Our Thread

Bésame, bésame mucho…

“That’s a song by this Mexican lady. What’s her name...? Consuelo Velázquez.”

“Do you know it, grandpa?”

“Of course, I know it! It was playing as background music the day I met your grandma. It was also playing days after D-Day.”

.

. * * * * *

.

Bésame, bésame mucho…

He could barely listen to the song from the radio, but he recognized it immediately. It had been a couple of months since the last time he saw that girl, but, despite all the chaos, all the darkness, her memory remained there as a lighthouse, always present, always giving him a reason to move on.

Como si fuera esta noche la última vez…

“Everything had happened so fast.” The beach—the girl—the war—the girl—the sea—the death—the nonsense—the pain—the pain—the girl. His mind had been all mixed-up. Would she receive a letter? Maybe not – why would he bother then? But then again, what if he only had that chance to let her know how he felt. “Everything is so uncertain now.”

Que tengo miedo a perderte, perderte después.

But he had survived! He somehow managed to. He must tell her now, what if he is gone tomorrow? The recursive thought in his head kept on hunting him: “Everything is so uncertain now.” He should’ve done it before, but it was never too late. The song seemed to have made its magic: he took a pen, a paper, ran to the sea and started to write.

.

___________________________________________

July 07th, 1944

Hello Lana,

I hope you could continue your way back home safe and sound. I am writing to you from a now very calm beach (at least compared to what it was days ago). Our bunker is very close from here. This place, you would like it: the roar of the ocean is strong and from time to time there is a gentle breeze.

I wanted to write to you before to tell you what happened after we met that evening, but I did not know if you would receive this letter: if you were able to get back home, if it would reach the address you gave me… So many stupid doubts, but, at least I was always sure about what I did and I certainly want you to know what happened, even if this is the last time you hear from me.

You know, when we met, I was not in a good place, apart from the circumstances, the relationship with this girl was not going anywhere: I always kept on feeling lonely – it felt meaningless. But when I met you that evening, I couldn’t believe it was so easy for me to express myself, even when I am not used to talking much. And I knew, when I held your hand on the beach that you were the one for me, a certainty that I have never felt before. When you gave me the address where you were heading to, I felt it like a little thread of hope that I had to hold on to.

I know the way we said goodbye was not the best (me telling you that there was someone else), but I had to, I had to be honest with you. I know that all this may sound abrupt and perhaps crazy, but honestly I am not playing any games (I ended that relationship days after we met.) After all I have seen these last days, I know now what I have to do and that is to be with you, even if it is for now through this exchange – I will hold tight to this thread.

Looking forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,

Nick

____________________________________________________

.

It was a sunny morning when they said there was a letter for her. “For me?” Who on Earth could it be? Her mom? Her dad? Her brother? Who else knew about her whereabouts? As she saw his name on the envelope, her face lit up with a grin, only to fade away seconds later as she remembered that he was with someone else. And yet, “It was from him! From when?”

“Could you help us here, miss?”

“Yes, sure.”

The hours passed by. All she could think of was the content of the letter, but it was indeed a hectic day at the hospital. The hours kept on passing by. It was already past midnight when she could finally read it. Her feelings and emotions were all over the place: Peace—Surprise—Astonishment—Disbelief—Happiness—Excitement—Excitement reaching a crescendo and gradually turning into an incontrollable urge to answer back.

.

_____________________________________________

August 2nd, 1943.

Hello Nick,

It was nice to imagine the sea and the breeze you described. (Wish I could be in a place like that soon, at least in dreams.) Thank you for that.

I am a bit speechless now. I do not know what to think. A mixture of emotions could well describe how I feel. I also felt as if we were breathing a different air when we were there on that beach; but then I noticed you were a bit uncomfortable after you held my hand. I was happy to hear the reason from you: even when it was a bit of a painful relief (for I didn’t say anything wrong, but it meant we could not be together), I secretly felt proud of you, for your honesty and somehow that way you gained my respect, my trust: I know that you mean what you say.

“All we have is now” we said then. And just as I cherished that moment we spent together in my heart with no regrets and no bad feelings whatsoever, I will do the same with every single letter that from now I receive from you. Let’s keep on holding tight to this thread!

I know we will be together one day.

Read you soon,

Lana

PS The address I gave to you belongs to a hospital – I am working here as a voluntary nurse. Please share with me how things are up there: everything both the lights and shadows. I want to be with you through them all.

________________________________________________

.

. * * * * *

.

“The exchange, or ‘our thread’ as we called it continued. (I may have all the letters somewhere. We put them all together in a box – it must be somewhere in the attic.) But yes, I was writing to your grandma almost every day, even in my mind. Going through each line over and over again, so that I would not forget.”

“You just reminded me of a song, grandpa.”

She played the song, went forward on her tape recorder:

.

I’m taking her home with me.

All dressed in white, she’s got everything I need…

Pharmacy keys

She’s falling hard for me, I can see it in her eyes…

She acts just like a nurse

with all the other guys.

.

“That’s pretty accurate!”

“Do you miss her?”

“Every day, sweetie. Every day.”