In a past life, Alex and I were Russian Gypsies. We met by chance. I was running by, my hair trailing behind me and he caught me as a I started to fall. He was handsome and rugged and smoked a cigar. He never took his eyes off me and mine never left him. We never spent a day apart. We’d giggle as we’d drift through the markets, screaming wildly as shopkeepers chased us through the streets, our scarves and hats falling behind us for children to find, treasure in their little hands. We’d lay on our backs in the fields of unknowing farmers, blowing smoke rings and watching the clouds pass above our heads, picking the fruit from their trees. We shared jewelry and hats and outfits, throwing clothes at each other behind our caravan. It was a simple little caravan at first…built with Alex’s bare hands from scraps of wood discarded and forgotten. We painted it together as it struck our fancy, carved poems and words into the warped wood. We burned incense and sang to the heavens. We slept in late and stayed up all night dancing under stars until the sun broke through the clouds. We welded each other rings from metal pieces and stones pocketed amidst our adventures and were married by a gypsy friend who’d we only met once and would never see again. Eventually some wild dogs made their way into our arms and we loved them like little gypsy children. We chased deer through the forests and bathed in rivers. We plucked at instruments and made up songs that made us laugh. We ate our lunch sitting in the highest tree branches and wandered the country side with our little caravan and pack of dogs for years and years, constantly on the move to keep the bears at bay. As time passed, the caravan grew rickety and our hair turned gray. The wheels broke apart and for the first time in our long lives, we were no longer on the move. We stayed in the same spot that the caravan met its demise, scarfs and sheets and lanterns hanging from the trees, until death took us holding hands on a summer day, sleeping soundly to the sound of each other’s breathing.
