A Room of Their Own by Rakefet Yarden (best summer reads of all time .TXT) 📕

Lupines and poppies shone in blues and reds on both sides of the path, and herons cut through the sky, glistening in their whiteness. The quarantine was over for now, but springtime didn’t wait around for anyone and continued slowly receding, making room for the aggressive summer that awaited us all. The Golan Heights were still green, although faint browns already tinted their edges.

Two hikers walked ahead of me. When they got closer, I turned my head to them and smiled. They were a man and a woman, good-looking and resembling each other. They looked like siblings, the kind of couple that always made me feel jealous. I’d imagine that the outer resemblance indicated an inner one, too, turning the whole relationship into an easier feat. I smiled and nodded my head to say hello. They walked alongside me, and after a few feet, the woman started walking faster, creating a gap between us.

How nice of her, I thought. They’re in an open relationship, or perhaps they’re polyamorous. If something has a name, then it makes it logical, of course. I felt as intrigued as an old aunt.

The man read my mind. “No, she’s my sister,” he chuckled. “My twin sister. I’m Dror, and she’s Shira,” he added as he slowed down.

“Oh . . . I did think that you look like siblings. I’m Rotem.”

“We’ve been hiking since morning. The long route brought us here. She’s had enough of me. I think I spoke too much about tax reports . . . And she definitely tries to fix me up at any given opportunity. Even during hikes.”

“Tries to no avail?” I asked. Doesn’t seem like much of a challenge, I thought to myself. A handsome, communicative guy with a full head of hair, even. What’s the story? Maybe he’s a psychopath? Possessive, violent, or just depressed?

“She actually did succeed once, with a close friend of hers. But that ended. Lung cancer.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yes, it’s sad. It’s been nearly two years. This is our first trip together since then, alone that is, without the kids. We sent everyone over to the grandparents. All six of them.”

I imagined a hand reaching out towards a six-pack of miniature water bottles placed on a shelf, then hesitating and stopping midway. “You have six children?” I choked up on the inside. He’d seemed like quite a catch up until then. Widowers are the most sought-after in the dating market, but not with six children. I reprimanded myself for the imagery, but consoled myself with that fact that at least I wasn’t imagining a meat market.

“No,” Dror laughed, and I noticed that his eyes were laughing, too. “Two are mine and four are hers. They’re at their grandparents’ summer camp. They’d missed them very much. I have a son and a daughter, and Shira has four little ones.”

Shira was waiting for us with Turkish coffee and savoury cookies at a little brook. She exhaled rings of smoke and lit up a cigarette for me. “Na’ama went for breast cancer check-ups once a year from the time she was 20. She never smoked. Who even thought about her lungs? After she passed away, I went back to smoking. There’s no logic to that madness.”

We parted company by our vehicles. It was refreshing to hike together, and Dror was nice, but he was an accountant. Too many numbers − no offense to accountants, especially not mine, since I still need him to submit my yearly report, and he’s a really good guy. Dror’s a good guy, too, but that’s not enough for me. What can I do?

Still, the encounter with Dror and Shira felt different, like I was more available. Maybe one day I’ll manage to find interest and build a relationship, once the guilt makes room for some more air.

Continuing to live my life and deciding to have a child is one thing; finding interest in a man is a whole other ballgame. I was Yochai’s Rotem for many years, and then I enjoyed being Rotem’s Rotem, traveling on my own and having time to think. That doesn’t change so easily, but the truth is that I’m already drenched in a sea of meaningfulness. Most of my encounters with people are in-depth ones. I need to find a way to lighten up my life. A few “Our driver is a . . .”-type songs, between one darkness and another, before this all just ceases, at once, without warning.

The sun set, coloring the valley in hues of red. A big, full moon cruised over the Sea of Galilee, accompanying my drive southbound, back home, to the place where my child lives.

Four Legs and a Full Heart

We reached the parking lot. A huge lawn and numerous trees surrounded the entrance to the complex, and a sign said: “The Tree of Life Ranch − a Center for Therapeutic Horseback Riding.” I loved the combination of ranch and center, of therapy and horseback riding. I was intrigued by the combinations, and felt that I’d arrived there genuinely open-minded. Tal was excited by all the trees and statues at the entrance, and made sure to look happy and glowing.

We walked in and looked for Ronnie, the coordinator for volunteers. A young woman approached us, but I didn’t notice her. A few horses of varying sizes and colors were standing on the other side of the complex, looking at me through the windows. Lots of smiling children stood all around them, and one bright-eyed boy in a wheelchair tried to make eye contact with the horse standing in front of him.

“Let’s go into my office so we can talk,” Ronnie said.

I could see the riding grounds from the big windows in her room. A trainer was sitting with a little girl, perhaps handicapped, on a small, golden-colored horse. Even from a distance I could spot a large red spot on her neck. She seemed calm and happy, and all the people surrounding the horse were focused on