It Was Her

She was not in the mood to make love. I cannot blame her. We were up by five, attacked the first RyanAir flight out for tha extra legroom, rushed through the quick transit at Stanstead, land Milan at noon, got lost in the web of Italian railroads for hours before finally arriving at the surreal reviera. The last thing she wanted was to get on all four just to get disappointed five minutes after. I stepped out to the balcony, lit up a cigarette and observe the laid back atmosphere the Mediterranean beachside has to offer. She got into her bathing suit. It was a one-piece. For a split second I thought ‘whoever wears one-piece anymore these days’. Then I realised she’d fit in very well. The alfresco coffee shop that sprawled along the marketplace, cars from the 70s sped through the narrow roads and the art-deco buildings that stood out amongst the classic Italian stone structures and of course the pebbled beach and hundreds others that were too wearing one-piece. She belonged there.

We spent the whole week swimming in the beach in mornings, making love in the afternoon in the mild summer breeze, walking along the marketplace trying every single pizza place there was. Dinner time was especially beautiful; most memorable being the evening that they served two blocks of mozzarella with olive oil (being the only halal option available). Who eats two blocks of cheese for dinner?? Luckily enough the wine suggestion was perfect.
However, looking back, the trip was only memorable and almost perfect because she was there. She was spontaneous, funny and full of life. She was Life. To think of it, Genoa wasn’t that great after all. The people were rude and racist, the beach was painful to walk barefoot on and the humidity was just overwhelming. She, somehow, turned it into heaven.

That was almost 10 years ago. When i thought of Genoa, there is not a single image that she was not in and without her cheerful face in it; my memory of the trip serves merely as a huge collection of postcards.

We met last week. The build up to it was exciting. Old flame. The actual occurrence was rather awkward. She seemed to try to avoid the reminiscing of memories while I tried and fail to act cool.

I asked for the checque. It was over.