Songs for Abrielle

by Mae Temson

  One weekend Abrielle had to go up country with her Grandparents for a family wedding. She really didn't want to go, she had never even met the relatives but you don't argue when it comes to Italian family. She went and I found myself at a loss. I took to the refuge of my room at my Grandparents. I am an avid reader, even then, but I could not concentrate on the novel I was in to at that time. I turned to music and tried to lose myself in my records. I sang along as I always did, always had done and then I realised that I was singing all of them to her. To Abrielle. The lyrics were all suddenly written about us. The love in the lyrics was all for her. The melodies made me sad, for her. I didn't know what to do with the feelings. I took up a notebook I had and started doodling and then found that my own words were forming. I had never considered poetry in any way but as I lay there the words were coming and they would not be ignored. I guess I didn't see them as poems, more like lyrics. I gave no thought to whether they were good or bad I just let them out. My feelings laid bare.

  She was gone for the whole weekend and it dragged for me like no time ever had. We had no mobiles, no internet, no face time, no texting. I just had to wait. I couldn't eat but I tried because I didn't want my Grandparents to worry. I don't think at first I really understood what was going on with me. I hardly slept but when I did I dreamt of her.

  It was so real. We were in the park, laying on our bank watching the clouds. We were laughing and pointing at the sky, suddenly Abrielle took my hand and held it. I swear in the dream I felt my stomach flip and my heart stop for a second.

  “Delta”, she said, sounding very serious suddenly “I must have to tell you this thing.”

  I turned to look at her and her eyes were fixed on me, dark dark pools that looked a little afraid,

  “I am having to try and say I think I, I think I..”

  She never got to finish that sentence because I made my move right then. I leaned over and I kissed her. I kissed her. Even in a dream it was sweet and thrilling. I can remember the feeling of excitement and fear all mixed up. I thought she would fight me off, hit me, run, but she didn't, she pulled me to her and we kissed full, deep, joy filled kisses until I woke with a start to find myself alone in the dark. My heart was pounding and my head was filled with Abrielle. Abrielle's kiss. I didn't sleep any more that night. I lay there re-living the dream and wondering what in hell I was going to do now. Would she run a mile if I told her? Of course she would. I must be a monster to feel like this mustn’t I? I couldn't handle the thought of losing her friendship. If I didn't tell her and she was feeling the same we may lose the chance for something couldn't we? She wouldn't be feeling like though would she because I was the only nut around here. I went back and forth, back and forth in my mind. She would hate me. She would tell her Grandparents and I would be banished back to London never to be spoken to again or she would actually feel the same and we would be forced apart because I had tainted her with my madness.

  There was another whole day to go until she and her family returned. It felt like it would go on forever. I just wanted to see her, to answer the tumult in my heart one way or another. I was convinced that she would take one look at me and know what had been happening in my head. I was sure she would see me for the freak I must surely be.

  4

  Sundays brought a small street market to my Grandparents area and I headed off to kill some time. I still had some money from the odd jobs and I liked to look for music and clothes. I think this is where my style choices began. Music papers now want to call it my signature style but honestly I just bought what I liked the look of and what was comfortable to me. I was a tomboy there is no denying that and I always liked the things that were a little different. I love a vintage men's jacket as much as I love something new. I like tailored as much as casual. I like men's shirts and women’s trousers, I like women’s tops and men's trousers. What I put together others would not dream of. I have always fought the record companies idea that I have a stylist. I am not being beautified, changed or titivated for anyone. I have never shopped in mainstream stores. Fashion trends have never appealed. I like what I like.

  The day was warm as I wandered. My head was full of Abrielle. I had a sudden compulsion to buy her something. Would she think me strange if I started buying her gifts? Friends could do that too right? I had already bought myself a shirt and had been thrilled to find a pirated live tape from a recent concert by one of my favourite bands. I liked a certain style of bangle and was busy looking at a second hand jewellery stall when I saw it. Nestled in among the chains and brooches was a cute silver and marcasite pendant, a little letter A. It looked delicate and old. I knew straight away that Abrielle would love it. I bought it and a lightweight silver chain. The Lady behind the stall asked me if it was a gift and when I said yes she produced a free box. I nestled that package in my jacket pocket and, now penniless, I walked home praying that I hadn't just gone overboard.

  That night brought more dreams of Abrielle but I woke the next day happy in the knowledge that she would be back at home this morning. I didn't want to appear too keen and I didn't want her to think I wasn't coming round. I was in such turmoil. I choked down the breakfast my Grandmother had made me and checked (for the hundredth time) my jacket pocket to make sure I had the pendant. I made my way to the Ricci house, wanting to be there, not wanting to be there. Desperate to see her and at the same time terrified that I would spoil things forever. Looking back I don't think I have ever felt that combination of emotions since. Potent, electrifying. Terrifying.

  Mr Ricci opened the door to me.

  “Abrielle, she is still in her room. Very tired from the wedding. Much driving, much dancing. We came home to here very late.”

  “Shall I come back later?” I asked, my heart sinking. I was not at all sure my legs would carry me home again,

  “No, no please. Go up. She would kill me if I sent you away. All the weekend she is talking Delta this and Delta that. I was taking her some coffee, you take it up. You are a good friend to my Abrielle. Please, go up.”

  I hesitated at the bedroom door. Would she really want visitors if she was still tired? I knocked,

  “Oh Papa, per favore, no...” Said a very sleepy voice “lasciami stare un po 'piu a lungo.”

  I edged the door open,

  “It's me, Delta. I hope you don't mind. Your Grandpa said to..” I was whispering though I had no idea why,

  “Delta? Thank goodness. Come in! And coffee too. Come in, come in.”

  The curtains were still drawn and it was hard to find a space to put down the coffee.

  “One minute, one minute.”said Abrielle, gathering herself and reaching for the bedside lamp. There she was. The most beautiful sight I had ever had. Tousled, sleepy, smiling. At that moment she was perfection to me.

  I found a place for the coffee. The half light was disconcerting and so I pulled the curtains. She motioned to me to come sit on the bed. Any other time up to now I would not have given it another thought but now everything seemed vastly altered to me. All my feelings were heightened. Everything she said carried different meanings. She went on and told me all about the wedding, doing her amazing impressions of people. Despite her individual use of English I could picture all that she described. She sometimes slipped in to Italian when she couldn't think of a word, she had always done it but now the sound of her speaking her own language was magical. She could have recited a shopping list to me and I would have followed her anywhere. It sounded so beautiful.

  She talked and she talked, pausing only to sip her coffee. I was happy just to drink her in. Having her back again was amazing. To be in the same room again was intoxicating.

  I so wanted to tell her how I felt but I didn't want to lose our friendship. I could feel the box in my pocket and was convinced I had over done it. I was about to make an excuse and leave her to dress for the day when I realised she had stopped talking and was just looking at me.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, “You look so sad. I am sorry
for all my talking. I do not stop it. I am knowing this but I cannot make stop it. I am not saying what I really want to say. I am talking too much to stop nerves.”

  “Nerves?” I ventured, “Why nerves?” To me she was the bright and confident one. I was the emotional wreck, a little shy, a little geeky and reserved, not her.

  “I am feeling this weekend like I am missing my best friend Delta all the time and this is okay right?” she whispered “but I am also feeling like I miss her, you, so much more than normal friend. You know maybe what I am saying?”

  She looked at me just the way she had in my dream. I could not believe it, my stomach flipped for real this time and before I knew I had, I took her hand. When she didn't baulk I was overcome with such a mixture of feelings. Relief, confusion, excitement, fear. I had been tying my self in emotional knots over it. I had been terrified of ruining everything and convinced it was better to keep it all in and here she was laying it all bare.

  “I have been feeling the same.” I said, not believing that I was actually saying this out loud “I have been thinking about you all weekend. I bought you a present.”

  I rummaged with my free hand, not wanting to let hers go now that we had made the connection. I found the box in my pocket and held it out to her.

  “For me? Really? You must not do this. We have worked had for this little money we have, you must not spend it on me.”

  “Take it please. I want you to have it.”

  She let go of my hand to take it but moved to sit so close to me that I could feel the warmth of her. Her leg was pressed to mine and I was sure she would hear my heart hammering. She undid the wrapping I had put it in and slowly opened the box. She lifted out the pendant by the chain and held it like it was long lost treasure. She studied it and turned it.

  “Bellissimo. Proprio com te, mio angelo.”

  I felt like I half knew what she was saying, what she was thinking and prayed I was right, but any doubts were cast far aside as she turned to me suddenly and pressed those sweet, full lips to mine. I knew in that moment that my world was never going to be the same again. She cupped her hand to my face as she kissed me, so delicately. I swear a part of my brain exploded right then. The sensations that filled me were indescribable. I returned the compliment and we fell in to the longest, sweetest kiss I have ever had in my life. Our hands found each other and our fingers entwined. I could feel the little silver chain and the pendant in her hand and silently thanked what ever force had led me to buy it.

  It seemed like an eternity as we sat there on her bed. Our hands began to explore each other a little more as we kissed. Outside the world roared on but we were living solely for each other in that instant. My hands found her waist, I slipped them under her night-shirt and the softness of her skin made me gasp. She pulled back a little to look at me, her hair falling in to her sleepy eyes,

  “Mio angelo.” she whispered and we kissed again. My hands moved up her back, stroking and exploring. Her hands found my neck, my shoulders, my arms. She had the lightest of touches. Our kisses became a little more intense and she began to find her way under my clothes. We kissed yet deeper still, neither wanting to stop.

  There was a knock at the bedroom door. We jumped apart like scalded cats, wild eyed and terrified of being discovered,

  “Come stanno le mie due ragazze? Ho portato il caffe per Delta.” came a voice as the door nudged open. It was Mr Ricci asking how his girls were doing and saying that he had brought coffee for me. If we blushed or looked at all suspicious he never said a word. I am sure to this day that he never realised what he had interrupted. I took the coffee and he stayed a while to chat about the wedding and asked me how my guitar playing was going. I thought he would never leave but Mrs Ricci saved the day as she called up to him for help in some domestic issue downstairs.

  I am sure that neither of us had breathed the whole time he was there and when he left the immediate silence was overwhelming. It was Abrielle who broke it,

  “Wow!” she grinned, “I thought for sure that he was catching us, this was how you say, too much close for being comfortable?”

  “Too close for comfort.” I said, still in shock after such a near miss, “Too close for comfort.”

  She moved to sit right next to me again and took my hand,

  “You will not be being scared away from me will you?”

  I looked at her, her beautiful dark brown eyes shining with new emotions, new excitement and was certain that she would be lodged in my heart for ever,

  “Never.” was all I could manage.

  We decided we oughtn’t arouse any suspicion and so she went to have her shower and get dressed while I drank my coffee and picked up Mr Ricci's guitar that had taken up residence in Abrielle's room. I practised some tunes I had almost perfected and then tried to ad lib a little of my own stuff, putting together some chords with the words I had been writing, singing them in my head. I was lost in a world of creation when Abrielle returned.

  “This is your music?” she beamed “This is amazing.”

  “It's not finished and I'm only trying things out.” I said hastily putting the guitar to one side,

  “Oh please don't stop for me!” she said, looking suddenly so sad that I picked up the guitar again “Play while I finish to get ready.”

  I strummed and she beautified. I watched her in awe and wonder as she did her hair, picked out accessories. Quiet, methodical, beautiful. She was as girlie as I was a tomboy. The room filled with the smells of her perfume, flowers and sunshine and I lingered over the thought of our first, real kiss. I could have stayed in that little room with her forever.

  We made no move to start again where we had left off and neither of us alluded to it as we went about having a day like so many that had passed in the weeks before. We did some shopping for Mrs Ricci and helped in the garden awhile. I was too scared to look at Abrielle for too long in case Mr Ricci realised what was, I hoped, simmering under the surface of everything we did.

  Mr Ricci gave us some money and we decided to go for ice creams. As we walked to the shop our hands brushed occasionally and the electricity was palpable. We took our ices and went to sit in a little park along the way. We sat in the shade of a huge tree, backs pressed to the bark. A few children were playing football and others were squealing with delight on the swings. It was a close, muggy day and the ice creams were melting quickly. We laughed as we raced to catch the drips. We stayed sitting there watching the children. Abrielle's hand found mine and as our fingers entwined it felt to me like we had the world at our feet, like we were invincible.

  We spent the last two weeks of the holidays this way. Stealing moments whenever we could. All very innocent when I look back at it now. Hours of kissing, hours and hours of sweet, thrilling kisses, tentative touches, timid explorations and so much hand holding but time and place was against us and we never got to take our relationship any further. All too soon we were being packed off back to our respective homes. London and Grosseto.

  The last day we were together was awful. It felt like the world was ending. We made pacts and promised vehemently to write every day. Like I say this was old school romance and way before the texting and face time days. I was first to be leaving for home. Abrielle gave me a silver ring that she had bought for me. I treasured it as though she had given me the world. I still have it on a chain around my neck today. We said our personal goodbyes in her room. Kissing and kissing until the moment I just had to go. I thought that I would never cope being apart from her. The next day my grandparents took me to the train station. I was just about to board when Abrielle came running down the platform. She had begged her Grandfather to bring her to say goodbye. She brought with her his guitar which he had decided last minute that I could have. I was so thrilled. We whispered our pact to write again and suddenly the guard was blowing his whistle and it was time to get on the train. That heavy door felt like it was slamming on my dreams. As we pulled away I saw Mr Ricci join Abrielle on the platform. I wav
ed and waved till they were all tiny dots in the distance. I found seat by the window and watched the distance between us grow. I cradled that guitar like it was Abrielle herself. That journey was one of the longest and saddest I have ever taken.

  We did write too. Regularly for quite some time. The anticipation of the postman’s arrival or the hope for the sight of a letter from her on the hallway table was too much to bear at times. The days when nothing arrived were suddenly gloomy and seemingly pointless. Our letters were full of longing and devotion. Full of our plans for the future which of course was going to include us being together forever. For a while there was nothing else that mattered to me at all. I went on writing poems, lyrics and as the guitar playing improved I began to write my own tunes and put the poems to them. This was how the mini set of songs we are singing now was born.

  Over time the letters became less frequent from Abrielle. She was a year older than me and got to college before me. She found new friends, new interests. My grandparents would tell me snippets of news of her that they got from her grandparents, Mr and Mrs Ricci. Some time later Mr Ricci was taken ill suddenly and died very quickly after. I wanted to go to the funeral but my parents could not afford to send me. I wanted to pay my respects to him but more than anything I was sure that Abrielle would be there. I was so desperate to see her. I was certain she would come from Italy to be with her Grandmother. Whether she did or not I never found out. Mrs Ricci went back to Italy to live with Abrielle's mother and father and the letters, along with the snippets of news finally came to a stop. I was heart broken.

  From the Album “Ice Bullet”

  Track seven

  In to Light

  From darkness you stepped out

  with you there came light.

  From darkness, an angel

  gave me second sight.

  With you I'm a fighter,

  without you? So lost

  Dancing on cut glass