2004-02-06
Roger
A time of pure happiness has now passed--reading Shakespeare in the damp heat and thinking what the Asher Lev paintings truly looked like. I read that Asher moved to Nice, France, and he would sit on his quaint balcony overlooking the blue ocean and inhaling the salty air. Before that, he went to paint with Joseph kahn wearing a simple blue t-shirt, black sandals, and his yamaka under a fisherman's cap.
I used to want to be Asher Lev, so on a summer day I would start to walk barefoot around my garden and stay there until the sun set. I walked around the art galleries and zig-zagging palm tress with my hands in my pockets and make my way towards my favorite cafe. It is a small and very intimate spot, and it smells of coffee and new books because it is also a bookstore. A large glass window serves as a wall, so that the writers and thinkers inside could admire those walking by outside. Some sort of plant taking the appearance of ivy acts as a natural curtain, and I sit back and drink my cappuccino.
The beach is sometimes great, because I collect shells and seaweed--sometimes, because I do not always like to go to the beach. The last time I went as in July, and I was with Roger--he coerced me into it. I did not want to get wet, but he wrapped him arms around my waist and threw me into the water. Salt water drenched my summer shirt, and so I immediately had to take it off. He kept staring at me, which made me feel a bit awkward, and finally I spoke.
"What is it?"
"You're sexy" he said, with a slight grin on his face.
"I am not..."
When he went back to Chicago the next day, he e-mailed me immediately after I got in contact with him. The day before he had told me how happy he was that I went to the beach with him, and he repeated it again.
He looks like a prince--prince charming. He truly does--a Polish prince.
Oh how I have avoided this very subject for so long because it gnawed my heart. After he left, the weight was unbearable, and I felt the same way I did when Chris left--only worse. The entries that I wrote were erased, so that I may forget that Roger ever existed, but that would be a lie. I will recount what happened, and I must remember how he slipped into my life and how he slipped out of it.
The night on which we met was a very rainy one, and I was wearing a red dress. My black hair was down, and it made sharp contrast with the red. It was a wedding actually, and so I sat down.
"Libet, when you walked into that room, I couldn't help but look at you"
Yes, that's what he said to me on the last day we spoke--I wanted to tell him that I loved him, but I swallowed it all like a dry burgundy.
After some time of admiring me from afar, he came over to me and politely asked me to dance. Despite the fact that I was ecstatic, I maintained my composure.
"Alright" I said, and so we danced. We danced as elegantly and regally as Napoleon and Josephine would have--we rivaled the bride and the groom. We spoke, and we spoke in each other's ears in the most intimate manner. The music made normal conversation almost impossible. I can still remember what we spoke about--politics, religion, philosophy...I told him what I think in regards to politics. I couldn't help myself and began to speak about the Chinese Cultural Revolution.
"How old are you?"
"I'm seventeen" I said.
He looked pretty surprised at my young age. He told me that he was twenty, and I thought that he wouldn't give me the light of day because of the age discrepancy. He did though--he gave me his full attention for the rest of the night, and his full attention for the rest of the next day. I still smile when I think of how suave he was at inquiring about my romantic affairs--whether or not I had a boyfriend.
"Do you talk to your boyfriend about this a lot?"
"I don't have a boyfriend"
"Why? hmm...I don't believe that"
I laughed "I really don't"
He gave me his phone number, and I remember him writing it down on a napkin.
He left, and it began to rain, and I listened to Moonlight Sonata over and over. I blamed myself, I pushed Aaron away and compared him to Roger, I blamed life, I stopped believing in God, and finally, I gave up blaming. I wanted to keep that moment forever, but I knew that it was impossible. All I have now are words, I suppose...