She had been gone and it was quiet… Well, not quiet actually – a little later,he had to go as well. But whenever he looked around and saw the same scenery minus her physical presence… it felt as if it were quiet… You know?
The high speed was, erm, highspeeding on the water. He asked for my pen. I gave it to him. He looked determined. He needed a pen. I was glad I was there to give him one… He started writing. Writing to reach her, obviously. I tried to pretend I wasn’t noticing but I managed to look over his shoulder a couple of times. I could only read some words but it made sense in a way. I mean, I think I can guess what he was writing. I believe he wrote about the songs they talked about. The songs they listened to together. About the feelings they didn’t honestly talk about in deep. About the melodies that surrounded her. About the soundtrack of their lives. About how safe and relaxed and in love he made her feel. About how complete and high she made him feel. About how their bodies matched perfectly together. How great their kisses were. About how she inspired him. About how she missed him. About how she couldn’t think of anything else. About their love making… All night long. And all day long as well. About music. About seeing in his eyes and having her heart ache. About her moving around and making his heart skip a beat. About every useless, non practical, stupidly romantic, nothing to do with reality, beyond the daily facts thing you could ever imagine.
I smiled. He didn’t see me smile. He couldn’t know. He was lost in his world. Their world. I think he’s a fool. The world is full of romantic losers. They make me and some others seem gifted and capable of anything… Ha!
I smiled. He kept on writing. He was alone. He had his earphones on and I could listen to some hi hat sounds. I smiled. Most probably he would never finish the letter – and she would never read it. Most probably he wouldn’t have the guts to deliver it anyway… I mean, who cares?
Well… I care. Because I had this ironic smile, these train of cynical thoughts and this superiority spark in my executively trained eye but… I was jealous. Of him. Of her. Of their relation ship. Of the songs they shared. Of their short holiday. Of everything they got together. I envy something I cannot exactly dig. It’s not that I am after what I ain’t got or what I miss. It’s just that he looked so absorbed… So happy, lost in his words. My pen, a pen I had used so far only to sign contracts and approve budgets and give professional e-mail and telephone numbers to other successful pros like me… well my pen, looked like my… ex pen actually. Because it was on fire. And if it could only talk – I bet it’d tel you that its goal in life was fulfilled. It was used for a love letter, whereas I had been misusing it and abusing it all along.
I stopped smiling. I got up and changed a seat. He looked straight up and made a move with his hand. He was giving me back my pen. Now he was the one gently smiling. “It’s ok, keep it”, I said, “I have lots of them”… That was a lie. It was my favorite pen. But I never asked to get it back. I trusted it was happy in his hands, writing words of love and strong emotion and missing heartbeats and wet eyes and exciting thrills and endless touches and caresses…
The next day, I resigned. My company’s accountant called me to sign some papers. I asked for a pen. He gave me one. It was out of ink. Mechanically, I put my hand in my suit’s pocket. “Silly you”, I thought, "you gave away your favorite pen just a day ago"… But, my fingers touched something that felt like a pen. I drew it out. It was a pen. That pen! The pen was there. The very same pen!
“I have never seen a man smiling so glowingly the very moment he signs his resignation!”, the Money Man said. I was smiling again. And I hadn’t even realized it… So, this is the first step to happiness or what?…
I wonder if she ever read his letter… If they’re still together. If they ended up hurting one another. If they could ever suspect how much I owe them… Even more than I envy them. Still.
