The small hand of the clock has traveled a quarter of a circle ever since I went to bed. Only the heavy breathing of my parents cuddled in the neighboring room interrupts the quiet or so I think. Feeling something warm and humid in my eyes, I hear sobbing. It is very low and restrained, as if the person is trying not to be heard. Slowly I open my eyes only to realize that what I hear does not happen in my dream. My pillow is wet.
I do not cry when Nisreen tells me that he actually got a new girlfriend just a month after he left everything familiar and deeply loved to go to study in UWC-USA. I am mad, I feel like a naïve fool, my pride is hurt, but I do not cry…or maybe I do, but not as much as I used to. I know he professed his love for someone else, and although it was painful when I found out, gradually I accepted that my life did not take the direction I had so carefully planned. However, I never knew he trampled insolently on the “I will always love you!” so soon.
“I will always love you!” chirp two voices simultaneously. Under the shade of the oak tree, tucked away from the eyes of casual observers, we hug as firmly as we can and rest our heads on each other’s backs. We do not speak but we perfectly know what is on the mind of the other. We are both the happiest and the saddest people in the wide world. At a rate of 90+ beats per second, our hearts exult because we are together in this very moment. However, these same hearts also cry, because soon, oh so soon, we will not be able to touch, smell, kiss, or even see each other. In the fall, he will leave for New Mexico to study for two years in the UWC there. Afterwards, he will go to college somewhere else in the States.
My cheeks burn because of the hot rivulets coming out of my eyes. With effort, I lift the upper half of my body. I sit in bed, with legs crisscrossed, and try to calm myself down. Blood presses my temple; my mind goes crazy and a voice inside me shouts piercingly: “You promised, you promised!” I promised him and myself that I would do anything to fly over the Atlantic and go study in the same country that he does. Travel would be much easier this way and we would get a chance to reunite if not every month, at least during the holidays. Once all the college ordeals are over, we would settle somewhere together, start work, and raise kids. A perfect romantic story!
200 miles separate Middlebury College from Harvard University. Although I live “just above him” right now, over a period of one and a half years we never found time to visit each other; or rather never found the guts. Now he has a Harvard girlfriend, the newest one, and it will be somewhat awkward if the three of us are in the same place at the same time. I also doubt that his new miss will be okay with his coming up to see me. He went back to Bulgaria for Christmas break while I did not so I really missed not being able to chat with him on the phone. Therefore, I sent him a rather innocent Facebook message saying that I miss him, and instead of getting an I-miss-you-too message back, I opened my mailbox to find this e-mail from him saying how much I frustrated him and his girlfriend. “Bullshit”, I thought; nevertheless, I apologized for my lack of self-control. He removed me from his Facebook friends because, I guess, he is too worried that I, with my sick mind, might abuse his wall again. I am actually quite happy – at least I will not be able to see those pictures where he kisses his toothy girlfriend.
We do not hurry with the first kiss. In fact, we hope that by the time he leaves, we will not have kissed at all. It is not that we are shy, or disgusted: we just care for each other so much that we realize that each step that brings us closer now will cause us greater pain later. Despite the desire raging inside, we restrict our affection only to hugs, holding of hands and a lot of time spent together. However, love rarely understands reason and eventually takes its natural course. Recently it has been raining a lot but today the sunrays boldly pierce the window blinds, creating a different vibe in his room. We talk about something and with every uttered word, our faces draw nearer to each other as if some invisible physical force makes them attract. Our lips find themselves engaged in a gentle, lingering dance. It is awkward but it feels good, a ticklish sensation in our tummies. Having trespassed the boundaries originally set, we feel guilty only for a fraction of a moment. How can we possibly feel culpable when we finally can shower all the piled-up affection in an unrestrained fashion?
My mind is hyper: it needs to cool down. Throwing the sheets, I rush in the bathroom. Shakily my right hand turns on the shower, and I sit on the cold tiles, my hands tiredly entangled around my legs, my chin propped on my knees. I think about our no longer perfect romantic story. With the distance, my love for him has intensified: a couple of times a day I send him long e-mails about anything and everything, every second person I see on the street seems to be him, I try to make the plans for my life according to his plans for his life. He, however, does not seem to reciprocate, which makes me lose hope and motivation with each passing day. His e-mails are rarer and less personal, his phone calls are now limited to “Hi! Could you do me a favor?” No longer does he have 5 minutes a day to spend solely on me. When he contacts me, he talks about his matters and problems, never asking how I feel, how I cope, how my life goes. “I do not have time. Life here is busy.” he explains as succinctly as possible. ‘I know”, I respond, but deep down I am convinced that this cannot be the reason for his coldness that makes my very being ache in agony. He must have found a substitute for me. It is just so blatantly obvious. Lukewarm water trickles down my spine and lulls me to sleep.
Now I have my eyes wide open. Unbiased, I see his faithfulness (or rather lack thereof) to me over the years. I came to the States, true, with different original intentions, but in this new place, I chose to start my life anew. The past is locked in a box hidden in a cupboard back home. I go out, meet friends, have fun, flirt, and seek happiness with other people. Satisfied with my life, I do not need him for me to be happy. The world is just as beautiful without him. 200 miles is too far away. It is not worth it.
On a rainy day, he leaves for this land far away. He disappears in a car and I wave goodbye at it a long time after it gets out of sight. As if planted, I stay there under the rain, but do not feel its revitalizing effect; instead, I feel that I am withering because something vital to my life has just been taken away. Days later I read this book called “Under the Yoke” by Ivan Vazov. In it, Boycho, who is in love with Rada, leaves the town for an indefinitely long period because otherwise he will be killed by the Turkish oppressors. As part of the description of this situation, the author uses a popular Bulgarian proverb according to which “Eyes that do not see each other, forget each other.” “Really?” I exclaim but keep on reading. The characters love each other so deeply that eventually they prove the folk wisdom wrong. Despite all the dangerous situations Boycho has to live through, he never forgets Rada. Similarly, despite her beauty and her admirers, Rada does not forget Boycho. I marvel this pure, real love and I know that mine will also survive the relentless passage of time.
In five minutes’ time, I wake up because of the same trickle that put me to sleep. I remember about this book I read a while back. My love is true but this is not enough to save our relationship. My salty tears mix with the shower drops and I quietly admit to myself: “He has forgotten me.”
I have not forgotten him! Despite everything, I have not. In a few days’ time, I am traveling 200 miles southeast.
