Today I don’t want to write about love. I’ll write about it next time. Maybe, that’s because I’m tired of everybody’s lies – those of your friends, your relatives and, most of all, of your own. As we rush to erase the traces of our presence in each other’s lives, I want to keep whatever is real in my memory. That’s why today I’m going to write about partings.
And let people think what they want. Anyway, they will think what they like. Middlebrows like convenient truth – the one leaving their soul comfort untouched, the one making them seem the best of them. And they will fight for it till the end. Illusion of attachment, illusion of love, illusion of happiness…People tend to stick to their illusions to the last, because if they shatter, all that’s left will be their pathetic life with all its dullness and emptiness.
I don’t care what others decide – where they see truth, hypocrisy, lie…The most important thing is that WE know it. You and I.
I even know the excuses you are making for yourself now: you were saying what I was longing to hear, I heard what I wanted, I misunderstood everything…Oh, how pathetic in their excuses men are! As one of the heroes of my favorite “Cruel intentions” said: “We act merciless, when we are ashamed of our love”.
When we got acquainted, you said you don’t believe in love. The only thing you loved was your black Hyundai Accent, that you sold several years later, after a car crash. I remember that day – you were seriously hit because of a “woman driver”. You called and said: “I have just been within a hair's breadth of death”. I said I didn’t know how I would live then. Without you. And you said: “Just the way you live now… time would pass and you would forget”. But we have never been capable of it. As years go by, we’ve learnt to forget ourselves, but not to FORGET.
But it’s not an evening of sentimental memories today. Both of us will have time for them later. Today I’m writing about partings. Though “partings” is too much to say. Whatever happened, you never disappeared from my life for long.
The first time was the most painful one. As well as the longest. From 6 January to 30 April 2009. After some stupid quarrel. Those were dismal, empty, cold four months. Life ran its course, but somehow I could never come to terms with the fact that none of your cell phone numbers would ever be seen in my incoming list.
Calvados from a cafe close to my work and TNT Channel became my best friends. I even learnt the participants of “Dom -2”1 by heart. (“Dom-2” (“House-2”) – a popular Russian TV-show, where young men and women try to build a serious relationship and win a house). From time to time the best of my friends came to our town. Together, we indulged into intellectual conversations and philosophical disputes which were supposed to convince me that I don’t need you. Besides, we drank semi-sweet red wine, changing it for dry white one every now and then. I added vodka sometimes. In March I felt a little better. I stopped drinking calvados, adding vodka and watching TNT.
But I still thought that nothing could make up for the loss of you. There’s one episode in the novel “Melancholia” by Ryu Murakami from his trilogy “Monologues about pleasure, apathy and death”: the main hero, Yazaki, is standing in front of the shop-window of a boutique, when he sees a dress, ideally suited for Reiko, his ex. Just the right style, cut, size, color range… Yazaki looks at it, and realizes that Reiko will never wear this ideal dress for him. I felt almost the same way. It was a mixture of nostalgia, despair and emptiness.
I’ve kept one SMS from that first parting. “I started 8 verses, drank four times, had a little drink a lot of times, fell ill two times and one time I even cried. Dozens of times did I feel bad from the thought that now you said tender words to other girls. And hundreds of times did I feel this way, because you did not say them to me. I know that, for you, everything ended long ago, but my silly heart does not want to recognize either rules or proprieties.” I never sent it though. At that time I still thought that love leaves space for pride.
That first parting was the only one when I was the first to make a move towards reconciliation. On 30 April, I and my best friend drank 4 bottles of wine (by the way, I still feel ashamed for puking in her kitchen that evening). I kept saying that I loved you and somehow managed to dial your number. I failed to speak though – my friend took the cell phone away, and said that we got the wrong number. Still the next day I wrote to you: I needed to excuse myself and put my behavior down to the amount of alcohol I had taken in. (Thanks heaven there’s alcohol – a heal-all one can refer to, when ashamed to talk about feelings). You answered: “It’s ok, I understand” (oh, you have always understood everything!). And everything started over. At first, slowly, then abruptly.
I must hand it to you, you have never deceived me, used my feelings or fed me on illusions. At least then you were just that kind of man. And for some reason, I thought you would remain such always.
You said you would not be able to marry me, even if you did want to. But you did not – you have always been against interethnic marriages, and did not conceal your point of view. Only a couple of times, in the very beginning - more like in jest – you offered to “go far away, better to some other country” and be together. And you complained that, in fact, I would never want to do that.
But the temptation of it being real was painful. And were I not afraid to drown in all this conventional life, I could fight for it. But I did not want to. I was not born to cruise from the kitchen to the drawing room. I would never put up with a mother-in-law and sisters-in-law keeping an eye on my bedroom – only my readers have the advantage to do so.
Besides, I have always been too smart for you. You said you needed an obedient woman and a good housewife, that’s why you were going to marry a girl without higher education – a seamstress, for example. A couple of years later you mentioned that she had made you a suit, while I had promised to knit you a scarf in the first month of our acquaintance, but never began.
You said: “Ann, you want nothing but to have fun and write poetry. You don’t like to cook, to run the house…You say, you’ll change for me, but you won’t become tamed and yielding, you’ll get bored in a month, you’ll start to hate it all and me to boot. And you’ll say: “Go to your Nakh woman”. And you’ll write a story about it”.
And you know what? Five years later nothing changed, indeed. I still don’t like to cook. And I still write. Even better than before.
But there was something else. I have always needed a man to lead me on. The one, you don’t have to push. A man must be smarter than a woman, discover something new for her. And as for you – what could you tell me? I tried to cultivate a taste to good cinema and literature in you. You even got to like cognac and whiskey. But you still have not learnt to drink them.
You have always worried that you won’t achieve anything on your own, in isolation from your family, that you have not inherited the necessary traits of character. That’s the way it happened. But, fortunately for me (and for Russian literature, I dare hope), you exist. Life is a very clever thing.
In autumn, 2009 it happened. I was reading “The Black Prince” by Iris Murdoch then, that’s why I took it without any particular emotion. Of course, I’d prefer you were single. But when I imagined our possible life together in detail, it was easier for me to put up with the thought that somebody else lived it. What had to happen, happened, and you said we wouldn’t communicate after it. It was our second parting.
You called about two weeks later, saying: “I still don’t want to leave your life. But now we will only be friends”. Having moved to Rostov, you called me every night, from Monday to Thursday, and went to the country in the weekend. Oh, I disliked Friday, Saturday and Sunday a lot back then. And you said you didn’t love me. Sometimes it’s funny to remember our dialogues of those times. All this way from “I have never loved you – it was appetence and it has ended” (2009) to “I love you. I need you. And I have always needed only you – now I understand.” (2012-2013). And all these “Goodbye forever” in between.
The first time you said, you could not cope with yourself, was already after our meeting that summer-September 2010. And it was the first time you felt scared. On 30 September, the day before my flight to Barcelona, you sent me an SMS: “It has crossed the line. And I do not want that. I’ve got her and I care for her. I wish you good luck. It was nice to communicate with you. Please, do not write or call me anymore. That’s what I will do as well. All the best!” We were parting for the third time.
I thought it was our final break-up and I felt at home. You always feel at home, when it’s over. And besides, there was Spain. And there was a guy from St. Pete. And your SMS with “Hi…” which I got on the way back, while getting on board Barcelona-Moscow, thirteen days after, surprised me a lot.
Oh, you must be very sorry now for having broken your promise. Timidly, at first, you asked how it was going and what I was up to in my life. But it was just the beginning. Sometime later you spoke about your feelings for the first time. I remember that evening clearly – 18 October 2010. No, you didn’t say you love me – you were not that straightforward. You said: “I don’t want to lose you. Whatever happens, I can’t do without you.” A couple of days later I sent you a quotation from “Kafka on the shore” – the book by Murakami I was reading then: “Memory warms a man from the inside, and at the same time it tears him apart”.
And do you know why, on the arrival, I answered the phone at all? Though my thoughts and plans were about a totally different man? You even wrote then: “Won’t answer?.. ok, I understand”. It was because I saw an elderly couple in Krasnodar airport… It was so touching to see them holding hands, hugging and looking at each other with such tenderness and love…it was as if they were 20, not 60. And looking at them, for some reason, I thought not about Misha, but about you.
In august 2011 it was the first time you said you loved me. I was coming back from a party, and, calling a taxi, I saw 16 missed calls. You were absolutely sober. The next day you called and said you had not changed your mind – you really loved me.
I said you had no willpower. And you answered: “If I did not, I would be with you”. That summer it had to be our “first time”. In every sense of the word. But you did not come. You know, I’m awfully glad about it now. And then it started to die out slowly…Probably it was our fourth parting. No, our communication went on, but you didn’t say you loved me anymore. You only said that if you didn’t have feelings for me, you would have disappeared from my life long ago. And when I asked, whether you loved me or not, you said I asked your least favorite question.
On New Year’s Day, 2012, as well as in 2009, 2010, 2011 and 2013, and on all my birthdays and Women’s days, you were one of the first to congratulate me. But at 01.00 a.m. I was at the club (they had just turned on a track by my favorite DJ Agrab) and the only thing I managed to write was: “I’m happy”. By the way, that night was special. At 03.30 a.m., having hung up after talking to you, I fell in love. It was not for the first time, but for the first time it was that strong.
He was brighter, more interesting and far more fitting to my intellectual and spiritual needs. He was talented. He had the same fire inside that I did – the fire of unsatisfied vanity. He was smarter than you. And he was more handsome for sure. He belonged to those men, who bring flowers, presents and organize romantic dates. And besides, he carried me in his arms. With his leg broken. And he inspired me.
That’s why your love story of 2011-2012 went past me. I must admit, I was a little bit disappointed – you had always been that principled. You said that even kisses meant adultery to you. I respected your principles a lot – we had no sexual relationship then. You wanted to be faithful to one woman all your life. You managed to stick to it for a little more than a year and a half. Even for almost two years.
I should have become alert already then – the Rass I felt so intimate with, would never cheat. But that’s not the issue. The main thing is that you lied for the first time – in summer 2012 nothing ended. You still sleep with her from time to time, don’t you? It’s no wonder. Regularity is important for you, as you aren’t a great fan of safe sex, or spending money. But I won’t be surprised if there are several of them – girls with green eyes and big breasts.
What do I know about her? Only what you have told me. She is an ex-lover of your brother and she is 18. She put on stockings for you, gave you a blow job and cumed with you for the first time. But I think it’s not true. Girls say such things sometimes to attach men – those, who do not want to be attached.
And she tried. She even introduced you to her parents. And she almost succeeded. When you decided to give her up, she asked: “At least leave sex between us”.
Back then, in summer 2012, I was in love, and your affair did not touch my heart. But this phrase challenged my mind. Particularly now. It made me think about what it was that I wanted to leave. What was the most precious to me? If I had an opportunity to amend everything and we parted decently, I would ask you to leave friendship. To give back trust. The opportunity to bare your soul to someone close. I acted mean. And no matter how bad you acted, I acted much worse. I betrayed your trust.
But it was not you that I betrayed. I had often been on the razor-edge, and the Rass I knew had always stopped me at this edge. The Rass I held took me as I am. The Rass I loved would never let me doubt it.
That’s why I have no remorse.
Do you know what the worst of it all is? You will never hear my voice again. And I will never hear yours. Neither when it’s bad, nor when it’s fine. All these people that appeared… and those who have always been. It’s not exactly the right thing. It’s exactly not the right thing. You can have a lot more women- those of different ages, types and characters; you can even find someone in the image and likeness of me. But it will still have a taste of the second time.
In the first week of November 2012, you said that now you were absolutely sure of your love. I was attracted a bit to one man then. Nothing serious – just one paragraph about how everything was for real that time. But it was the first week after parting with him (we were far too different – not a single common point), and I was a little bit depressed. I even thought then: “So, the love of my life finally loves me, and I still feel empty inside”. But you kept on saying the words of love for half a year, and gradually, it became important for me again. And you… You either believed in it yourself or, as years went by, you’d learnt to lie. Even to me.
We shouldn’t have become such people. But we did. And we have become such far from each other.
We went through all the cycles of love and got back to the final point. But nobody wanted to start anew.
The fifth parting? Oh, yes, in May. I understood that time was the last one already then. I did it by morning touches and kisses. And by the way you watched my taxi go. You were memorizing every gesture, every curve. And every word. That’s how they say goodbye to a dream which is never to come true. Say goodbye forever. But even then you said you loved me.
That morning your love ended. As for mine, it had ended much earlier. I just wanted to make sure of it, giving way to my desires. Something could have been otherwise. But it’s always interesting what is going to be next, isn’t it? I know I can’t put fragments together, but for some reason I can’t help the temptation of putting my glass on the edge of the table.
You’ll ask why I do all this now. Four months after, during which I was enjoying other new interests and life? But you know the answer. For the same reason I do everything else. To create. That’s the MOST basic of all my instincts.
As for you… for all these words you now so easily refuse from…I wish only one thing was the truth: every time you cum… during these last minutes of pleasure, you can’t think of anyone but me. That it’s only my face you can imagine. And immediately after – when, in the heat of tenderness, you want to hug the one lying next to you. And maybe, for a little while – for a few seconds – you feel mad for sadness from realizing we will never see each other again.
And I hope that one day I will stop to remember you in such minutes.