Fragrance(s)

As we rush out of the car, I immediately feel the concrete and the tiny gravel. But the soles of my feet have become thick over the past months, the result of hours and hours on the burning sand, and I can follow his pace when he starts running towards the ruin. I am amazed by his speed and his candid energy, as if the dizzying midday sun did not reach him, and I join his laugh as we navigate our way among the amused tourists. Panting, we reach the yellow and dusty stones that stand together still among the overtaking vegetation. We can hear a few cars in the distance, and the steps of families hurrying towards the liberating sea. But mostly it is now us, my breath and his breath, and the silence of the heat. His light brown skin shines with joy and delicate sweat. As my respiration slows down, I feel the air that we share and we shape, scents of salt, sunscreen, and warm sand. We are both covered in it, it sticks to our skin as soon as the sun rises, and that, relentlessly, we kneel and dig and stand, over and over. 

He doesn’t look at me, there is no need to, and crawls under the stones in a gap that they form. I lift my head as we pass on the other side, and greens take over the plain blue sky. Under my amazed eyes, it is only leaves and the infinite tints that they are creating. I feel their softness around my feet, and finally, I smell the summer that they carry. Sweetness is all around, covering the majestic trunk of this immense tree, and lifting the so desired fruits. They hang from the branches with grace, and only from sight I know they are perfectly ripe. Not yesterday, not tomorrow. I see them round, full and generous, and I feel them, silky soft, as he gently delivers some to my open hands. The figs roll slowly to come lay perfectly in my welcoming fingers. I feel complete as their flesh becomes mine in a palette of purples and browns.  

We are driving into the sun, open windows through which the sea and the mountains enter. The car is full of sun and their presence. Their words have the fragrance of my comfort, and I smile effortlessly at the sound of their tinkling laughs. She slows down entering the blue and white village, smoothly the pavement under the wheels replaces the whistling of the wind. She is a good driver, the girl who loves lemons and taught me how to look at trees. She sings along to the music that my other friend chose, I see his body and mind flamboyant in the passenger’s seat. To my right, he also sings and dances, the sweet fig boy. A new scent, like every Saturday, strongly fills the air while we watch the floating line of fishing boats. But today again, she is sitting to my left, and she is all that I breathe.  

Written by Noha Ratouit.

Cover image by Krasimira.