Nadia
By a.hutchinson
- 543 reads
Nadia
I had sex with Nadia tonight. This happens from time to time. Nadia,
she's not my girlfriend, she's made that clear, but we have sex. Time
to time. And last night I told her I would give her anything. I said I
would run through raining nights across streets and suburbs to make
sure I was never late for her. But she doesn't want that. She doesn't
want anything. Nadia said she wouldn't be calling again.
On the freeway, the raindrops reflect the glow of the street
lights.
One time, a friend of mine told me a story about a man he knew, and old
man who worked at a clothing alteration store in the city. The old man
was a tailor, a traditional men's suit tailor. Only ever worked on
men's suits. And he'd owned his store all his working life. The old man
was in love with a florist girl who worked across the way. The florist,
she was only in her early twenties and there was no way the old man
could be with her really.
The old man, he lived by himself too, and what he'd do is he'd go into
the florist and buy a flower every week. I can't remember what flower,
it doesn't matter. The old man would smile at her, the florist, and she
was beautiful, perfect skin and pale eyes that reminded him of the
ocean. The old man would take his fresh flower home and pin it to a
dress, a dress that he had been working on for months. The dress was
shining too, glittering in the light, a most extravagant creation. The
dress was for his florist, a gift that she would never recieve from a
shy, lonely old man who she'd never even know.
But one day one of the old man's friends comes over and he sees this
dress in the old man's room and he sees the basket full of old flowers.
The old man has to explain and his friend tells his to give it to her.
The old man says no and spends more months on the dress. Everynight he
imagines dancing with the florist, glittering across the room in
perfect circles. He remembers her smell and he imagines staring into
her eyes and not saying a word. Just breathing with her.
One day he takes the dress in a box and he closes his store for the day
and he takes the box to her shop. He tells her 'no flowers today' and
he smiles, puts the box gently onto the counter. He stares at her for a
moment, slides his fingers across the box, but he says nothing, just
turns and leaves her to find his dress. His heart. But he never goes
back. He catches a boat that day and he leaves and spends his days
watching the ocean, the waters that will always remind him of her. That
most beautiful girl that he could never have. And sometimes it makes
him cry. Other times it makes him happy to have known her.
I think of this story, and I want to say to Nadia that it doesn't
matter, because I love her and that it doesn't matter that she cannot
feel the same. Tell her that I can smell her on my pillow when she is
gone, taste her on my lips. That I can close my eyes and see her beside
me on a beach at night, the breeze that fills her hair as she closes
her eyes. Listens to the ocean whisper under the stars. How I could
watch her for hours without words. Just breathe with her. Kiss her
goodbye, feel my hand across her cheek.
And on the freeway at night I count the streetlights as they pass,
floating towards the next town. Wonder who else is out driving at this
time of night.
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