Tamara
Existing in a world of old and new, the reversal of the established and accepted was unnerving, yet their relationship drew me from my purpose for a time.
At eye level, the newness of the grey marble, the stainless steel railings, and the frailty of the charcoal barked saplings were at odds with the old medieval streets and plazas that surrounded it. The design worked in isolation, an individual in a city of established ideas of beauty and love, a pitch at a modern product from an ancient formula. Standing out as a resident alien in a foreign land, its language stuttered, lacking the fluency of its Latin surrounds. The plaza had a handsome quality not fully appreciated at first glance. The flaws of the modern design not as easily forgiven as those of its more ancient counterparts became less noticeable with familiarity.
As my decision to extend friendship to this attractive misfit formed, a second personality is introduced to complicate matters. With an upward glance from my wooden bench into the late afternoon sun, a lover of surprising complexity is revealed. The older player in this relationship is more indigenous in appearance than the pretender below. She envelops the square with a contrast as stark as the feeling of complementary suitability is sure. While the dirty yellow walls and stained red brick betrays the age gap between the lovers, a youthful Mediterranean beauty and spirit dominates the impression and confirms an understanding of the attraction through shining white blinds and deep-green awnings. Shielded plants of greens and colours thrive in a protected environment of light and shade, and care and time seem to playfully mock the undernourished saplings below. Their example of health and vitality offer the benefit of experience to the impatience of youth below overextending itself in a rush to manhood.
Locals show their contempt by parking in the square, an interference not suffered by more established neighbours. The chairs from the token café sit uneasily strewn across too big an area. Somehow, they manage neither shade nor sun. The patrons, perhaps open-minded locals or unknowing visitors, may not know of the drama of which they are now bit players, like myself. I hazard the presumption that most will not return, preferring instead the easy comfort of the more traditional and accepted. Perhaps the transient nature of these extras will ultimately create a discomfort or distain that will divide our couple. Perhaps with time a slow-burning bitterness and isolation will divide their union and make their attraction less important. But perhaps the struggle to establish and exist will unite and strengthen, and allow an acceptance of love and unity. Admiration for the effort and romantic notions of support may just provide futile and temporary lip service, but again, may inspire stubborn longevity.
My acceptance of this uneasy couple receives a late validation to my mind. A third party reveals himself from a corner of overlooking the shoulder of our couple. The sandstone tower of the Catholic Church is not at first noticeable and is only visible from a small section of the plaza. He is restrained in his interference by a flimsy barrier of two twisted black electricity wires. This medieval chaperone places a balloon between our waltzing couple, which, like all such efforts in the past, succeeds only in drawing them closer together.
As I sit and dream a dream of cross culture love and adversity, a final player reveals himself with inciting and revealing importance. As the sun drops slowly, I finally realise that it is the light and shadow that shape the character of this place, of this relationship. The sunshine and shadow, like the old and new, coexist in a symbiotic timeshare of mortal reality.
I leave my lovers in the romance of the dying light to refocus on the job at hand, but perhaps my return will reveal more drama as this relationship steps tentatively forward with time.