Pills of love

Super Trouper (part 1)

Frida sighed and leaned her head against the train's seat, turning to look at the landscape that ran away before her eyes. It was almost dark, so it was difficult to make out all the shapes, but the great expanse of green that often materialized in front of her flooded her with melancholy and loneliness.

She closed her eyes briefly and raised her hand again that held the silent cell phone. She checked the notifications for the umpteenth time... No change. Staring at the screen for a few seconds, she touched the call button and put the phone to her ear ...

'The customer called by you is currently not reachable. Please --- '.

With a harsh gesture she put it down and rolled her eyes, holding back her tears for the umpteenth time.

"Would you like something, miss?".

Frida whirled to her left and her eyes widened, taken aback by the young lady with the food cart.

"Oh, no. Thank you" she forced a smile and then looked back out, rubbing her eyes to wipe away any sign of tears.

Leaning her chin on her hand, she got lost in her a thousand thoughts in her mind... For the umpteenth time.

It had been days since she had been able to communicate with her husband, days in which the few times they had managed to call each other, everything had seemed strained, empty, full of silence...

A month and 12 days, that's time since she and her husband hadn't been together in the same place at the same time.

He, locked in the recording studio to build an entire musical from scratch; she, wandering around the big cities to promote her latest album.

He, who by now had found a new way, a new passion, a new great success; she, who had followed her passion as always, proving to herself and everyone that she could do it alone too.

He and she, miles and miles away.

When she started her mini-tour, they promised each other that work'd keep them busy and not thinking about their distance, that time'd fly, that in no time they'd be back on their boat heading for vacation havens.

Instead, the days had passed, the weeks had accumulated and new commitments had overlapped on both sides, distancing them more than ever.

The last time she was able to talk to her husband was two days ago. She still remembered that call perfectly, even though it lasted less than a minute. His detached tone, distracted, the background noise, the phone call interrupted because "They are calling me, talk later".

And instead, they never talked again. They had exchanged some messages, but then nothing and Frida was starting to despair... More than usual.

She closed her eyes tightly to force herself not to cry, which was becoming difficult to do.

At first, she was thrilled to start that new adventure after years of pause, reflection, silent creation. The first week had been a whirlwind of emotions, performances, applause and smiles. Every night she called home and spent hours telling him everything about it... and he told her everything. He told her how they were waiting for the orchestra, how the melodies were coming up well, how Tim had casually poured a cup of coffee over the last composed scores.

She smiled at that memory, immediately replaced by a fresh, mad desire to cry.

Then... Everything had changed. Less time, fewer calls, shorter messages, stories more and more summarized until they disappeared. And she couldn't take it anymore.

For a couple of weeks she hadn't stopped reflecting on their situation, on how everything had changed and was changing under their eyes, inexorably. How even her new haircut had marked a detachment from the past to throw herself into an unknown future... alone.