We were both lying on that very comfortable mat in that by-the-beach bar where they played lounge music or something (forgive me for my almost non-existent functional music literacy). It was a starless night except for some truly rebellious twinklers that peeked every once in a while when the grayish clouds forgot that it was supposed to be a cloudy night. You held my hand; I held yours. We both tried our best to appear oblivious. I felt I was the most awkwardly acting man in the whole island that time. You were the coolest, the most suave.
And then there was that cherry with its stem still attached tenaciously to the red, succulent globe. You asked me to eat the fruit and took the stem from me. You seriously looked and held it, a bit raised. “The cherry stem,” you said. “Oh, I remember,” I said.
The cherry stem disappeared before my sight. Although it took you several minutes, I felt I did not have any right to be impatient. I prayed to the hidden stars that they help you knot that slender cherry stem. Finally, it was over. You looked at me, smiled a meaningful smile, and let go of a perfect cherry stem knot.