Thoughts.com Blogs - chocolate cake crumbs

The sun’s out, but she’s playing with our mind. It’s so bitter cold out. But then again it is still mid winter.

Dressed as a little Eskimo I’m riding my bike to the Waag. I sit and wait outside for him with every bit of patience I have. It’s only natural. I’m always sure he’ll show. And he does. With big steps he heads my direction, and faces light up. He has lots to tell me and I have many stories, and questions for him. We step into the warmth of the café, sit down and order our coffee and chocolate cake. It’s the cake I’ve been looking forward to for a few days now; chocolate cake that had whispered lustfully to me during my 2 hours at the airport. And now finally it’s on the table in front of me.

I start with my stories, but 2 minutes in and I can tell I’ve lost him. He’s gone into hiding. He’s asking me questions but not really waiting for an answer. His eyes looking round seeing everything except the … in my eyes.

The cake taste good; exceeding expectations. It’s so rich we share; one slice, one plate, one fork. An unspoken law of nature that this is how we shall eat our chocolate cake.

Slightly grumpy he talks of his latest experiences in the Netherlands. Maastricht was okay, but not a nice a expected, the dunes are nothing compared to the Californian dunes he grew up in, not to mention Carnaval in Tilburg compared to the real Brasilian thing. It angers me, and I wonder what he’s actually doing here. He might as well catch a first plane back home, because being here is obviously not making him happy, so just go!

The phone goes; it’s Pete. I’ve never met Pete in this lifetime, but me and Pete, we know each other. It's oneof tose things that needs no explanation. Pete and I just are. Pete walks is, heads my way, I wave, we hug, smile, and he sits down. It’s our first meeting is that simple.

He looks my way. “Oh, now his eyes can find mine!?” and they are filled with question marks. His eyes are asking me a million questions that I don’t want to answer at the moment. He has no idea who Pete is in my life, that we have never met before. The questions never come.

We continue our discussion. A discussion about words which is bound to be heated, how could it not be. ‘Bigger than’ ‘better than’ it all has so little meaning to me. Comparing is only useful when a decision needs to be made. But why compare appels to pears, and you enjoy both and have them both in your lunchbox. There’s just no need. He begs to differ. We both become sharp and finally a spark of passion heats up across the table. I want to lean across the table and slap him. I want to tell him to wake up. I want to shout. I want my pirate back! The pirate I left behind on the Rembrandtplein in December. I pirate that shared my world of endless possibilities. Instead he looks up and all he sees is big bears on his path. Bears he will have to fight if he is to get where he wants to. He want the scars; scars to prove his has lived; he has fought and suffered.

It’s time for us to go our own way again.

*Bear hug*

The same big steps take him back down the street.

Pete’s still standing silently next to me. “Do you guys always love each other this much?”
I swallow a lump in my throat, as my eyes follow him until he turns the corner, out of sight.

I take Pete to Club 11. I’m going to share one of my best secrets with him: My favourite view of Amsterdam. “jump on the back of my bike Pete” I shout out. Pete’s not sure where to hold on. “hold on to me of course silly”. And he does, with great love, and if it’s up to me Pete need never let go. Pete is all mine; not as in the father of my children or my great love, but more like my special secret.

And together we spend the rest of the days cruising the canals of Amsterdam, together.

It’s not until dinner when his name is mentioned again, when my sister asks if the chocolate cake tasted good.

“That guy really fancies you” says my ever faithful and silent Pete.

I swallow, a lump in my throat, and I can still taste the last crumbs from that delicious chocolate cake.