Free When Dreams are Calling by Carol Vorvain Page B

anyone. He was resourceful enough to
find out
the day, but not enough to find out the time. After a long honking
battle with
the traffic, one hour before the plane took off, he arrived at the airport
without
a clue where he could find me. He shared my picture around, asking
desperately
if anyone had seen me. Right before entering the security gates, I
heard my name
called:
    “Dora is asked to come at check-in counter
number two.”
    Once, twice, three times.  I was a
missing and wanted person!
    Suddenly I could see him, rolling like a
snowball, kneeling in front
of me, trying to catch his breath.
    “Have a safe flight, sweetie. Canada will miss
you. But I’ll miss
you even more.” Then he handed me a bunch of five dollars calling
cards. “A
call to know you’re good will be nice! Any day, at any time!”
    After the expected sobbing episode, I entered
the security gates.
Then, I turned around and said, while tears came pouring down my face:
    “You’re one of a kind, my precious!”
    “If I am, then stop making me run like a yo-yo,
missy.”
    “There comes a time when we all show our true
colors.”
    “What? I’ll get you for that one.”
    “Be my guest, precious,” I responded giving him
a big smile, just
before turning around and disappearing behind the gates.
    His only fault in my eyes was that he was a bit
of a night owl, but
like always, he had an amusing explanation for it.
    “You’ll get wrinkles from not sleeping
properly,” I scolded him.
    “Wrinkles are a sign of wisdom, people let you
sit down on the bus,
listen to you more carefully, are understanding when you’re forgetful,
they...”
    “Stop making fun of everything! Promise me you
will go to sleep
early tonight.”
    “And who will protect my family when the
monsters come at night to
eat us all, eh?” he said with a whining voice.
    “All in the name of love, poor you!”
    “Poor me? What are you talkin’ about? I’m not
poor, I have you! This
makes me the richest man alive.”
    “Or the dumbest!” I laughed.
    We have spent one of the most beautiful
Christmases together. In
Quebec, surrounded by snow, ski slopes,
outdoor hot
tubs, going dog
sledding and discovering snowmobiling, Christmas was the way it is
supposed to
be: white, cold, with Santa arriving on
his famous
sleigh
with
reindeers, with his red nose
sticking out predicting
temperatures well below zero. We waited for him
next
to the fireplace, looking out the window at the snowfall, in warm cozy
pajamas,
drinking hot chocolate, and listening to carols in a beautiful small
chalet up
in the mountains.
    That Christmas day was magical. At almost minus
forty degrees Celsius,
there was no one around. The snow was up our waist, the rivers were
frozen, and
the sky was clear. Everything was still and all I could hear were our
own
footsteps cutting pathways through the untouched snow. The forest was
all ours
and with each step, I could feel myself falling under its spell.
    Such a blissful, needed fall…
    “I love you!” he suddenly said to me.
    “I know,” I replied looking away, unable to
meet his eyes. I cared
about him more than anyone; he was my best friend, my only one, there
was
nothing I would not have done for him. He was part of me. But, I did
not love
him, at least not the way I knew he wanted me to, not the way he
deserved to
be. The spark was never there and it was nothing I could do to change
that. And
I treasured our friendship too much to lie to him.
    Like he could read my mind, he
continued:
    “No reason to feel guilty. Love is rarely, if
ever, a conscious
choice. I did not plan on lovin’ you, same as I cannot plan to stop
lovin’ you.”
    “Can we still be friends?”
    “For sure. You owe me at least that, missy.”
    “I owe you more than that. I just wish I could
give it to you. It’s
just that…”
    “Stop here! Justifying your decision is not
your style. And
justifying your feelings sounds even less like you. The moment when you
chose
to confide in me,