I don't really know how to describe how surreal it is being in JFK after spending weeks in a gorgeous natural place. I mean, I've done it before, like, a thousand times, but this time it was even weirder. It was better and worse, because I had spent my time away with the love of my life, as dramatic as that may sound, so I was missing being so close to her, rediscovering her, feeling like we were in this cocoon where all the crap of the past and the intervening years since we had split apart were being shifted, healed, into something sweeter. Like all of it, the anger, the hurt, the loneliness, as well as the joy and the learning and the healing that had happened, had happened just to take us here, to the place of love and trust we had finally reached. But at the same time as missing being in that little cocoon we had built where we had time to devote to each other, I was seeing everything through this new lens of true love really coming true, and knowing I would see her again — soon, if not soon enough. It made everything look a little brighter, feel a little warm and fuzzy, even if the P.A. system was blaring, there were thousands of strangers running around me in various states of excitement, exhaustion and stress, and there was some strip-mall pub and some fancy parfumerie next door to each other pushing out a serious cognitive dissonance of lighting and smells.
I mean, I had gotten pretty good at filtering that all out, and taking slow breaths while knowing that I was surrounded by millions of busy people, miles and miles of asphalt, steel and smog; getting through it, even enjoying parts before I could get out of the frantic energy and thousand eyes of city life. But now it felt different, because I was in love. With her, with everything. And I was facing freedom, the possibility of not having to keep moving and looking over my shoulder. And it was awesome, and it was also overwhelming, triggering chemicals in my body and feelings in my spirit that made everything seem distorted, alternately blurry and incredibly clear. Oh, man, okay, it was like being supremely baked one moment and then wired up on Adderall. I guess that's a good metaphor for it. Or maybe that while eating delicious chocolate cake. Ha, the chocolate cake of love. Okay, hopefully you get it. Moving on…
I'd been through customs so many times with my fake i.d. that you'd think I wouldn't get that tiny squeeze of tension in my stomach, that quick rush of adrenaline that rings in my ears and hums under my skin. I'm mostly good with it, I just cover it with the tight-lipped smile of the white, American tourist following procedure with the stranger that holds the pro forma key to their entitled gateway of travel. Once again, the bored security official let me through with barely a glance, this time as one Rachel Louise Carson. If he'd had any idea that my namesake had spurred the founding of the modern environmentalist movement, he didn't show it. I was getting more lax with using my real name since I hadn't had trouble in so long, but I still covered my tracks, somewhat, partially because it amused me to slip through the cracks with my little homages to the rebel scientists and spiritual seekers who had moulded who I am. Hey, we all need entertainment.
He met me at the baggage area, as usual, wearing that look of his that read evaluating and skeptical but barely hid the smile of excitement and affection underneath. I met him with my own twitching smirk. We play these games, he and I, still, after all these years. Teo. That sly fucker was so handsome and quick-witted. I won the genealogical lotto when I had our son with him. Sometimes I wondered if there wasn't something about his attitude, the confidence he projected over his tender heart, that not only spoke to my own, but made the success of our unlikely experiment in the creation of a family inevitable. Our banter was light, but our hugs were warm.
It took about five minutes on the freeway before he asked me, with a knowing grin:
"Okay, who is she?"
"Damn, man," I chuckled. "Can't we get out of the five boroughs first? And, by the way, what makes you think there's a 'she?'" He pulled a look at me from under his eyebrows and let out a scoff.
"Girl, please. Your call was weird, your texts were weird, now I see you in person and you're weird — even more so than usual. You reek of smugness. All signs point to you getting laid. Very well, I would guess. Do you really like her? Oh, Dios, it's not a he this time, is it?"
I couldn't hold back my laugh.
"No, she's very much a she. But shouldn't we wait 'til we're back with Michael? Otherwise, I have to tell the whole story over again."
"Ha. You just came off a silent retreat. Your voice can use the exercise. Or can it? Do you have to have a silent fuck, there, too?"
"Teo," I giggled back at him, "I love you, man."
"I love you, too, Cos. But I know as soon as you get back to the house you're going to be blah, blah, blah all about Severo, and you'll latch onto each other like monkeys, or something. So, tell me. You know you want to, anyway."
"Okay, alright," I answered, holding up my hands. "There was someone. There is someone. But we didn't just meet."
He cocked his head at me while keeping an eye on the road.
"So, you've finally given into your weird mother/child/lover thing with Margot?"
I had to hit him, at that. I told him to stop.
"Ow, okay! So, you met up with some woman you knew before. Is it one of the massage therapists? That redhead's always liked you." He examined my expression for a moment. "Okay, no. This is big. Put your tongue back behind your teeth or you're going to bite it off if I have to hit on the brakes. Damn. This girl… someone you knew, you really hit it off. It's not anyone I know…" He cocked his dark eyebrow and I confirmed this with a nod. "So, it's… an old friend? An ex…?"
I could see the gears of his mind turning, rotating the pieces of what he knew of me and seeing what fit. As much as I'd had to withhold from him about my past, he knew me so well. He gasped.
"Joder! Un momento, Cosima. Es ella la que... Dios mío, es ella "the one?" Es ella de quien te enamoraste, a quien llamabas tu alma gemela? La mujer que estaba metida en una mierda loca con la ciencia y el gobierno? Holy shit, Cos, the one you go all, like, distant-teary-eyed and anhelante about?"
He was looking at me so intensely I began to worry about him driving, but I took breath, a look down, and said "yeah."
Apparently, he was worried, too, because he immediately swerved across a lane of traffic and pulled onto the shoulder of the road with an impressive rattle of gravel and dust.
"Oh my God," he said, "tell me everything."