Lilac Wine

I was reminded of a small but moving event in my past this morning as I drove in to work. It was Lilac Wine by Nina Simone that triggered the memory, and it was simply this: I was at the home of a couple (now no longer together) visiting the woman, and we were going through a bottle of red wine and I suppose conversing and laughing about womanly things. It might have been winter or late fall - the best time for red wine, I think, and it seems that I had gotten there late afternoon. There was still light in the sky when I arrived, but as we talked the room kept getting darker as the sun fell lower on the horizon. For some reason we didn't bother with lights, but lit a large red candle and placed it in the middle of the dining room table.

Eventually, her man came home (who, incidentally, is my husband's best friend) and so it was the three of us around the table, the dancing candlelight illuminating our faces as the conversation turned to more racier topics. In the background, we had been listening to Nina Simone, which was more in the background until the moment Lilac Wine came on. The mournful opening piano chord instantly changed the mood, and three of us became quiet as the song began. It seemed wrong to speak during this beautiful, achingly sad piece, so we contented ourselves with picking the cooled red wax drippings off the side of the candle. We did this throughout the whole tune, and together we silently experienced every ebb and flow as Nina sang about the grief of longing. I was hugely drunk by then, and I recall it being a very intense feeling of contentedness amongst friends.

Since then, the couple have broken up and I've only seen the woman once since she moved out. We had lunch a while back, and though it was nice, I found that we really didn't have much to talk about. The man is currently suffering serious financial troubles and barely making a living as a musician. Whenever I cross his path it's difficult to get past his bleak outlook on life and reach the person I used to share booze and clever banter with. I no longer have anything in common with either of them, and that long-ago evening of red wine was probably the last beautiful moment I shared with them as a couple.

We all change and move apart like continents in the ocean. You can only hold on so long to a perfect moment until it drops like a pearl into dark waters, and all you're left with is the memory of its lustre and how lovely it was to look upon. I guess the lesson here is to hold on tight, lest the years loosen your grip and something precious is gone forever.