a little bit of black with a little bit of pink

Something Borrowed, part 2

Lisa gingerly leaves through the pages, as careful as if handling one of her cherished finds from a secondhand shop. In a way it is secondhand. Jennie had lent it to her during her last Paris visit, when they took a day trip to the seaside. Lisa had forgotten her notebook back at Jennie's place in their rush to catch the train.

That memorable day in Marseille was a spontaneous outcome of trying to escape the heatwave that had gripped Europe in late summer. Tripping out of Jennie's pied-a-terre a frisson of excitement in the early hours of morning towards Garde du Nord station, three hours later they left behind the August humidity of the 19th arrondissement for the azure vistas of the archipelago dotting the historic city.

Trading in the Pacific for the Baltic, Lisa had screamed her delight at winning their water fight and impressively drenching Jennie into a feigned state of grumpiness for the rest of the afternoon. Held tightly in her arms and closely against her chest, a shivering Jennie begrudgingly nestled into Lisa, partially accepting transferred body heat as apology, while internally cursing against her own ignorance of sea temperatures being shockingly colder than expected. Drying off on the beach afterwards, it took two orgasms stealthily given under their shared towel before Lisa was fully forgiven.

They lapsed the remainder of time drawing and writing, soaking up the sun of southern France and occasionally sneaking in kisses under the large brims of overpriced souvenir straw hats, the traditional Provence attire. An evening stroll along the harbour of the old port to chase the last rays of the Mediterranean, ended with an open-fire grilled dinner under the string lights of the boat-lined quay. As they savoured the textures and aromas of the day's fresh catch sold by fishmongers who double in the evenings as charming waiters, bottled happiness bubbled forth from the crisp Wendy accompanying their indulgence of the local cuisine.

They couldn't afford an overnight stay in a cabana on the beach like the wealthy glitterati that glided into the port on their yachts; but on the train ride back, with shortness of breath after extended make-out sessions, the only poverty Jennie acutely felt was shortness of time with Lisa.

The sketchbook is a remnant of when they were time-poor but plentifully, achingly rich in love. Jennie's breathe catches at what was.

"You still have it."

Informed of the sketchbook's accidental packing and wayward journey home with Lisa, Jennie had offered it for keeps, but Lisa declined taking full possession and considered it instead a precious loan to be returned when they were together again. I'll keep it safe.

Nodding, Lisa recounts, "I carried it with me everywhere after my return here. It made me feel closer to you," looking sheepish to admit, nervously playing with the page corners. "It wasn't until a meeting with an Italian publisher that I started using it. She had said a word I hadn't heard before, struggimento." She oddly averts her gaze and doesn't expound on the meaning. Rather, Lisa goes on to relay that Jennie's sketchbook was handy in her satchel and the only writing surface she happened to have that day to scribble into.

It's not surprising. Lisa is a scribbler. Scraps of paper and tear-out sheets could be found throughout their Seoul apartment. Many of which were undisguised love notes pinned to places that Jennie wouldn't miss. When it came to her, subtle Lisa was not.

"I developed a habit since then. It's become my journal for jotting down indescribable words not easily translatable to English." She offers it for Jennie to peruse, finger still trailing over the page, causing their hands to brush in the exchange. The book's first quarter is filled with Jennie's familiar strokes while the rest consists of Lisa's recognisable fluid penmanship. "Komorebi, for instance," Lisa says, gesturing to their wooded surrounding, "is Japanese for the sort of scattered, dappled light that happens when sunlight shines in through trees."