Where the Skies Meet the Sea for Yaeli Benayim by Orit Yeret

"You can see the entire world from up there," Robert said as we climbed up the stairs to his apartment. "It's the most magical thing – where the skies meet the sea. You won't be disappointed."

Robert is my hairdresser, or as he prefers it, hair stylist. He is twenty years older than me and he is an immigrant from France. He is not considered the best stylist at the beauty salon I frequently visit - in fact he is known as the least successful one. I've witnessed clients coming back complaining to the manager after he had tended to their hair - some protested over bad coloring, off hair-cuts and burned-out edges.

But Robert never allowed those critics to keep him away from shaping other people's hair; those mean words never penetrated his skin. He accepted the fact that he wasn't the best, yet - he continued trying - in spite of the odds, and that is what made him all the more special, in my eyes.

He is quite a character, strutting around the salon in his black leather cowboy boots, speaking in a French accent, charming all the ladies. I'm his favorite client, that's what he always says when I come to the salon - he calls me his muse, but I'm not sure I fit the title. Sometimes I'm also annoyed with the way he takes care of my hair, cutting too much, using a brighter shade, making decisions for me. Yet, it amazes me how every time he is able to take the criticism with a smile, promising to fix it – to do anything I want.

I usually visit the salon every other week, sometimes more than that when I have a special occasion or need a fresh color or a cut, and Robert is always there, tending to my every need, making me feel like a queen.

This is why when Robert told me that he was moving into a new apartment, I felt obligated to visit. After all, he had shared with me the agonizing difficulties he had gone through during that stressful time of settling into a new place. I had recently moved to Haifa myself, right after my college graduation, and I had struggled too; I could relate to his situation.

I was so excited when he told me that he had found the perfect apartment.

"Affordable, close to work and with such an amazing view!"

Of course an invitation soon came along.

And so the day arrived; we had scheduled a time to meet in the afternoon. Robert waited for me downstairs and apologized right away, "The elevator is not working so we'll have to climb, that okay?" I nodded, saying "Yes" with a smile. It turned out he had used the verb 'climb' for a reason: the way up was at least four flights of stairs and I was growing tired by the second floor. On the other hand, I was surprised to see Robert practically running up, considering his age and smoking habit – a pack a day!

He noticed my overwhelmed look and laughed, "I've had lots of practice… just one more…" He said as we approached the top, "you'll see it's worth it…" He encouraged me along until, finally, we were there.

Robert unlocked the door and streaming beams of light dazzled us.

"I forgot to close the curtains," Robert said. "Would you like something to drink?" he asked.

For some reason the light made me speechless. It mesmerized me and I felt myself drawn towards the source from which it came.

"You can step out…" Robert smiled as though he knew what I was thinking. "I'll be right there." He walked along the corridor and disappeared into one of the rooms. I walked past the living room and reached out for the glass sliding door which led to the balcony. As soon as I opened it I felt a warm wind, in addition to the bright light. I stared at my wristwatch to make sure I wasn't dreaming – "It's 5 PM! 5 PM! And such light, and such wind?!"

"Isn't it wonderful?" Robert came from behind me, holding a tray with two cold beverages. "Se Magnific!" he exclaimed in French and we both smiled. "The month of June in Israel, there's nothing quite like it." He said.

"Come here…" Robert wanted to lead me up to the edge.

"I'm not…" I hesitated.

"Don't worry… I got you," he offered his hand but I didn't take it. Instead, I took a deep breath and reminded myself not to look down. Then, I walked over to where he was standing.

"You see this…" he pointed out at the horizon, at a faraway dot where the sky met the sea. "Everything starts there, it washes off and comes back again…" he turned to look at me, "like the color I put on your hair, yes?" The gold chain around his neck reflected the sun as he kept moving. I looked at him and laughed - his analogy was interesting.

The sun blinded me for a moment and I could swear I witnessed every feature of his smiling face freeze. The mouth was the first to come alive again.

"And someday you," his lips recited.

"Me, what?" I was confused. I focused my eyes on him but he turned his face and kept looking out at the blue sea.

"You will start there too."

"What do you mean?"

"Yaeli, you need to go there," he pointed out at the horizon again. "You need to see the world!"

"It's not that simple," I explained, "I can't just…"

"You can!" Robert clasped both of my hands, "It is that simple… look at me, I traveled to many places and now I'm here. You don't know what you want… go and see, look for it… out there."

"I'm not…" I released my hands and took a step back. How did he know it had been my life-long dream to travel the world? He was reading me like an open book, and I wasn't sure I liked it. What had begun as a friendly gesture, just like the one Princess Ann had performed in the movie 'Roman Holiday', was quickly turning into a psychoanalytic observation and I certainly did not expect that, especially not from Robert.

"I grew up in a big city, Paris, you know it, yes? But that big place always made me feel this small…" Robert used pantomime to act out what he was saying. "And later too, everywhere I went I was more alone, more small…"

I didn't understand what he meant to stress by his examples; he was making me feel more insecure.

"The point is we are all small people." He took out a cigarette box and lit up one for himself, offering me one too.

"I don't smoke, remember?"

He slapped his forehead. "I forget…"

"You should quit too," I added.

"Now who is telling who how to live?" he laughed. I bent over to grab my drink; since there was no furniture in the balcony, Robert had placed the tray on the floor.

"What was I saying?"

"Small people…" I helped him remember.

"Oh, right… small people. Wherever we go, whatever we do… and we can't run away from it."

"From what?" I handed him his drink.

"From the fear… thank you." He took a sip before continuing, "fear is everywhere, and there…" He pointed out at the horizon for the third time, "there is where you learn it, and also where you learn to overcome it."

I understood what he was talking about; he wanted me to chase my dreams.

"Fear is okay… don't let it fail you." He squeezed the cigarette bud upon the exposed metal of the ledge. He could see I found his act strange.

"Don't worry… I'm painting it. See that can over there…" I looked at where he was pointing; in the corner of the balcony, protected in a small and shaded triangle, stood the little can with a new paint brush on top of it. "First thing tomorrow morning…" Robert placed his hand over his chest, "I promise."

We stood there for a few minutes without talking, both of us looking straight ahead, over the neighborhood and the sea.

"Yep… someday you'll go," Robert was determined. "Maybe you'll come back…" he smiled, "I'll be waiting," He finished his drink but continued holding the empty glass.

"Painting my balcony white… because of the heat… you know…" He talked without looking at me, "painting it and waiting."

Orit Yeret writes poetry and short prose. Originally from Israel, she is now living in the US.