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Rated: E · Novel · Contest · #1729122
After subscribing to a relationship site their lives changed. This is how it all started!
FEATURED in the WDC Newsletter: Drama: Diverse roles of Short Story and Novel - Editor's Picks, by Joy , September 19, 2018




e-love


A Brazilian Love Story


To Sylvia and Claudia

Who are my present;

To Caian, Julia and Lucas

Who are my future.




PART 1


1


How to Start a New Life


Thursday, August 10, 2006, 10:03 am. Rain drummed on the roof and wind whipped against the windows of the little apartment in Brasilia. Christina blew softly on the hot Brazilian coffee in her green, yellow and blue 'I love Brazil' mug as she wandered into the computer room of her apartment. She sipped the hot beverage, closing her eyes briefly as she savoured the taste, and checked the computer for new email messages. Suddenly, she saw it. She gasped in surprise. Oh, my God! This is NOT happening. This isn't real. But this is what she read and what made her lonely heart beat faster.

eheart.com

Communication request!

Dear Christina,

Hello!

Butchie has reviewed your basic information and would like to start the process of getting to know you better. You can find out more about Butchie and answer his first set of question by clicking here.

We encourage you to communicate with Butchie by using our secure process.

For more information please visit our website.

Congratulations!

The eheart.com Team

It's never too late to fall in love again!


Oh, my God!, she thought, what should I do now? I am not prepared yet. I need to go back to the site and read the next steps, maybe read all the next steps again. I need to get more information and follow the right procedures. Yet, she was feeling a warm rush going all over her body. She blushed. She squealed in delight again. Yes! Then she immediately thought about something... 56. I am still good looking but I am fifty six. Was it too late? No? She was feeling good now and never felt so good in all her previous 55 years. So? No big deal. Let's go on, see what happens. But...what about... my daughters? She thought and thought and tried to create obstacles for the good news, as if maybe punishing herself for something she didn't deserve anymore. Or did she? Maybe she did. But...and...what if...hum... she was so happy... yet she needed to think about this for a little while more.

She leaned down and pressed the button to switch the computer to sleep mode. With her mug still warm in her hand, she padded noiselessly to the bedroom.

Picking up the remote, she changed the channel to her favourite talkshow and settled comfortably against the pillows to watch. When the program concluded, she glanced at the dark skies visible outside her bedroom window and made a face. She reached past the phone on her bedside table and picked up the novel that was resting there. Opening it to the caterpillar bookmark her youngest daughter had given her, she lost herself in the world of The Kite Runner. She thought of her Friday students. Today was a holiday therefore, no teaching but relaxing at home and... it was raining so, no walking in the park in the morning for two hours; no going to her club for a swim and a suntan and sometimes, buy food on the way back home at that nice Deli; buy the latest pirate DVDs in that open market; take a long bath, get in bed and watch films for the rest of the afternoon. At home. Alone. Not that she was lonely. No, she wasn't. She was just alone but she didn't mind it. As a matter of fact, she liked the silence and the being "alone" feeling a lot lately.

Christina thought of her affair.  She had just given up on her long affair, for four years be exact, and her reasons for change were sound. She wouldn't return to him. It was over. No more. He would not be back to her life. He would not be back into her apartment again, into her arms again; into her body and mind again, ever. She often thought that her own protest of this was telling. Of course there was an abiding temptation, but she fought it. Sometimes the truth is rarely pure and simple.

He was, after all, a younger man and she was an older woman. The difference was a qualification of both good and bad things.  There was a softness of his ways: soft words, soft kisses and soft skin - nice, but younger isn't always better. Or was it? She knew herself that there was a time when the difference in age would matter. Love isn't simply an "affair" that was ended. She wanted true feelings. He would not happen again, ever again. He loved her but there were some other reasons - perhaps her status, her income, her lifestyle, her "alone" life and the fact that her daughters hated him. Also, she felt extremely disturbed whenever he smoked in her clean little apartment that she kept so perfectly neat. He wasn't. Or - it was simply time to end the affair.  No need to go on. Period.

She, and only she, knew the truth.  It couldn't work.  So after 4 years, she said: "Chega!" Enough!  And even if she suffered and cried for years and years to come she had decided that it was time to stop. She noticed people stare at them when they walked into cafes or restaurants - judging her --- not him. And so she did end it... and Oh how hard it was. She yearned and suffered and cried. She knew he left with disbelief - and jealousy. She had really loved him but it was not easy to be alone with an empty space in your heart.  A painful crack. And so, now, she searched for something... else but... when would she find out that she had made the right decision? She was healing. Was it the right moment to open her little heart again?

Impatient, Christina went back to her computer. She was curiously anxious, nervous. She finally felt something that seemed like h-o-p-e. Yes, what a strange word. It comes in the oddest times, generally when we aren't expecting it and it just lingers around you...like as if saying that new things are possible to happen in your life.

She logged in and read the next steps and suggestions of the relationship site word by word. She thought about them. She lit a scented candle, asked for the good spirits to help her, promised to stop eating junk food, read more about the Guided Steps and Suggested Answers to... Butchie's questions and then she sent her sincere responses. Click. There it went... on-line... to this unknown man all across the world and into another computer, somewhere, someplace.

Wasn't that wonderful? No envelopes and stamps and long post office lines. Just send it by "clicking here". Brave new world.

And so... it started! She made the sign of the cross, went to the kitchen, poured some Blue Nun in a crystal wine glass that had belonged to her American father and went to her little balcony which was full of different types of beautiful orchids (she had a green thumb), to find it lit by a lovely, full, orange-bright moon.

The whole day had gone by, instantly. It had stopped raining. The smell of rain in the air was pleasant. Bonanza did come after a storm after all... She thought of her life. How long had she been waiting for something magic like this to happen? She knew that these things, these strange little things could and can happen to you, and softly, mystically, ethereally, sometimes with a funny feeling; a weird sensation deep inside of you --- a cold feeling in your stomach, goose bumps all over your body; a tiny voice in your head and maybe in your ears, so close, a slight touch on your shoulder; a breath in the shoulders, a gust of air, a movement, or a message on-line... could change your life forever. Yes... your innermost hopes and dreams can and will happen and change if you really want them to happen. There are always new bridges to cross... Her father had told her once that you are the only writer of your story... because you are your own storyteller. Who would tell her story but herself? He was so right. She should have listened to him - more. He always told her that you have to keep pushing forward and often pushing past the frontiers of commonsense, into your personal place; unknown and untried to others and where something beautifully harmonious is to be born.

Christina was very spiritual and didn't believe in fate, blessings or in curses. She believed in hope, perfection, in triumph of oneself and in love. The beauty of love. The word that moves it all, that changes everything. She believed in this so much. Love. No one is loveless or unloved or really full of bad feelings inside. There must be a crack in the heart, for sure, because it's probably through that crack where hate comes into our souls - if we allow it to happen. We don't want it or invite it into our hearts but it comes in, sometimes. We need to figure out how to fix and close that dark crack. Love. One word, that fixes everything, mends everything. Only one little word but so strong, so red and so magically powerful: love.

Why don't we use it, give it, express it more openly to others and feel it more, without excuses, it's free of charge, no rules. Why don't we just love unconditionally, without complications? What are we really afraid of? Why are we afraid of love? Why are we afraid of magic? Was she? What would happen to her life now?



Words:1552
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