Lisboa- A Dating Story
I was shopping for apples, and shopping for apples made me smirk upon careful examination of one otherwise perfect apple.
The apple had a hole. A worm hole?
Maybe. I didn't consider it long before I carefully placed it back with its brethren fruit.
And then I reminisced, thinking about how in Lisbon ("Lisboa") you aren't allowed to touch the fruit and there is a monitor at each fruit stand so you have to tell the under-appreciated worker which one you want.
It's weird.
Choose wisely.
Lisboa is a funny place.
But it was in Lisboa I met Morten.
There were many days when I wondered if Morten was the one that got away, which is completely hilarious in hindsight, and yet even as I chuckle I remember my feet dangling next to his with his coat around my arms and the blissful happiness that enveloped me.
Morten and I met at a club and I remember, distinctly, that I found him so appealing with his tall, well-proportioned frame and his happy smile as he pulled all his best Euro-moves (they're different over there, for the life of me I don't know why...).
It was his shoe-laces. Or his shoes. Or the stick.
It sounds completely tacky, fully cliche and otherwise mortifying to say that the glow stick stuck in his shoelaces had me.
How can you not notice the only guy in the club glowing?
This was 1999. Judge me if you must.
I must have given him a look, because he deserved a look and I don't remember the how or the why or the when of that evening but we ended up on the promenade outside of the club that faces the Tejo River.
Of the things I remember from that night it was how serene and beautiful and dark and vacant the still water of the river looked with thecolorful suspension bridge that hovered above it.
The resemblance to the Golden Gate Bridge didn't go un-noticed by Morten, who called it out for me as we sat, quietly, facing the placid water.
Was it cold?
It must have been chilly.
I remember him offering me his coat- his gentleman-like demeanor evident. We talked in slow circles as if we had all the time in the world, the veiled sounds of thumping music that echoed from yards away.
My friends were still inside.
His friends were still inside.
And there were countless people trolling along the promenade from one hot-spot to another but it felt like just the 2 of us.
And it sounds ridiculous but that night I fell in love with Morten.
Our quiet conversation on that dark and starry night was cut short by a very drunk friend who came falling out of the club.
She wasn't feeling well and wanted to leave, effective immediately.
The harried good-bye between us made the surreal warmth of our affections all the more nostalgic.
I have dated a lot of duds.
Some for days, weeks, even months and I truly cannot remember their names.
But I won't forget Morten.
The smell of his cologne on his coat that fell over my shoulders, the river front where we dangled our feet or that glow-stick that drew me near like a moth to a flame.
Here is an image of the 25th the Abril Bridge over the Tejo River:
The apple had a hole. A worm hole?
Maybe. I didn't consider it long before I carefully placed it back with its brethren fruit.
And then I reminisced, thinking about how in Lisbon ("Lisboa") you aren't allowed to touch the fruit and there is a monitor at each fruit stand so you have to tell the under-appreciated worker which one you want.
It's weird.
Choose wisely.
Lisboa is a funny place.
But it was in Lisboa I met Morten.
There were many days when I wondered if Morten was the one that got away, which is completely hilarious in hindsight, and yet even as I chuckle I remember my feet dangling next to his with his coat around my arms and the blissful happiness that enveloped me.
Morten and I met at a club and I remember, distinctly, that I found him so appealing with his tall, well-proportioned frame and his happy smile as he pulled all his best Euro-moves (they're different over there, for the life of me I don't know why...).
It was his shoe-laces. Or his shoes. Or the stick.
It sounds completely tacky, fully cliche and otherwise mortifying to say that the glow stick stuck in his shoelaces had me.
How can you not notice the only guy in the club glowing?
This was 1999. Judge me if you must.
I must have given him a look, because he deserved a look and I don't remember the how or the why or the when of that evening but we ended up on the promenade outside of the club that faces the Tejo River.
Of the things I remember from that night it was how serene and beautiful and dark and vacant the still water of the river looked with thecolorful suspension bridge that hovered above it.
The resemblance to the Golden Gate Bridge didn't go un-noticed by Morten, who called it out for me as we sat, quietly, facing the placid water.
Was it cold?
It must have been chilly.
I remember him offering me his coat- his gentleman-like demeanor evident. We talked in slow circles as if we had all the time in the world, the veiled sounds of thumping music that echoed from yards away.
My friends were still inside.
His friends were still inside.
And there were countless people trolling along the promenade from one hot-spot to another but it felt like just the 2 of us.
And it sounds ridiculous but that night I fell in love with Morten.
Our quiet conversation on that dark and starry night was cut short by a very drunk friend who came falling out of the club.
She wasn't feeling well and wanted to leave, effective immediately.
The harried good-bye between us made the surreal warmth of our affections all the more nostalgic.
I have dated a lot of duds.
Some for days, weeks, even months and I truly cannot remember their names.
But I won't forget Morten.
The smell of his cologne on his coat that fell over my shoulders, the river front where we dangled our feet or that glow-stick that drew me near like a moth to a flame.
Here is an image of the 25th the Abril Bridge over the Tejo River:
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