It's about 6am. Rocki and Luca are still asleep. I waver between wanting to stay cuddled up in bed with them and wanting to sit up, drink coffee and start getting ready to go. Today I am heading out of town and on Monday they leave for Brazil. This means we won't see each other for three weeks. That is far and above the longest we have been apart since Luca was born and, in the case of me and Rocki, it might be the longest we've been apart as well. In almost twelve years.
It's a funny thing about separating like this - I am excited by my adventure but there is also that physical ache. Part of it is for Rocki but way more of it is for Luca. What is that thing? Since having Luca, I've asked my mom about it. It's all been said before, but yeah, the invisible umbilical, the lines of energy connecting our bodies, the slow tear away to get distance.
I'm not someone who generally has disaster dreams. I leave that to Rocki. She's the one whose days consist of a whole side narrative that covers things like the car coming around the corner that loses control and smashes into our family walking down the street. The airplane that falls out of the sky. The piece of bread that lodges in Luca's throat and smothers her while we're upstairs cleaning the bedroom. Those sorts of maybes never occur to me - except when we're about to separate from each other.
Now, I can't keep my brain away from their plane that will crash, their car that will fall off a mountain, the gun going off in her mother's neighborhood. When I live in Brazil, I get annoyed by all of the US popculture about violence in Rio. I don't experience it. I don't see it. It's just a city. But now, the upcoming distance makes every newspaper article loom, italicized and bolded, in my brain.
It's the distance. When I physically imagine the geography between Berkeley and Rio, I ache. There's no rushing to touch them because I need to - or because they need me.
Love is a funny thing. It can be a downright pain in the ass.
4 comments:
Greetings from across the park!
Dear friend, I hear you - distance brings all of that fear, that sinking feeling that every single second together counts. Indeed they do but so do the ones we spend learning on our own.
I am, myself, more like Raquel, trying to predict and stop these minor dangers from happening.That is why I am never too far away, even when I sleep.
I wrote this the other day:
distance
like a moving sheet of silk
soft, fluid, slipping between
my legs, around the circumference of my hips
over and over again
until I am lost within it
immersed in luxury, just
myself, without you
I truly would like to often believe it and wanted to pass the idea on to you, for the three weeks that will surely pass, fast or slowly, but certainly pass.
Have a great trip and training.
Regina
I spent Sunday Morning with your girlfriend and daughter at the Pool. They seemed excited for Brazil. I will see you in two weeks.
no gunshots yet. but my mother has left with Luca and it´s now been 6 hours! BUT I AM NOT WORRIED.
it´s 28 degrees celcius here, by the way.
it´s 6pm, and they are back, tired and happy. but i wasn´t worried.
Post a Comment