Summer Resort of Ericeira, Portugal — June 1, 2014
So here I am, staring out on an open sea. The windows are open and I can smell the sea, a calling that would have made a sailor out of me. That is, had I not turned my pen to paper, forever establishing me as a writer, a practitioner in fiction, always henceforth categorizing my storytelling in parts and chapters.
I’m digressing, aren’t I? The thing about me is that I’m a romantic at heart and love to explore every aspect of a story, no matter the circumstances. I blame Wilkie Collins and Agatha Christie for making me see life as a grand mystery that their respective detectives were at fault and could not solve. Life cannot be solved—it happens and whatever unfolds, let it do so. Knowing this in hindsight, it was a strange comfort that everything worked towards a central purpose. Its helped me to see clearly in all of the cases I’ve covered.
It helps me to see now—and that gives me some assurance that I know where to go in writing this narrative. I’m a storyteller at heart and boy do I have a story to tell. I do not deceive myself that this may never see the light of day should the parties concerned withhold their right of consent. Nevertheless I write—just in case…
I always loved the summertime here in Portugal—it was the season that always made me all the more at home. It helped me in more ways than one to take my mind off things. My head swims with thoughts of what I must tell but tell it I shall.
What utter delusion I was under.
I could not stop thinking—it’s come to the point that I have to put thought to paper. Hence this, I suppose. Hence this awfully strange story between strangers and how destinies crisscrossed paths together. I was an unexpected witness to the events that happened.
I have had word from Nancy and she and Sonny have given me permission to tell the tale. And what a tale it is.
"Do what you must," I remember Sonny telling me the day he left Lisbon to who knows where. He looked tired and weary. "Do me a favor, Jonathan—if you write anything, write the truth."
And with a sad look and a silent goodbye, he walked to his gate awaiting his flight. That was the last time I saw Sonny and I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again.
Sit back and let me begin. Let me tell you how these strangers were led to one another. Let me tell you the truth of the matter.
This one is for Sonny and Nancy.
Their lives were fated.