The Pink Wine That Summer

The Music Box



It was by pure chance that I came across it after all those years. I had been rooting deep within the abyss of a dusty, old drawer, looking for some  photograph or memory, and there it was. It was gleaming up at me in the dusky half- light of my old bedroom, a haven that had been untouched by all those years. My hands trembled as I took it out of the drawer, my heart started fluttering as the butterflies took flight in my tummy. A rush of intense heat crept  from my toes to my cheeks as I was swept back to a time and place so far removed. It may well have been the moment when he first gave it to me- the nervousness and expectation I felt at knowing it would likely be the first and last gift I would ever receive from him.

Clutching my treasure I made my way to the bed, where I settled between some soft velvet cushions. I opened the box very slowly, as though unsure of what to expect inside. Although I had heard it many times back then, it still took my by surprise when the haunting, melancholy music started to play. From deep within my cushioned-cocoon, I was transported back to that summer on the Mediterranean. I could taste the acidic pink grapes of the wine, its bubbles making me woozy.  I could hear the strumming of the acoustic guitar, as I drifted in and out of sleep. I could feel the burning afternoon heat, melting my body and my mind . I could feel the rough grains of sand, raked by my toes and etching his name. I could feel the cool tide approaching, ready to wash this all away.



Time and Place



The Mediterranean summer is intoxicating, with its long, languid days and twinkling nights which tantalize with their brevity. This was the place I found myself  all those years ago, when time had no hold over me- the past, present and future were all lived in the same moment, joyfully, fearlessly and without any thought of the consequences. Maybe that's just how it feels to be twenty-one in summertime, but that season is etched on my mind as eternal, filled with freedom, desire and discovery. It awoke dormant longings deep inside me, buried deep as shining treasure and meant that I would never again settle for anything less, anything mediocre...anything which failed to set my pulse racing and send my cheeks aflame.



The backdrop to this experience was romantic and charming in itself. We were living in a small coastal town, in the very south of France. The villages which line the coast and stretch from France to Italy boast an old-school glamour- timeless and tireless. Pastel coloured villages line the harbours with shades of pink, orange and yellow which melt into soft, sweet candy-floss as the sun descends into the sea. A train track connecting these heavenly places runs parallel to the sea, always sparkling in the midday sunlight...luring you to take a dip in its cool delights.



Our house was located very close to the sea. A five minute meander down a quiet lane led us to the smooth golden expanse of the beach, a place where suddenly all worries melted away. The house itself had probably once been glorious and it still bore the mark of French style with its shiny green shutters, opening out onto an expansive, wild garden. In the centre of this wilderness stood an expressive old palm tree, its branch arms uplifted in constant questioning. The doors and windows were almost always open, so the house and garden just merged into one open space and a constant stream of summer light flooded our living room, its hue gently fading as the evening drew near.    Amber and I spent much of our time draped over old sun loungers, lolling in the late afternoon sun. Chilled sparkling wine was always flowing so easily, but never quite quenched the insatiable summer thirst, so more and more was always on hand. A little cheese or olives were always by our side to nibble at. Soft music was always in the air, for this was Amber's great passion. Her CDs covered our living room floor- such was their abundance. Conversation always flowed so easily- the first day I had seen her I just knew she was going to be my friend. She was so beautiful and fairy-like, with her wide brown eyes, her shiny hair-clips glistening in the sun and her long, flowing skirts which fluttered in the breeze. So this was Amber. My good friend and house mate.



His Arrival



When a person comes into your life and undoes all of your previous thinking and planning, you wonder how you weren't able to foresee this arrival. This was how he crossed my path- blissfully unaware and casual , like a passerby chancing upon some stranger in need. Please don't misunderstand me, I was by no means waiting to be rescued. In fact, at that time many summers ago, I was doing pretty well. Let me explain a little about where I was and why. By some good fortune I had found myself living on the south coast of France, in a somewhat bohemian (or at least by my standards) existence. At the age of twenty-one and completing a university degree in French, I had been sent abroad as part of my education. Our task was simple- to perfect our French and to learn how to cope living in a foreign country. At this tender age nothing is particularly daunting as a prospect and the whole experience had so far proven to be pleasant. Of course, Amber had a lot to do with that. The moment we met and decided to move in together, I felt somewhat 'at home' in this foreign land.  Her warmth and good humour meant that there was always plenty of fun to be had and there was certainly always some fine wine flowing! She was a very open and kind person and felt somewhat like a sister to me, so when she announced that her brother would be coming in the spring, I was naturally  a little envious that I would have to share her with her real brother, but also very intrigued.  Being an only child, I had had never had the experience of growing up with siblings, so the mechanisms of these relationships baffled me. Would he be like Amber, my good friend?

My question was answered one day in late March, when I arrived back from a trip to England. I was greeted most unexpectedly by his warmth as the rusty old door creaked open, letting me in to what had been the place where I'd been living very calmly. He shook my hand with real enthusiasm, telling me he'd been waiting to meet me in person after so long. I felt like he might have been some long-lost relative, for such was his kindness and interest in me. I was so distracted by all of this that I almost didn't notice just how attractive he was. Of course, I'd previously seen him in some old-school photograph, but with the passing of some awkward teenage years, the man standing in front of me was striking. His stature gave him a certain authority and distance that his friendliness somewhat belied. His dark hair spoke of a foreign land to which he'd never been and his eyes shimmered in the evening light in a colour that was both grey and blue depending on the time of day.

Before I knew it, the three of us were sitting on that old leather sofa, sharing our stories and making toasts with our sparkling pink wine to new beginnings and the spring! After just a couple of hours, I felt like I'd become a member of the family, here were the brother and sister that I'd never had and we were going to have so much fun! Pretty soon Amber slipped off to bed and I was left alone on the sofa with Alex. Our conversation drifted off a little, so I decided it was time to read. As it was still March, the evening had taken on a chill, so I went to get a blanket. I asked him if he'd like to share it- because that's what brothers and sisters do, and he said yes. Sheltered there with him I felt warm and safe and started reading my book. As he picked his newspaper up, I felt his gaze pass over me, so I turned to him slowly and he just smiled. No words were necessary.



The Routine



The long, languorous days promoted very little constructive activity. Amber and I worked very little- some twelve hours per week teaching English at local primary schools. The work was relatively well-paid and funded our basic necessities, with a little money left over for any whims that may sweep upon us. Bottles of wine, French cakes filled with chocolate and cream, the odd meal under a starry terrace- we felt that nothing we wanted was beyond our reach. Free time was therefore in abundance. Being restless by nature, I spent much of this free time pacing local towns, stumbling across old bookshops and chatting with the odd local to practise my French. Amber and Alex took a way more relaxed approach to their spare time, spending much of it asleep! Not even the sun soaking through the house and bathing them in bright, morning rays could awaken them.

Sometimes Alex would sleep in the living room on the abandoned matress in the middle of the floor, having stayed up late after composing a little something on the guitar or reading some classic until the early hours. I would pass his sun-kissed body, practically motionless in deep slumber and be filled with an almost overwhelming desire to to awaken him so gently. He looked so vulnerable and perfect in his sleep. Of course, I could not stare for too long,for that would have been an intrusion of his privacy, so begrudgingly I would drag my eyes away, creeping out so as not to make him stir.

Amber had similar sleeping habits. She too would stay up late, reading, writing, listening to music or just thinking. She was never really in a hurry to do anything and most of the time she just radiated serenity. Sometimes in the afternoon friends would come around and would bask in the shade of the trees, playing card games, drinking sparkling wine, telling stories with words that  floated into the breeze.



The Gaze



It was late afternoon, probably around six. This was my favourite time of day, when the glaring sun started to give way to a softer light. It was usually the hour to rise from a gentle but deep slumber, slinking out of my room to find his  bemused eyes resting on me, glancing up from some novel or other. Today however, I didn't feel like sleeping. I was too restless.  Instead, I opened my bright shutters to let the garden seep into my room, bringing with it  a pleasant, carefree breeze. I must have been totally absorbed in whatever book lay across my lap, because I didn't notice his insistent look upon me. Not  a rude and threatening stare, but an unresisting, inquisitive gaze. I immediately blushed. How could I not? Being penetrated by those eyes left my paralyzed with excitement and fear. My body reacted involuntarily- the treacherous rush of adrenalin coloring my cheeks, neck and chest and giving me away. I could usually control myself, but not this time. He had taken me by surprise- he had stood in front of the window, smoking sensually and 'accidentally' just peered right into my room. I must have held his gaze for a few seconds- neither of us looked away. A half smile crept upon his face, his left eyebrow slightly raised and without saying a word, he just walked away.



At the Beach



We would often go to the beach, where I could admire Alex's tanned and toned body shamelessly. I loved to watch him pull himself from the sea, so gracefully, so blissfully unaware of just how appealing his body was, shimmering and fresh  from the dip. I imagined tracing those drops with my tongue, drinking him all up until my thirst had gone. Quickly, I would advert my gaze, but never quickly enough. I would feel my cheeks colour up and have to run into the sea and hide. Perhaps when we got a little restless we might played tennis at the shore- what a pleasure it was to watch his body dart from side to side, responding to my every move.