Story 8 - Under the Moroccan sun
I wiped the salty sticky drop of sea water off the forehead with the back of my hand. Standing under merciless Moroccan sun, my glance kept tracing the movements of our surfing instructors packing up the surfboards on the top of the 4x4. The other surf instructor stood at the side of the jeep, his wetsuit half-on, topless, holding his cigarette with the tips of very long musician-like fingers. He was tall, very lean and bony, and every time he took a drag, you could see his skin tighten on the protruding rib cage. His name was Saad, and with his second sun-kissed arm, he held a tiny blond German girl around her waist.
She was this quiet, timid, finely built person, not older than 17, her hair blond and further bleached by the sun and salty water of the Mediterranean Sea. The moment she really blossomed, was when she had a guitar in her hands. Like an extension of her own body, it was almost unnerving how comfortable she was with it, and how her face changed, leaving behind any sense of insecurity it would at times bear and bring forward a tinge of adult thoughtfulness. She sang lyrical, calm songs. Even though we all listened, holding our breath, afraid to break the quiet melody by an awkward movement, we all knew, her songs were meant only for Saad.
Salty crystals in my wet hair, I stood slightly flushed and panting from a long walk up the hill with my surfboard under my arm, looking at the silhouette of the two teenagers, against the setting sun. The sun was getting tired and leaning towards the horizon making all the colors sharper and the couple’s silhouette darker and more dramatic against the maroon sky.
Saad was a pleasant boy. Good instructor, decent English, polite, fit, and with most likely a rather glim future. At least glim from where I stood, a belief of all-conquering power of knowledge stumped into my brain by the post-Soviet schooling system.
No education, no means to broaden his horizons, no opportunity to become anything more than what he already was - a surfing instructor. It could also be that the young version of myself was judging his future from my standpoint of view, washing his prospects against my own horizon. Just about to enter a business school, that was where I envisioned opportunities lay, finding it difficult to see otherwise.
Did this couple have a future? Of course they did.
Was it long-lasting? Probably not.
Did this couple have a future? Of course they did. Was it long-lasting? Probably not. It is the question of different upbringing, different cultures, different wishes and definitions in life, it is a question of all that. There was a 99,5 % chance it will not in any form, work.
Yet, there was that moment. On the seashore. When you saw him look at each other, with the strength of feeling only youth knows. Moments like this, perhaps, why not, are the ones we live for. I have for a very long time learned and got accustomed to the thought of happiness being a destination. Getting to that or this degree, this promotion, this wedding day. Getting to the place of balance, which is meant to (undoubtedly!) bring us happiness. What if it isn’t? What if it is a really long ride, and all the small ups - like that particular very clear moment, these are the myriad of moments that are worth living for, that create the tapestry of what happiness is.
And that day, under the merciless Moroccan sun, for about half an hour, I wanted to believe that this lovely German girl and this sweet Moroccan boy would someday create a great family. And set up a surfing school. And make each other quite happy. I was 24, and willing (finally!) to believe in very different people meeting each other half way. And making someone’s life better. And reciprocating each other’s feelings. And that day, I wished that I would also open a surfing school, not necessarily with someone who fits me or matches my ideas of the way the world works.
I never opened a surfing school (until now anyway) and neither did they. I know how this particular story ended but I will keep this ending for myself. Perhaps, that never mattered to begin with?
