They
agreed to hang out together that day but it was mainly to catch up on work. It
was only the two of them when they arrived at the open-air café located in the
outskirts of Cairo. For a few hours, she was actually having a very refreshing
afternoon; sitting in the sun on a comfortable couch, sipping an ice-cold piña colada, smoking an intoxicating
coconut-flavored hookah and sitting next to the man who not only seemed to be
the man of her dreams, but the manifestation of her dreams in a man.
“Do
you have a lot of work?”
“Yeah,
I have to correct quizzes for 3 classes and listening tests for two, how about
you?
He
was sitting with his legs crossed, staring at the laptop screen. “I have a few
quizzes and tests, but not as much as you.”
They
had just recovered from a big fight but she didn’t doubt for a second that she
wanted to give their relationship another try.
Later
in the afternoon, seeing that he had quit correcting his papers and was doing
something on his laptop, “What are you working on?” she asked.
“There’s
a short story contest at the university and the story I want to submit for it
is over the word limit but every single paragraph is important.”
A
contest? You never told me about it before.
“Which story is it?” She bent over and took a
look at the screen. “Oh, I read that one! I think my first comment on your blog
was when I read that story.”
She
was sitting right next to him, but he didn’t ask her opinion while he edited
his short story. His eyes were fixed on the screen, fingers on the keyboard.
“Anyway,
umm…why don’t you remove the 4th paragraph, when she was on the
plane?” she suggested.
I can’t believe it was only last week that you
told me about one of your stories before even writing it. You’re different
today. This must be the side of you my friends warned me would eventually take
over.
“No!
I can’t do that, it symbolizes the conflict between the two cultures, I can’t
remove it.”
After
years of being with the wrong guys, of thinking that maybe it was her fault and
not theirs, of trying so hard to convince herself that it just wasn’t time yet,
she finally found him. He was the only
man who had brought out the writer in her, who saw the optimist and the
dreamer. He was the first to admire her intellect and then her sexuality, her
sarcasm and then her humor. He saw her from an angle she had never known
existed.
“I
can’t wait till I’m done with these classes, I miss London so much.”
I miss you.
“Yeah,
I’m so excited for you! Do you have any specific plans?”
Having
lived in London all his life, the past two years in Cairo had been extremely
tough; it was time to pay home a visit.
“I
think my friends and I are going on a road trip, we might even go to Paris.”
Her
eyeliner was perfectly painted over her eyelids, but he didn’t look her
straight in the eye. Her skin was
musky-scented, but he didn’t put his arm around her. Her fingers were
decorated with beautiful rings, but he didn’t hold her hand.
“So,
are you going bowling with the girls tonight?” he asked.
“They’re
going bowling? No one told me.”
“Well,
I’m telling you now. I might go.”
Wait, we’re not spending the day together?
“I
don’t know. I have a lot of work to do. Probably not.”
I know
he’s sitting right next to me, but he’s just not here. The writer in him isn’t
being articulate today, the naughty guy isn’t flirting with me, the poet isn’t describing
how beautiful I am, the friend isn’t talking about his day, the thinker has
abandoned teasing my brain, and instead we’re just talking about anything but
us..
Their silence, a big dark cloud, hovered over
them. He continued switching only between his papers and his laptop and she was
drowned in tests, answer keys and grade calculations. Between every few checks
or crosses on a paper she would take a long drag of her hookah, and look at him
from the corner of her eye.
He
was holding back what he was really feeling and she wasn’t sure what to ask
him. And so she decided to wait for him to come out with it, because, just like
the short stories he wrote, he was being very hard to read.
On their first official date a month earlier, a
romantic moment had brought them closer than they'd ever been. Eyes closed. She
was trying to preserve the moment, to lock it up in a place of happy memories. She
couldn't believe it was really happening. Being so close to a girl, he
remembered what he'd been through, and told her he wanted to take it slow. He
was scared for the both of them, he said.
The
sun rays were starting to fade, and the new phase of the day was eclipsed by the
moon.
“By
the way, I’m leaving in a little while,” he said. “I haven’t spent enough time
alone lately.” Trying to stop himself
from smiling, he added, “My plan for tonight is to be alone…read--he sighed--
and write.”
There
was no way she was going to ask him to change his mind since he’d already
chosen his own company over hers. But what she really wanted to ask him was if
he cared about her at all, if he cared about them at all.
He
took a long drag of his own hookah, held his chin up and let go of the smoke
very slowly, seeming to enjoy it as it left his lungs.
“Dina,
you do know that my wanting to go home isn’t personal, right?”
An
instant smirk formed on her face. With a
sharp tone, she said, “I actually don’t see how it’s not.”
“Oh
come on, Dina. You know that that’s just me. I’ve known since I was a kid that
I want to become a writer. I need my solitude,” he said.
“But…
look, I understand how much you like being alone, but Adam, I feel that you
enjoy being alone more than… anything else.”
He
took a deep breath and for the first time that day he looked her straight in
the eye. She knew he had finally decided to voice his thoughts.
“Dina,
I’ve lived alone since I was 15. You know, when my dad used to go to work and I
would have a cold, I used to make soup for myself. In other words, I’m used to
being alone; I’m used to doing everything myself and my way.”
He
chuckled, and covered the smile on his face with his left hand.
She
raised both her eyebrows, gestured with her left open palm “What’s so funny?”
“Oh,
it’s not funny. It’s just um…I think I’m just like my grandfather.” He shook
his head.
“Like
your grandfather?”
“Well,
he was a writer too, and he would spend hours alone in his office, writing. He
actually never stayed married. He got married more than once but he always
ended up divorced. I think it’s just…us.”
She
squinted.
Adam,
as if taking his one and only chance to speak his mind, took the confession
seat.
“You
know, this might be shocking to you, but in the future, I actually don’t mind
having a child outside wedlock. I think that’s how much I don’t mind not having
a wife but I would really like to have a child.”
Sitting
on his right, she had one leg over the other and was looking over at him, in
awe, as if watching him perform. He sank into his seat, legs slightly apart, staring
into the disappearing sun, and a ponderous smile grew on his face. He blew his
hookah smoke in the air, waited for it to clear, and then turned to Dina.
“I
don’t think I can actually have a long-term partner. I will inevitably end up
alone.”
Every time he said something it tore her pride
because he was making her wonder whether or not he was really breaking up
with her.
“I think it’s because my mom left my dad.”
Because
he had her sit there listen to why she didn’t fit in his life, and yet he acted
as if he were simply talking about himself.
When he decided it was time for his solitary
ritual, he left her money for the check, and asked her only once if she was
okay with staying alone in the café.
Watching
him happily leave, a thought unraveled in her mind. He really left. He left me. And then she realized that not only had
he left her like all the other men in her life had, he had left her behind.
It was as if the space he had occupied when he
was with her was automatically filled with descending words, and emotions. She
couldn’t contain herself; she needed to outpour her overflowing self before it
all evaporated. She reached into her bag and frantically searched for pen and paper.
Under the dimmed lights of the café, amongst the chatter and laughter of the
couples surrounding her, in the midst of the loud music, she managed to seclude
herself. She was trying to transform her feelings into words. She was racing with
her own brain, because if she didn’t write fast enough she wouldn’t be able to
capture the muse that had temporarily possessed her.