Corcovado

by G.C. Collins

She had sat down next to me, spinning a finger in her hair, leaning in close even though there was no need for it. She had asked if I still spoke the mother tongue. Of course, I said. And then she started to speak, first a trickle, then a creek, and then a waterfall, and I was nearly beside myself, hearing my tongue spoken so eloquently as it came out of her perfect mouth, vampire-red lips, shaped by white teeth that stunned even in the half dark. My words in comparison felt like roasted mud cracking in the sun. She asked, how long have you been doing this? Three years now. You have such a beautiful voice. Oh, thank you. Is it hard? You get used to it, like you would anything else. Where are you from? Just outside of Jelgava, but I could barely remember it. And parents? Ah. I looked around as if they were going to be sitting there in the audience. They're in America. Have you seen them recently? She was staring as if she was going to cry. I had to look away. No, I haven't, it's been a few years. You miss them? I miss everything.

Augusto picked through each note of a D flat minor, like an elevator door chime announcing its imminent departure – my ‘get ready’ chord. Ah, I must go now, but I hope you will stay. Of course. I am not going anywhere. This song is for you, I said, then quickly turned away like the shy little girl I have always been.

The stage lights felt too bright and I cast my eyes down. My shoes felt too drab, my ankles too puffy, and the cords at my feet like coiling snakes. The English words in the song’s intro were like rocks in my mouth. I rolled them around to soften them as much as I could before I relaxed into the Portuguese verses. Those words dissipated like puffs of smoke towards the lights.

All the while my skin itched as if I was being taken apart. I chanced a glance toward the crowd, and she was watching me with a hunger that took me aback. For a moment I saw myself, saw the light turn to shadow through spaces under my chin, under my arms, and between the slits in my dress.

In the middle of the second verse, right before Augusto's solo and right after Mark's, I decided to fall in love. Almost immediately, I began to tremble on stage. I swayed more to counteract my physical disintegration. Every passing moment made it harder to lift my eyes and see if she was still sitting alone looking at me, or if her husband had come by to check on her, or if a girlfriend was sipping from her watered-down drink.

At the end of the song, I got sick of looking at my shoes and saw her smiling above the blur of her clapping hands. I allowed myself a smile too, aching to be close again. Every second I wasn’t next to her was a second that someone else would steal her words away from me. 

Mark started playing the next song and an unwanted memory settled over me. Last year, I spent every night looking out at the ship’s enormous wake from the jogging track, letting the ocean dark pour into me. I thought once I was filled from head to toe, I would drift overboard and be pulled underneath. The turbulence would rip me in half and then – pounding footsteps. Tearing away from the dark, I came face to face with an insane guest who somehow found stamina to exercise on a cruise ship in the middle of the night. It was a different person every night. Though the dark sloshed out of me, I slunk back to my room with another stone in my heart – detritus from the night ocean.

Somehow the songs were sung and I was at the bar, staring at the menu that I’ve already seen a million times. When she made her way to me, I asked, will you stay by my side tonight? She leaned in close, her lips brushing my ear. Do you like me? I’ve fallen in love with you. Okay. Okay? But she’s already grabbed my hand and pulled me deep into the night.

G.C. Collins is a writer living high in the mountains of the US. One day they will finally come down, move to the coast, and fulfill their destiny as a senior surfer/writer.