Love with a Proper Stranger

  “The probability of separate worlds meeting is very small. The lure of it is immense. We send starships. We fall in love" -Jeanette Winterson

Walking into the amber lit entry way of the restaurant with her hair damp from the drizzling Paris rain, her heart tightened inside her chest. The old familiar scents of ancient walls and perfumed mistresses mingling with buttery garlic caused her to inhale and exhale..slowly. These were the things she and he noticed over long lingering afternoon meals at Le Procope. The scents of things..of their surroundings. Of life. Of each other. Everything in them heightened and pure.....and on fire. It was a cerebral love. Deeply satisfying in all the ways that truly matter for two people who will never be together in any worldly sense. All pleasure. No pain. Knowing just enough of one another to know you were mad for the other person. That you were love drunk. Hot meals in exquisite cafes. Lusty sex. Sometimes romantic love making. Walks in the park in foreign cities. Imbibing in one drink too many in poorly lit bars and smoking cigarettes because he did. He would read Hemingway because you did.

For years it was love with a proper stranger. Until it ended. Years that felt like an eternity at the time... today seemed a lifetime ago. 

Once you have that....you just feel hollow for the rest of your life, she thought. The waiter sat her at the farthest end of the dining room. The same waiter that eyed them with wistful glances years before when he sat them in the same shadowy corner. Did he recognize her? Did he know?

She held the box close to her and walked with it in her hands for miles before reaching her destination. It was a smallish box, black with gold trim. The kind you might get with a box of expensive French chocolates. She set it down on the opposite end of the intimate table for two. When the waiter came she ordered their wine, 2 glasses of Pouilly Fume at room temperature.

Was he coming back?

No. Not this time. Not ever again. But he was here and she could feel him. Her small beautiful hands caressed the matte black box. She reached into her shoulder bag and pulled out a lipstick and mirror. Putting a fresh coat of red on her plump lips. His favorite color of Chanel. He claimed he enjoyed the taste of it on her lips when he kissed her....when he left it smeared on her mouth.....and his.

Her eyes glistened with the wetness of tears as she raised her glass in a ceremonial toast to the box across the table. She toasted to love. To love a long time ago with a proper stranger.

CJ Ellis