The Gift of a Day

She arose before the waking hour, eager to hear the deep, baritone voice that started her day with a burst of joy.

He waited as the light faded into night, dozing occasionally, yet elation and anticipation kept him awake.

His mobile phone rang through the quiet of the night, breaking the silence with a welcomed melody, a familiar ringtone he set just for her - Whitney Houston’s ‘I Wanna Dance With Somebody.’

He answered after a single ring.

He smiled at her voice, she smiled at his.

They chatted for hours about everything and anything, their shared interests, their unhappy marriages, their kids, their lives apart until the echo of voices on her end broke the magic of their blissful moments together.

“Until tomorrow,” he said.

“Same time, same place,” she replied.

Anita and Christopher met online through their love of music. Both commented regularly on Facebook posts about Whitney Houston, the woman with a magical voice. He finally sent her a private message with a YouTube clip of the duet ‘Hold Me’ with Teddy Pendergrass, Whitney’s first single appearance.

She replied with Whitney Houston’s ‘Step by Step’ and that was it, the bond of everlasting friendship was formed.

Anita lived in the bustling metropolis of Sydney, Australia and Christopher in Ithaca, a quiet country town on the outskirts of New York, USA. The fifteen-hour time difference meant that when one was opening their eyes to a dawning day, the other was shutting theirs to a darkened sky. The time zones mattered not. It only served to strengthen their friendship, giving each of them the will to keep going, knowing that each had someone to listen and accept them, someone who understood their pain, shared their joy and felt the connection.

On weekends, he called at the crack of dawn, his alone time and she waited with the setting sun keeping her company.

She helped him through a difficult divorce, he coaxed her to leave her husband, the man who left her physical bruised, emotionally scarred and financially dependent.

“I can’t,” she said. “I stay for Lola. She is my whole focus.” Lola and Anita were as close as best friends could be. Anita being eighteen, a teenage mum when Lola was born, grew into adulthood as Lola experienced childhood.

“You don’t have to,” he told her. “She is growing as fast as mine is and they will have their own lives to live. What do you do then? What do you do when she has flown the nest and you have him to look at day in and day out, living in misery and fear under his control? He can only hide behind his job for so long Nita!” Chris reasoned.

The same conversation played out over and over again, leaving them both exasperated.

Anita grieved with Christopher a short seven months later when Andrew died. The loss of his son in a freak accident shook him to his very core; she was a lifesaver, offering soothing words of comfort as he cried.

Christopher commemorated every birthday her daughter Lola celebrated from afar, reassuring her that the increasing discord between mother and daughter was as natural as rain itself.

They cooked together from afar, something they both loved. They shared recipes, each taking turns to select a meal they both prepared in their own kitchens, but shared on Facetime, eating dinner for him and breakfast for her or breakfast for her and dinner for him. On the rare occasions when the stars aligned, they had lunch together, but miles apart.

“Thank God for Facetime,” she laughed as she threw her neatly chopped onions, peppers and garlic into a pot to sweat.

The years passed by in the blink of an eye. Neither of them was brave enough to meet in person. Christopher running his thriving business from home had his ailing parents to care for, refusing to place them in an aged care facility. Anita had her hands full with her daughter and the mundaneness of running a home on her own, yet answerable to an emotionally absent husband.

“I’m coming to New York next month,” she told him. “I only have a day there before we fly out again.”

“No way!” he replied in utter disbelief. Chris had given up on the idea of ever meeting her. They often spoke about the meeting, but both knew it was a pipe dream until it was not.

“Lola finally has an interview at The Julliard School,” Anita said. Lola always dreamt of studying performing arts at the prestigious institute and finally, this was within her reach.

“I wanted to make a holiday of it, just Lola and I, but it’s going to be a quick trip. She has to get back to complete her final semester,” Anita added.

“Lola is meeting a few of her friends in New York for the day so she’s going to be busy. It’s just me,” Anita said.

They met at Times Square, the heart of New York, two weeks before Christmas, spotting each other immediately. Christopher in his thick, black winter coat that clung to his lean frame stood out to Anita. His red cheeks and running nose announced the freezing cold, carrying in his right hand a neatly wrapped box.

Anita did the most natural thing possible, ran to him, he held her in a tight embrace amidst the bustling crowd for what felt like forever, both oblivious to the smiles and glances from passers-by. He held her hands rubbing them between his own.

“We wear gloves here,” he grinned handing her the red box he had tucked under his arm with a bright red leather pair for her freezing fingertips.

He laughed, she cried.

“I never thought this day would come,” she sobbed.

“It has,” he soothed.

Chris wiped away the tears and held her until she drew away taking in the familiar face she had seen for years but never touched. She brushed the scar that rested on his left temple, a childhood wound from falling off his bike.

“It’s really there, the scar,” she said.

“It’s really there,” he reassured her.

He planned their day from start to end, like children exploring a new world for the first time, they flittered in and out of shops, through gardens, exploring Christmas markets, him pointing out landmarks with history lessons, she listening to his every word. When tired, they perched their weary bodies at a cozy coffee shop, chatting incessantly, trying to make the most of every precious minute. He booked them in for a short cook-and-eat class. He reached for her hand as she expertly sliced into the vegetables on their table, lifting it to his lips.

“You have no idea how long I wanted to do that,” he said finally seeing the specs of grey in her eyes up close.

The attraction was unmistakable. She felt a lightness in every movement, in every sensation, an inner joy, something she never felt before. “Is this what love was supposed to feel like?” she thought, feeling his lips on her fingertips.

Christopher thought of everything. After a scrumptious lunch, he held her hand, leading her to a vibrantly lit bar. The hostess, Gia, smiled warmly as Christopher introduced his lady from Down Under.

“We have the area set up as requested,” she said gesturing for them to follow her. Gia led the couple through a long passageway to a dimly lit room for two. A large screen covered the wall behind a stage. A single mic stood out as Gia turned on the bright lights.

“Almost Whitney Houston it is,” she said pointing towards the stage.

A Whitney Houston look-a-like stepped forward as the music started. She performed like the Goddess herself, singing loud and proud.

“You did all this for me?” asked Anita tearfully.

“I would have got the real deal if I could,” he said, pulling Anita forward for a dance.

“Want to sing along?” he asked.

They heard the songs that drew them to each other, sang along, danced closely, bridging the time and distance between them.

When she thought he could surprise her no more, he did.

He took her to a Turkish hookah bar for dinner, sitting on oversized plush cushions in elaborate, exotic colors and textures, they ate dainty plates of food, laughed freely, inhaling deeply the watermelon-flavored smoke that wafted through their nostrils, coughed, drank sweet tea, smoked some more, giggled like old friends did, finally walking arm in arm towards Grand Central Station.

They had not seen it coming, all too soon, the day had drawn to a close.

“One day was such bliss together, imagine what the rest of our lives would be like,” he whispered as he held her closer still, inhaling the last of the watermelon flavoring that clung to her hair.

He walked her to her stop, both lost in thought. They waited in silence as the train made its appearance. She hesitated. He pulled her in for a final embrace, not wanting to let go, but knowing he had to.

“Stay with me,” he whispered to her.

“Come with me,” she whispered back.

They looked at each other in silent despair.

“You know it has to be this way. At least for now,” she said, a quiver in her voice.

She turned not daring a second glance and stepped through the doors of the impatient train. No Whitney Houston song ringing in her ears, just the thumping of her heart and quickening of her pulse urging her to reconsider, yet her feet carried her forward.

As the train made a deliberate departure, she looked out at him for the last time as he held both arms out towards the departing train, becoming a final blur in the distance.