Excerpt from THE GILBOA IRIS - # 4

The drive to Ben Gurion Airport was quiet. Strange how it felt to
embark on a journey that would lead me backwards in time, to an
old world in which I no longer belonged, to which I no longer related.
The only part I looked forward to was seeing Pops.
      Roni held onto my hand throughout the drive, clasping it, caressing
it as if to make the touch endure through the next several months. Words
were unnecessary. No doubt, the next half year would be emotional
agony for the both of us. Roni, scheduled to join his new unit in just
days, said virtually nothing about his forthcoming tour of duty, and I
knew better than to ask any questions. Army secrecy in this case was a
blessing. I was sure that I would not want to know more than I already
did. He had to do what he had to do, and I had to face the looming
wrath awaiting me in New York City. In that respect, emotional agony
would be putting it lightly. I wasn’t sure what was more daunting…
dealing in counterterrorism or dealing with my parents. I was resolute,
however. I would not have my life shackled to my father’s career with
the United States government. If they wouldn’t trust his loyalty once I
moved to Israel, then, as Roni said, my father should consider that he is
working for the wrong government.
My parents made their choices. It was time for me to make mine.
Should they cut me off for it – then, so be it.
        Roni parked the car and helped me with my suitcases. We arrived at
the entrance to the airport and didn’t venture another step. Instead, we
faced each other under the sweltering heat of the Tel Aviv sun, staring
silently into each other’s eyes, studying each other’s faces, permanently
etching them into our memories. The blur of travelers, luggage and
taxicabs whizzed around us, all melding together into a moving canvas
of the indistinct. He wrapped his arms around me, and I clung to him,
relishing his solid strength. It was unthinkable that I would not feel his
arms around me for five long months.
       The time of my flight was fast approaching and I had yet to go
through all the routine airport security checks – it was impossible to
suspend the inevitable. Roni held my face in his hands and tenderly
kissed the tears that ran down my cheeks. His lips then repeatedly kissed
mine, neither one of us wanting to pull away. “I have something for
you,” Roni murmured between kisses. “I put it in your carry-on bag.
Don’t open it until you’re on the plane.”
I nodded, silently kissing him back.
“You have to go now, motek.”
“I know.”
“We’re not going to say good-bye.”
“Never.”
“Take care of my heart.”
“I will. And you, take care of mine.”
“I will.”
“Roni?”
“Yes, Dara.”
“May God watch over you.”
“Over us both.” He curled his hands in my hair, his eyes boring
into mine, never failing to stun me, and we kissed one last time until our
lips slowly and grudgingly parted.
      Once seated on the plane, I looked in my bag and found the box
that Roni had placed into it. I lifted the lid and found wrapped in tissue
paper a Gilboa Iris, its vibrant shade dancing in a symphony of deep
amethyst. There was a small note.

My Sweet Dara, 
As is the Gilboa Iris, 
You are light, you are perfection, you are life.
My life.
Roni