The first time I met Dalida we were at a music festival
I thought she was pretty and was jealous because she had a Swiss accent and was exotically foreign (and was short, skinny and tiny like me)
That first day, we danced till the bars in the valley closed. We had to go back to different hotels with our lads, so we stayed up texting for the rest of night.
The second time we met, we blew everyone else off. It was just us against the world. She ended up staying at my house for days.
We both agreed on the first-second day, that we were worried it would be awkward. The first day we met we were so high on life, so connected to the music. We worried it was all a whimsical fantasy. It wasn't.
On that first-second day we showed up dead sober on life and were instantly hooked on each other again.
English is her third language. She speaks five.
She lived in New York through 911.
She fled the Bosnian genocide when she was 9. She lived in a refugee house for a few years.
I met one of her friends from the refugee house. It was interesting - they both said, we're not sure if we're friends or have a lot in common - but we have a bond and unwavering trust.
I have no said comrades.
When I asked her about Bosnia Herzegovina tonight, tears came to her eyes. She said people are saying there may be another war. She shook.
I cannot imagine fleeing from my home and leaving all the people behind that she did.
I look at her face as she speaks. She's goddamn beautiful.
We have both x'ed out numerous people for lack of commonality and even more based on trust.
She makes me laugh when she doesn't understand what I'm saying (because English is her third language)
She makes me feel ignorant (in a i still love myself despite my lack of perfection kind of way)
She is perfect
I'll never forget those hot and sticky summer nights, holding hands and laughing on the white sand beach with the warmth of a bonfire and the light of the moon
Rolling around in the sand
Not caring that we were knocking over our already warm beers.
I won't go on more because I'll come off like a pervert (all those who know me are now laughing hysterically)
...but she is...perfect.
We share the same blight.
We cannot receive.
She graduated first in class, in another I came third.
Would you believe me if I told you she runs one of the top Swiss Banks? (she does).
I remember the day she left.
I may seem emotional to people who don't know me or see me in the day to day.
I'm not. At all.
I'm emotional in the sense that I love so deeply. People tell me day in and day out that they feel so calm and nurtured around me. I give off a strong emotional vibe...because I truly, honestly love.
but I save my tears like a Mormon saves themselves for their wedding night (with their first 'spouse')
...for the people who are worth it.
Well, when Dalida left, we were standing outside a seedy Robina tavern, and I broke down.
I choked through the snotty tears the words: Dalida - this doesn't happen everyday. People like us don't always get to meet. These connections aren't common. I. Don't. Know. When. I'll. See. You. Again.
I felt ashamed for being weak.
I felt scared because I truly did not know when I would see her again.
Life comes full circle
I don't generally feel like I 'need' people in my life.
But at this time I do. Dalida arrives in the nick of time.
And yes, that is a nuance for all the uncourageous, opportunist Calgarians who cower and stammer with unsure feet at the stead of mount pleasant...waiting...for nine years...for the goddamn recycle man.
Dalida said she was looking on social media for me weeks and months ago to tell me she was arriving. She said it felt strange she could not find me, but was busy and let it go.
She said right before she left, a message popped up on her phone. It was me saying where are you, I feel kind of alone.
I need her now
Our ship has set sail
We'll call it The Harlequin
I feel evil for stealing this future time with her, so we both can heal
My Darling Dalida
Our time in Australia has just begun
It started with a long browse of the wine selection
Talk of the best Australian wineries (and our distain for Australian cuisine)
and photos of our favourite courses from at least 2 star Michelin restaurants
It also started with tears from the past
the stories from people who share our opposite blight
Those people who take and cannot give
Those people who have a sleuth of sticky cobwebs that grow between the bones of their inner ribs and the grey matter of their minds, to their terrifyingly grey countenance.
I do not suspect any reader knows what I am talking about it.
Isn't this a story about a girls trip afterall?
Our reunion has not ended yet, but it will smashingly.
My darling Daleeds. Thank you for showing up, conveniently, in my time of need.