Page 44 of I Dreamt That You Loved Me
Gabriel shifted in his seat and our knees touched.
I could have pulled back. I could have ensured that no part of my body was touching any part of his. I could have lowered my eyes.
I did none of those things.
The intensity in his gaze mirrored mine and we both leaned in almost imperceptibly like flowers bending toward the sun.
Time ceased to exist and the noisy clatter of plates and utensils and waitresses shoutingMama!I need two bowls of borscht and kasha varnishkesto the stalwart cook muffled to a distant hum.
When the food arrived, we pulled back, but our knees still touched.
I devoured a potato pancake drenched in sour cream and applesauce, speared a pierogi and ate a bowl of steaming borscht and slabs of challah bread like a heroine in a Russian novel who had just survived the longest, cruelest winter of her life.
I can’t remember ever being this hungry.
“How are things with Annika?” Gabriel asked. That was one way to ruin my appetite. “Did you work things out?” He looked so hopeful.
Annika was still a sore subject, so I drank my coffee and evaded the question altogether. “Let’s talk about you.”
He pushed his empty plate away and leaned back in his seat, stretching his arms over his head and cracking his knuckles like he was preparing to go into the ring for the fight of his life. “What do you want to know?”
“Oh, you know, the usual. Past relationships, your childhood, what you do every day, your dirty secrets and guilty pleasures…Just give me your whole life story.”
“Wow. Okay.” Gabriel laughed and drummed his fingers on the table. “Let’s see. I don’t feel guilty about anything that gives me pleasure. I’m going to plead the Fifth on dirty secrets. For now,” he added. “My childhood was lonely. My past relationships have humbled, enlightened, soared and crashed. Ultimately, they taught me that I needed to grow the fuck up and figure out who I am.”
“And have you? Figured it out?”
“I know who I’m not,” he said, leaving it at that. “And what do I do every day? I sing for my supper. I play organs in churches. Write lyrics in laundromats. I listen to music. Every single day. Rock, punk, metal, soul, jazz. French chanteuses and African drummers and Pakistani Sufi poets. I play my guitar religiously and if I didn’t have music…”
“You would perish and die,” I finished.
He nodded solemnly. “A life without music wouldn’t be worth living.”
I didn’t want to hear that, but chances were good that he would always have music in his life, so I contented myself with that.
Just to be safe though, I asked if he was a drug addict.
“An addict? No. I’ve dabbled. Cocaine’s not for me. Tried mushrooms a few times and I can see the merits but I’m not jonesing for my next one. I believe that weed should be legalized and I’ve never tried heroin.”
Gabriel propped his elbow on the table, rested his head on his hand and stared at me for what felt like an eternity. Normally, I would feel self-conscious if someone looked at me that intensely, but with Gabriel, I felt like I was basking in a warm glow.
“Your turn. Tell me your dirty secrets, Cleo.”
“You never told me yours,” I reminded him.
“A secret for a secret,” he said. “Tell me something you’ve never told anyone.”
I could have pleaded the Fifth too, and that’s probably what Ishouldhave done, but I rose to the challenge and took it as a dare.
“Okay.” I cleared my throat. “When I was eight, my mom and I were at the flea market. I was a little magpie, always attracted to shiny things, so I wandered off to check out a table of vintage jewelery and fell in love with a brooch. It looked like a golden bird’s nest with a little pearl and a robin’s egg blue stone nestled inside. I wanted itsobadly...”
“Oh no, Cleo.” Gabriel laughed. “You didn’t.”
I covered my face. “I did!” I lowered my hands. “When the woman’s back was turned, I slipped the brooch into my pocket, and all the way home, I was filled with nervous excitement. But when I hid in my bedroom to admire it, I felt so guilty that I couldn’t even look at it. So I stuffed it under my mattress and tried to forget about it.”
“And where’s the brooch now?”
“I took it over to St. Mark’s Place and sold it to a guy selling stolen loot on a blanket. I think he gave me a few quarters for it but keeping the money would have defeated the whole purpose. So I ran to the nearest bodega and put the money into one of those charity fundraiser cans on the counter. I think it was the March of Dimes.”
