The Final Chill
The Final Chill
As I was walking past Sammy’s Restaurant, I had to pause when I heard tradional Greek music performed by a live band. It’s the first time the sounds of live music were heard from this neighbourhood family restaurant. I stood before the window and was momentarily entertained by partygoers dancing to their folk music. It was very similar to Nakidahada. In which they all held hands and danced around in a circle.
Watching the foot moves reminded me of a wedding I attended with my fiancé about twenty years ago. The bride was a Jewish princess and the wedding was held at a posh ballroom. The groom immigrated from one of peasant villages in Portugal. He and Tony made their money off the proceeds of crime.
Life with Tony was good. We never had to worry about the bills. We dined out every evening. In the mornings, he cooked breakfast. He didn’t believe in Corn Flakes or Cheerios. He insisted on real food. Usually, he would fry Lechos. It was a simple meal, fried green peppers, onions, mushrooms, tomatoes and one hot banana pepper. When it was done, Tony would throw an egg in it, stir and serve. This was Tony’s Slovakian comfort food It was delicious!
Music, people dancing and celebrating an event brought me back to that place and time.
The chill of the night brought me back to the present. My mutt needed his walk. So did I. I needed to walk things off.
There are four stages to grief; denial, anger, bargaining and acceptance. During the six months in which Larry and I parted, I believe I must have gone through all of them, not necessarily in that order. This particular evening, I was feeling anger.
Separating from Larry was emotionally and mentally wrecking. Leaving Tony was a breeze. The only breeze I could feel this evening was from the chilly November night. During these past six painful and confusing months the radio station I’ve been listening to was playing a new song titled “The East Wind.” I remember only these lyrics; “the east wind, the laziest wind, it doesn’t go around you, it goes right through!.” I could feel the east wind pierce my heart just as much as the last words Larry spoke to me while we were lying in bed. His deep dark eyes looked directly into mine and passionately declared that his vision of his perfect death was that he would be impaled on top of his lover and live long enough to watch the blood pour from her eyes. Then he would die. Intuitively, I knew I was not the lover he was referring to. He didn’t see the blood in my eyes.
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