A Lovely Reminiscence

Ding! Ding! The scent of heaven pulls me in. I push the door completely open and take a step into CocoRiga. From the street view, the shop is practically invisible. It stands on the corner of Saints Avenue, smothered by corporate buildings, offices, and city giants. Inside the confectionary shop, an ambiance of sweet beginnings lingers, accompanied by timid, instrumental music in the background. It’s Valentine’s Day, and the number of couples I’ve seen continues to grow. Intertwined hands sway back and forth as another pair leaves the store, bouquet of roses and all. CocoRiga, owned by a lovely Anna Lyubov, is known for her simple yet surprising recipes. Small delicacies line her shelves, pink tarts and cakes are found in the front aisles. Bottles of Rosé stand lined up behind the register, their abundance of pink matching with the rich brown wood.

             The only date for me today is the one I’ve planned with myself. A binge of chocolate desserts, a bubble bath in a tub of roses, champagne, some music, some reminiscence. I walk the aisles of the shop. There aren’t many, yet I can’t find the creation that calls, eat me… like it did with Alice in that book. I walk back to the register and am about to ask Anna what she would recommend, when I see him.

             Positioned with his back facing me, stands my first real love. I’d recognize him anywhere. I’m motionless, my feet stop a pace away. Suddenly, the cocoa bean aroma, the reason I came in here, fades away, replaced by the familiar smell of his shampoo. Its faint--unless you knew him like I did, spent as much time with him, as I did, you wouldn’t catch it. A whiff of cedar sprinkled with some grains of sand.

             And there he was. The same blonde hair that messed around his forehead. The same lean frame, the stance he always stood in. There’s no way to describe it. The stance of someone with a sense of humor. A man that’s never failed to make me laugh, to brighten up my day. The way of someone light and carefree and relaxed. A guy who doesn’t care what others say or think, who enjoys every moment of every day. A man who looks for interest in everything--there’s always been something to do, to explore, to create. His stance still holds his boyish playfulness. As if he’s just thought of something new and is fighting the restraint to do it. How do I translate his essence into words? It’s just…him.

             He regards the confections displayed before us, considering the options. His eyes haven’t changed color. They’re still the same bright shade of green as I remember. They hold the color of spring grass, of emeralds sparkling by the sun. I can almost feel that summer breeze I felt the day I saw him sprawled in my backyard, his body shaking as laughter rolled through him. It was that moment when I thought, you’re perfect. The existence of him in front of me, set every atom of mine in motion. The goosebumps flared up in my skin, his laugh so energizing yet relaxing. That laugh, it urged so many things in me. To run, to play, to pick up my guitar and sing my heart out with every false note in my voice. That sound enticed me. It drew my body towards him, pulled by an invisible magnetic force. For him to be happy was for the vibrations of the universe to finally be balanced, to be right. The laugh of birdsong, the laugh of children running free, the laugh magnificent enough for me to want to sprout new roots. With him.

             And yet he stands before me, and the roots that I thought spiraled through us are now dry, unwatered. Mine reach for his, as if he holds the only source of water. We stand a foot apart, and yet I see this canyon stretch between us. I wonder if he remembers. Remembers the way we spent our evenings, summers, days, and years. I know he felt something for me, there was a connection there. But it was brief. It lived in frequent bursts, a sudden flare of a bright flame, and just as quickly it’s put out. I think it’s still ablaze in me. Subconsciously I feel the need to be around him, to feel his warmth.

One chilly eve, I stood in the shower and watched clear water rush down my body. I thought of what it’d feel to kiss him. With other boys, I’d worry about the circumstances. How would it happen? Where would it be? Where do I put my hands, or do I hold the neck, or cheek, or do I run my fingers in their hair or...? But when I thought of him, it was only the emotion that mattered. This homeliness I felt, the heat that comes from winter furnaces and burning wood. The warmth we only feel in cozy cottages, wrapped under blankets with a book. A love so deep it’d be enough to just be with him, be it platonic or romantic. And then, the softness of his lips to gently brush against mine.

             In our old days of friendship, we were a little immature, a little foolish. What could a pair of teens know about love? A silly crush? A discreet glance or two? But no. For me, it was the waves of thrill. My heightened senses. I felt things clearer, brighter, better. I felt awake and there and living. He lit my heart, and when we went our separate ways, I began to think it was no longer flammable. For many months, no other person mattered. Not with the weight he used to hold on me.

             I’ve often thought of what our paths would look like, intertwined. I longed for me to meet his family, for him to be a part of mine. I knew that beyond the playful look he carried, deep down inside was a responsible, thoughtful man. In certain moments of our days together, I’d see that inner character come out. His eyes would widen in concern, he’d sit up straighter and lean forward. There is a man inside that cares about his family. Who’d risk it all to help his friends, his loved ones. I admired it.

             This tenderness, affection, turns out it never really went away. My love for him stayed settled at the bottom of my heart. It pooled together in a little puddle, and as I take him in, it grows. He’s grown himself, I mean, we’re both adults now. So much has changed and yet he’s still the same. 

             He bends forward, closer to the quaint display. He chooses the heart-shaped cheesecake, topped with some cocoa flakes and truffles. As Anna packs it up for him, his long, thin fingers reach for his card. He swipes, says thank you. When turns to leave, he finally sees me. “Oh, hey!” he smiles, waves. I barely get a whisper in before I hear the doorbell chime, and then he’s gone.