Bella

I loved her–devotedly, singularly, unflinchingly.  She humored me.  She loved another.  She deceived me with her kindness, made me believe I was worth something to her.  But her heart was his, and she married him.

Devastation drove my hands to work.  I built a boat, a sea-worthy vessel, with my own strength and skill.  Gingerly I crafted her, patiently, cherishing precision and beauty.  I thought of her with every stroke of the paintbrush, and I named my vessel for her:  Ivana.

I took to the open sea.  I was lonely out there, but no lonelier than I had been back on land.  I lost track of the days.  The wind started to talk to me. I talked to myself.  I forgot things:  simple words, commonly known facts, faces.

It is not good for man to be alone.

The next time I saw land, I sailed until I touched it.  I docked Ivana on the coast of Chile, and I started over.  I rented a small apartment on a busy street, took a job at the market, and wrote about my time at sea.

A girl bought a mango from me, just one.  Not one for her husband, not one for her lover, just one for herself.  She was dazzling—golden, inky, mechanically perfect.  I asked her name, and watched her lips wrap around the word “Isabella”.  She looked me in the eye, and I loved her.

The next day she returned, and the day after that, and day after day.  She never left my thoughts.  My stories centered around her.  I forgot Ivana and my time at sea.  All I could think of was Isabella, beauty in its truest form.

We walked to the shore, void of any others.  I held her hand, tiny and smooth, in mine.  Touching her thrilled me, and I never wanted to stop.  I picked a flower from a tree.  I tucked it behind her ear, brushed her cheek with my thumb, cradled her head in my hand, pulled it toward me, whispered “Bella” in her ear.  I kissed her cheek, and then her perfect lips.  We took a few steps and found a place to rest—an old abandoned boat, rusted and weather-worn.  I held her there, close to me, and kissed her again and again—her cheeks, her lips, her ears, her neck, her hands, her fingers, her hips, her thighs—in the vessel I named Ivana.