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A Fish Story by Adrienne
 

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  • Tonight I worked an event for the Clinton Global Initiative. Do you remember laughing when we saw his red smiling face on the Bæjarins beztu hot dog stand down by the dock?

    I knew the exact moment you fell in love. Dragging ourselves out of the hotel after a groggy jet lagged nap and realizing the day had already begun without us. The downward slope of that familiar street on which we memorized each window adorned with carefully placed doilies, random trinkets, and the occasional cleaning supply. The sun seemed extra bright to our zombie eyes and then we saw that magical hill where the light hit just so and the golden grain made our hearts leap. The small steps that led us to the view... our first full glimpse of the vast expanse of water and the distant mountains with dual rainbows an anonymous benefactor had painted across the horizon just to hear you gasp with amazement.

    After that moment we were hooked. Chance meetings with a child and a tea party of philosophical proportions in an art museum that made us blush. The generous old man with kind eyes who fed us warm soup from his morning catch and had stretched to his tallest height to close the window with a wooden broom. Having our socks charmed off by a fascinating creature with a haunting voice and an impish grin as she taught us the ways of Lief Ericson. Window stalking an antique shop whose treasures taunted both our wallets and imaginations. Tíu Dropar; the walls of needlepoint and the waitress with mermaid hair. Those mysterious shadows across the university building and the statue of the woman in the garden you stared at from every angle as if bewitched, in the presence of your siren, the cold didn’t penetrate and the snow falling upon our heads was simply another element of the folklore.

    That first full night when we danced past pubs towards our tidy little room and stopped for a moment in the quiet with the taste of the funny mustard from our hot dogs still translating on our tongues and watched as the Harpa transformed from a lifeless building to a fish whose silvery iridescent scales caught glints of light as the creature shimmied through the current, an organic interaction of slumber and movement caused by the headlights of each passing car.

    This was all in a day, my dear. One long glorious day when we both elected to make the most of our short stay and be open to all possibilities. I say this not in a preachy sort of tone, but to remind myself of how beautifully spent twenty-four hours can be.

    Perhaps one day I will write of the moment I fell in love with Reykjavik... of the brilliant Bjork who dates a rock star and her father, the owner of the best ice cream in all the Nordic lands. Maybe I’ll wax on about the crooning music and the humm of intensely satisfying conversations and the candelabra that flickered just so atop an old piano. A time when things began to happen and Field of Dreams came to life... but this wasn’t meant to go on so long and I really just wanted to remind you of the hot dog stand with Bill Clinton’s face.
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