Stranger
It’s a holiday I deserve. I look around as the ferry glides gently into the familiar harbour and approaches the simple wooden piers. Nearly ten years have passed since I left, though it looks like nothing has changed here. I think back to that last long summer on the island.
I was taking my first steps as a man. I got a job at the harbour, which mainly consisted of greeting the yachts and small ferries that came to the island, securing the ropes and leading the tourists to their accommodation. Smile and help them with their bags, we were told; you’ll get a nice tip, and they might ask you to run errands for some extra cash. They weren’t filthy rich, the tourists; they were the ones who wanted an affordable paradise.
I was only a week on the job when he arrived: the handsome stranger, as I thought of him. I unnecessarily helped with his small amount of luggage and led him up the hill to his bed and breakfast.
“Will you show me around the island?” he asked.
“There’s no need,” I laughed. “You can’t really get lost. There’s the one shop up the hill from the harbour, and–”
I stopped when I saw the smile on his face. My throat went dry.
“Sure, I finish work in a couple of hours. Or an hour and three quarters, even.”
I went back after work, nervous. We walked around the island, I led the way. Pointing out the obvious sites calmed me. Then we went back to his, and I was easily seduced. We spent the night together, and the next, and most of my time off work, really. He didn’t tell me about his life at home, but we discussed films and music and travel.
“I’ve never been to Spain, I’d love to go,” I said after he told me about his time on the Catalan coast. We were lying in bed.
“Go to Barcelona if you like the sea. Beautiful city, strong local culture. And the gay scene is amazing,” He said, running his finger down my back.
“Maybe we could go together,” I ventured.
“Maybe.”
But a week and a half later, he told me his holiday was over and he had to go home. He wasn’t single, it turned out. He was my first love, I was his summer holiday fling. In retrospect, it was obvious. Still, I will always remember him.
I learned quickly. People who came to the island on holiday weren’t looking for ‘the one’, they were looking to get away from it all. ‘It all’ often included a spouse and even children. So I had several more flings with tourists that summer to help me get over him.
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It was near the end of the season when I met her. She was an artist. I helped carry her things to one of the farthest cabins. She wanted privacy, time alone. I smirked to myself; I’ve heard that one before!
“Would you like to paint me?” I asked, thinking I knew it all.
“I’m more into landscapes. The views to the sea here are exquisite.” she said.
I turned to leave.
“Wait, can you get me some things from the store?” she asked.
Over the next two weeks, I bought food and art supplies when she needed, and found excuses to come by and watch her paint. She didn’t mind as long as I was quiet. I’d never before seen someone take a blank canvas and create a realistic picture of the view in front of them. I was mesmerised.
She stayed for a third week; few people did. It was then that we got involved. I think she was looking for a distraction, a break from her painting; I was young and obviously interested. Nonetheless, it became more than sex. I was eager to learn from this worldly woman, this creator of paintings. She enjoyed the attention and grew to like me.
When autumn arrived, she asked if I’d like to come with her. I immediately agreed. I packed up and moved to the mainland with her. We spent a year and a half happily together, sometimes travelling, sometimes staying home.
Then things soured. Her art became popular, and she wanted to travel to shows and hobnob with her sophisticated friends. I didn’t feel welcome, and though I was the younger one, I felt ready to settle down. I realised this wasn’t the future I’d been hoping for. Looking back, it was my first serious relationship; yet I knew it wouldn’t be my last.
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I stayed on the mainland. I had been working as an assistant event manager, and I liked the job. I was good with people and eager to learn. The pay wasn’t great, but it had a future. Two years later I started my own business, managing conferences and exhibitions. I was finally ready to stand on my own two feet, and soon had a few people working for me.
It was hard work though, with little time or money for holidays, let alone love. Now, with my business more secure, I can finally leave things with my assistant for a few weeks. It’s a holiday I deserve.
So here I am, finally able to relax and visit the affordable paradise. Where else would I go? As the ferry gently slows to a stop, I see the eager young faces securing it in place and offering us help to get off the boat. This time, I am the handsome stranger, I tell myself as I step ashore.
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#story #fiction #island #love #loss #comingofage
This is from my wordpress blog Story Stag
Note: This story was inspired by Germain’s song ikaría, and especially the line, “This time, I am the handsome stranger”.
