Leaving for Israel

The tarpaulin tugs gently at it's strings, flapping over our heads. I watch a drop of water trail lazily down the side of my glass, magnifying the air bubbles in the cider within as it passes them by. The acrylic paint of the table chips easily under my fingernails, years of repainting having made the surface soft yet brittle. Past the ageing wooden deck and out into the ocean, the deep blue of the ocean is quickly being matched by the darkening sky. Stars have begun to show their faces, but the moon is absent tonight. Perhaps it will make a late appearance. 

I close my eyes, and just listen to your voice from across the table, rising and falling with the wind. Your voice manages to maintain a whisper and yet be heard over the wind. A sultry yet disarming voice, that puts me completely at ease. The cider has helped that along too. You speak of where you are going, what you want to do. Dreams of Brazil, of riches and fame. Of adventures in the Middle East and treks across deserts. I have no idea where you have come from, of what you have done. But the tapestry you are painting, it's drawing me in. I can see you there, and me as well. Hand in hand as we browse through shops in Morocco. My hands around your waist as we stare out upon Paris from the Eiffel tower. My lips on yours. You haven't mentioned me once, but I see it anyways. 

I lean forward in my chair, head held in my hands, as I listen with rapt attention, eyes still closed as your story plays out in my mind. 

I feel a change in the winds, and open my eyes. And I see it, out there in the distance, just over your shoulder. I reach out my hand, without a word. You look at me puzzled, but I simply look knowingly at you. You stand up, and I gently tug you around the table, to my own side. The cider has emboldened me: I pull you close, and you fall down into my lap, sitting across from it. Your eyes begin to fill with fury and embarrassment, but I simply point out to the distance. There, we see a sailboat, highlighted by the setting sun behind us. A golden sail winking at us. it draws close. 

We both watch in silence. At some point you put your arm around my shoulder, and now your head is resting against my own. 

The sailboat draws close, close enough that we can hear the distant cries of the crew echo across the water, as their boat readies to pass us. 

I can hear your heartbeat in your chest. You take my hand into your own, gently caressing it. 

We hear the waves lapping the side of our boat as the sail passes. It shines a single light out across our boat, dazzling our eyes for a moment. Our boat lets out a single blast of it's horn in reply. And then it was passed.