through crowds of lively people. We spent hours strolling through the miles of green grass and getting lost in the dark crevices of Castillo San Cristóbal. And I was lucky enough to watch him document it all.
He was a film major, and driven by a lens the world he sees is a lot different than you and me. During the time we spent together, it too made me look at even the smallest of things like the chipped paint on a curb or the stance of a tired man in a more observant and indebted way. I took so many pictures of him taking pictures, only because I saw so much beauty in the craft. The passion I’d see and the happiness it’d bring him inspired me in ways he’ll probably never know. (So if you were wondering how I got all these incredible pictures, well…lol.)
Time stood still. Sometimes we’d stop what we were doing to grab an ice-cold mojito and we’d sit. Enjoying the moment and he’d look into my eyes and we’d both just be. It was pure disbelief that two weeks prior this was all a whimsical idea that took just a leap of faith on both ends to make happen.
I wish I could share how incredible every moment was for us. There wasn’t a time I wasn’t smiling, laughing or expressing gratitude. But some of the most special moments I should keep for myself, I just think it’s better that way.
Yes, the corniest quintessential love story. We reconnect and find each other in heartbreak, lie to our loved ones, and run away to Puerto Rico ironically called the “Island of Enchantment.” Then spend 6 days together in bliss with no responsibilities but soul fulfillment and each other.
And how beautiful it was. The most beautiful story I’ve both ever been a part of, and have the pleasure to tell.
On our way back, we had a one day lay over in Miami and took advantage of the city. At lunch on Ocean Drive in South Beach, an older man, a bit out of his wits, a bit not, basically forced him into buying me a single rose. He proceeded to lecture us on the importance of love and how at times, sometimes love will feed us more than any grain ever could. At the time, I was hot and only wanted to drink my 32oz. strawberry mojito, but looking back on it, I swear God brings every person into your life for a reason.
Our Cuban Uber driver back to the Ft. Lauderdale airport said something that made me take note. I felt it encompassed the entire experience in one sentence, and he said in a very thick Spanish accent, “the beauty of destruction, is fantastic!” and proceeded to tell his story. My mind glazed over and I began to reflect. Keeping it real, and all full-circle, it was so poetic. I smiled and felt so satisfied. This trip was everything.
Then the sobering dose of reality came. We got on the plane to San Diego where we knew we were both coming home to other people we’ve been casually dating, to him going back to SF and then all those miles between us. But mostly, the inevitable little voice of the socially constructed timeline of…. ‘is it okay for us to feel this way again?’
I’m certain this post will rub a lot of people the wrong way, and for those I didn’t tell right off the bat (Mom, lol) I’m sorry. But this was something I had to experience for myself.
He’s gone. And what comes next I have no idea. But we both know what it was, and that’s really all that matters at the end of it.
In a daily devotional I read today, it said, “…the truth is that self-sufficiency is a myth perpetuated by pride and temporary success,” and though it’s about God, I am reminded that in this life we do not always have to do things, or go through things alone. Something I always have a hard time with because in my fear I’d rather be alone than to show myself for vulnerability. I felt it all went hand in hand.
I titled this post “Piece de resistance; The Rendezvous.”
One of the nights while we were at our house, I was cleaning up and pacing the hallway and me being the weird ass that I am… I randomly in a French accent whispered to myself, “pièce de résistance.” Don’t ask. But he got up from whatever he was doing and asked…
“Did you just say pièce de résistance?”
I started cracking up.
He continued, “I can’t with you sometimes.”
Later I decided to look at what it actually meant (besides in reference to a delicious meal, duh) Merriam-Webster defines it as “an outstanding event.” Funny, huh?
So, that was this chapter of my life, the pièce de résistance, the rendezvous.
The Midnight Air 