Moonlight over the Mediterranean

I’ve called this story Moonlight over the Mediterranean as the moon was present throughout it all, a third party in a love affair to which I’ll compare all other loves. A love affair that ended as abruptly as it started. You appeared and disappeared, vanished like you never existed. Though I question your existence, whatever happened that night changed me.

So, dear reader, I hope you have heard this story before, I hope it was told to you by a young woman whose hair was black, skin tanned and eyes that set you ablaze. Whose way of life is like running with bulls, a perilous thrill. I hope you’ve met her, I hope you know her. Dear reader, help me find her.

To get to our story, we must begin with mine. I was her opposite, had she been an option on a menu, I’d have chosen something safer. They say variety is the spice of life, but I liked life plain. After eating the same pasta dish for a third night in a row, I strolled down the promenade to find an empty stretch of beach to get away from the noisy tourists. Being on the Costa del Sol in the fading light of the autumn sun, empty patches were still hard to come by. The sky had turned from a mystic blue to a dark indigo. The streetlights combined their reflection on the rippling waves with the trail of the silver moon. Along the promenade, I came across a concrete pier flanked with huge boulders. The dim lit pier proved a deterrent for tourists but came as a relief for me.

As I approached the pier, I noticed a hollow plop disturbing the dark but never sleeping Mediterranean Sea. I listened as the sound broke the monotonous roll of the waves, until a voice caused a jolt that stiffened my body. It was in Spanish and as it saw me jolt, a giggle followed from the beach beside the pier. A silhouette appeared and continued to chat in Spanish. I calmed my body enough to notice it was a girl’s voice. I had no idea what she was saying, so I turned to walk away.

  “English?” She said with an accent. I turned to her. “Can you make them dance on the water?”

“What?”

“Make the stone dance.” her hand bounced along an invisible surface.

“Skip them?” I mimicked her hand gesture.

“sí.”

“Yea.”

“Come.” Her hand rose to reach mine. “Vamos Ingles,” she said in that Spanish tone that sounds harsher than it’s meant. It’s a trap, I thought, I glanced to the moonlit beach to spot her accomplices, but we were alone.

I stepped back. “I’ve got to go.”

“No hay problema, but watch this, Ingles.” she slung a stone into the darkness, I heard it skim the surface and sink. “That was 20,” she said cheering.

“You couldn’t count that.”

“I could, beat that!”

“No thanks,” I said, but I was intrigued by this silhouette, she had that irresistible energy that some possess, that pulls you in like gravity to their mass. I, on the other hand, had the social skills of a brick. She swung a bag over her shoulder and climbed onto the pier before walking off towards the lights of the promenade. I stood a moment chuckling at the strange interaction with the mysterious silhouette. The chuckle was followed by an immediate feeling of regret, she was gone. Until her voice sounded from the promenade.

“Come, Ingles!”

I followed her call like a puppy and found her waiting, fully lit up not only by the lights but her smile too. She had that pure Spanish black hair, black like their bulls, black as their rooms with the shutters and thick curtains closed. Her skin was tanned, that beautiful olive colour that comes naturally to these parts. Her walnut brown eyes sparkled as they too looked me over for the first time. I smiled back hoping she also liked what she saw.

Between the beach and the promenade was a wall on which a moped was leaned against. She moved towards it and spun her bag to her front. I watched as she rummaged around before pulling out a bottle. She unscrewed the cap and drank deep from its neck. I glanced at her hands, her nails were perfectly rounded, her fingers small and the flesh rosy pink. Her red full lips sealed shut and that cute hand wiped the drops from her lips. She passed the bottle.

“Cheap but good,” she said, flashing me a smile.

I took the bottle and looked at it as if I knew all about wine, but I passed it back.

“No thanks.”

“Sí,” she said and pushed the bottle back to me. “It’s bad to drink alone in Spain.” Her eyes ignited that it wasn’t an offer. I lifted the wine to my lips and let it pour; sweetness burst amongst my taste buds as the wine coated my mouth, I drank hard and fast as lovers kiss after time apart. She put her hand on my arm.

“Slow, Ingles.” her touch intensified sweetness. I smiled and passed her back the bottle. She scanned the street before asking, “what’s the plan?”

“I should go home.” I said.

“And do what?”

“Sleep.”

“Sleep is for the dead, Ingles!” she smiled. I laughed and moved to leave, but she pulled me back in by tapping the moped. “Let’s go, Ingles.” I looked the moped over, it looked worn to say the least.

“Is it safe?”

“Is anything safe, Ingles?” A devilish grin spread across her face. My brain tried to warn me, but the sweet wine seemed to soothe my concerns and before I knew it, I’d swung my leg over the moped and she kicked us off.

We swerved down the promenade, wind pulling at my shorts and T-shirt. “Hold me,” she said. I grasped her waist and she giggled. The breeze lifted her hair over her bag and into my face, it smelt like the sea, and I inhaled it letting all my senses enjoy her. We turned off the promenade and entered a residential area, the streets were darker and quieter.

The deeper we went, the more the road seemed to lurch towards the sky, so much that I started to slide back with incline. The concrete road ended, and two trails emerged. One steep and rocky, the other smooth and peppered with pebbles. She took the steep and rocky trail of course. The poor moped scratched and clawed up the steep hill before giving up. We dragged the bike to the peak, but before we left it, she turned to me.

“Close your eyes,” she said and took my hand and pulled me forward. I’ll admit, I didn’t close them completely as we were heading to the edge of a cliff. “Open them,” she whispered.  

It was as if we had risen to the moon, and we were looking back down over the stars. Below us the town spread out, its lights glowing up towards us and the nights sky.  

“Beautiful, sí?” Beautiful didn’t do it justice. She let me breathe in silence, I felt her eyes on me, watching me experience a this for the first time.  

“What’s your name?” I said without breaking eye contact with the view.

“Call me… Melina, don’t tell me your real name, let’s make a game.” I glanced to her, her smile spelt out adventure. “What’s your name?”  

My mind jammed and of all the names in the world, I couldn’t think of one. “Adam.”

“Adam, I like that,” she said looking back to lights of the town. What she didn’t know was that I hadn’t played the game.

“Have you met El Toro?”

“Who?”

“Look up.”

I looked and saw a huge dark figure against the orange glow of the streetlights. A figure with four legs and two horns. El Toro, the bull of Fuengirola.

“El Toro keeps monsters away,” she giggled. “That’s what mama says.” Melina climbed to reach El Toro’s body. “Lovers put their name on him, Fernando and Maria, Raul and Maria, Andreas and… Maria, Vaya! Bien Maria.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out her keys, I heard the scratch between key and wood.  “M+A,” she read as she carved and turned reaching for my hand. I took it and she stepped off and into my grip. She slid down my body until we were face to face. Before I knew it, her lips had met mine, my stomach fluttered, and my knees buckled.

“Hola, Adam.”

My tongue had melted with the kiss and all I could do was grin. I placed her down and reached for the wine, but she pulled it from my grasp.

“No, El Toro.” She lifted both hands to her head still holding the bottle with one, she pointed her index fingers from her forehead. “Do this,” she said smiling. I did as she asked pointing my index fingers from my forehead. “El Toro run at this.” She held the bottle out from her body as a matador’s cape. “Vamos El Toro,” she said laughing.

“No,” I said embarrassed.  

“You want your prize, El Toro, you must win it.”

“I can’t,” I said feeling the blood rush to my cheeks.

“You can, stop thinking and charge.” I walked, fingers on head towards the bottle. “That’s no bull.” The tone was back, so this time I did as she asked and charged it. As I closed in, she pulled it from my horns before I could ram it. “olé,” she yelled. I came round again and again, she laughed and chanted in Spanish. Her fun was contagious, intoxicating, I was drunk on wine and her laughter. The final time I went straight for her, my horns morphed into hands and grabbed her, we tumbled to the ground giggling as we rolled on top of each other. My lips tried to find hers, but she squirmed away. “El Toro doesn’t kiss the matador,” she said laughing as she wriggled.

“Do they drink wine?” I grabbed the wine and jumped to my feet and poured it down my throat. She laughed from the ground, and I stopped my victorious drinking to help her up. With her hand in mine, we walked towards the moped. I pulled the bike from the ground and sat on nodding for her to take the backseat.

“You can’t drive.”

“Stop thinking and sit.” This sudden suave swagger came as a surprise to me, but since I was no longer me, but El Toro, I could do anything. “How do I start it?” She clicked a button and kicked down on a lever and the bike rattled to life. She jumped on and I turned the handle and the bike leapt forward. “Hold on, Melina La matador.”

We bounced down the trail bumping on every stone and hole until we hit the paved road were the bike sailed smooth. We rounded the corner and passed onto the promenade back to the busy night life of the seaside town.

The warm sea air flooded our bodies and Melina crept closer, I could feel her firm breasts on my back and a smile spread across my face. I glanced to the left and saw the silver tail of moonlight flicker on the Mediterranean Sea.

She tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to a gap in the beach wall. I turned and came to a stop as the bike hit sand. Hand in hand we walked down towards the water’s edge where the waves rolled up to kiss our shoes. She hugged me close and pressed her head to my chest.

“I’ve lived here all my life, but tomorrow I leave,” she whispered.

“Why? this is paradise.”

“Haven’t you noticed paradise is never where we are born? Paradise is place you must search for, you have found it here, I must look.”

“Where’s your paradise?”

“I don’t know, somewhere new.” I didn’t answer, I didn’t know how. Her head rose to meet my gaze

“Pretend you love me. I know it’s a game but say it anyway.”

I looked at her draped in the moonlight and said, “I love you,” again not playing.  

“I love you too.” She lifted her head and kissed me with a fierce fiery fury. Her hands sprung to my t-shirt, pulling it over my head, tossing it to the sand, where our bodies landed shortly after. Our bodies moved like the tide, guided by our ever-watching moon. Our breathing was deep, drinking in every moment until we collapsed in each other’s arms resting on the cool sand, naked beneath the stars. 

Her head lifted. “Was it your first time?”

I nodded. “Was it yours?”

“It was Melina’s first time, but I wish it hadn’t been hers. I’m jealous of her.”

“What’s your real name?”

A sadness glazed over her, I could tell from her eyes that something was broken, and Melina was the cast keeping the fracture stabilized. “I’m Melina tonight.”  

“I wish I was more like you,” I said looking up into the heavens. “Brave.”

“You are brave. You followed a stranger on a bike.” She sat up and peered out to sea, I joined her. “My grandfather was a bullfighter, El torero. Not a famous one but a good one. Do you know what he said when I asked him if he was ever afraid? Fear thrives in every part of life, fear of crossing the road, riding a horse, loving too hard. There’s more fear than danger in our life. Does the bull not feel fear? Yes. Does it stop it from attacking? No. Life is not for watching, it’s for living, life lived in fear is not a life lived.”

“What are you afraid of?” I asked looking to her.

“Of not living.”

She leaned onto me pushing me into the sand. We pulled on our clothes and rested in each other’s arms as the waves sang us to sleep.

When I woke, the moon, the moped and Melina were gone, replaced by the rising sun. I roamed the streets, the hills for her, but she had disappeared like a stone skimmed into the sea.

Since that night I’ve visited the little town on the Costa del Sol many times, leaving notes with our friend El Toro in the hopes you might visit too. I’d look for that black hair, those sweet hands, and that dangerous smile. So much time has passed, I’m not sure I would recognise her anymore, those images have faded in the sharp light of memory, but those feelings you awoke still burn as bright as the moonlight over the Mediterranean Sea.

If you read this Melina, please know I faced my fears, I stared down the horns of bulls and came out victorious. I’m ready to return to paradise. I hope you found it somewhere and you are still as dangerous, fiery, and still Melina.

Te amo, El torero.