My name is Alexander Demkakova, but my friends just call me Alex. I am from the Czech Republic formerly known as Czechoslovakia. We lived just outside Prague, where my Dad and Mom both worked. When my story begins I am in sunny Southern California far from the dreariness that enveloped the land of my youth. In California I live in Westwood where I attend the University of California in Los Angeles, most of you know it as UCLA. I hope as you peruse my life you keep in mind that it is true. You may have your doubts to its authenticity. You may find yourself asking, how could this possibly be true? You have a right for I can hardly believe it myself. I have only one request; do not pass judgment until you have read it all. Until you have had a chance to digest it all and hopefully understand me better. I write this not to entertain, amuse or arouse you, only inform. In doing so, I hope to cleanse myself and learn to understand better myself the changes in me.
I write this the only way I know how, from my point of view. When you read the entries from my journal realize they are unaltered. They are my thoughts and feelings as I lived them. I choose to tell my story through them to help establish a timeline. In my journal I try to relate my experiences and emotions as accurately as possible. Yet sometimes there are no words to describe what I am going through. And like everyone else telling their recollections they are one-sided. Read between the lines, see the real me and maybe the same won't happen to you.
Friday November 18, 1994
She was the most gorgeous creature I'd ever laid eyes on. I use this term loosely because she was all woman and of a class that far outranked any that I had come upon during my, albeit short in time but broad in exposure, time on this planet. Her hair was as black as a starless night, flowing like a silent river to her slender waist. As she shook her head, the lights from high up in the library shimmered across it like the moon on a lake devoid of ripples. I stared transfixed; the books in front of me no longer having any relevant hold on me. As she turned her head my direction our eyes met. In them I could see eternity, they held a depth as great as any ocean and I felt I might fall into them and drown. No, not drown. Be lost in them never to return and I was afraid, not of her but for my own sanity.
I literally had to tear my eyes from her. But like an accident scene they returned with a morbid curiosity that was uncontrollable. She laughed and it was not the laugh of hearing a good joke or finding something funny, instead it was more the chuckle of finding something amusing, or someone. In her eyes burned a fire so bright I felt it would consume me. There was a confidence in them that only comes with experience. She laughed again, not loud enough for any to hear but it mocked me even so, as if to clarify how small I really was, that my experiences to date had been less than noteworthy. But then she smiled, as if to say, I can teach you.
I must have fainted. Because when I next opened my eyes there was a small crowd gathered around me, someone was asking if I was okay. As my head began to clear I remembered those eyes. I pushed up to a sitting position ignoring the hands of those trying to help me. I scanned the room, my eyes begging for a glimpse back into her soul but she was not there. As I sit here writing this I began to wonder is she ever was.
Monday November 21, 1994
I've spent the last two days in a fog. Wandering around the campus searching for her. I told myself earlier that I would go for a walk, a short one. Not spend time obsessing on someone who may or may not actually exist. However when I arrived home a short time ago I realized it was well after midnight. I had spent hour's frantically scanning students as they traipsed form class to class. After searching the library I found myself down in the village of Westwood. Going in and out of restaurants, bars, bookstores and anywhere else that people might congregate but to no avail. She haunts me; my waking hours are spent in a haze that I can't seem to shake. The time of dreams is even worse.
Friday November 25, 1994
I tell myself repeatedly to stop. It's been a week since my breakdown. That is what must have happened for I can't get control of myself. I haven't been to class in over a week. The small amount of friends I have is dwindling daily. My thoughts are no longer my own, they belong to her. Dreamtime is no longer the diverse playground that once dominated my sleeping hours.
I saw her last night. She was ahead of me as I walked back from one of my jaunts. I chased after her but she vanished before I could catch up. I am beginning to believe that she breathes only in my mind. I feel as if I have been sucked into a tornado, propelled along a path I have no desire to be on and unable to alter in any way.
I am starting to think this is what happens just before the mind shuts off. I question my sanity more with each passing day.
Saturday December 10, 1994
It has been two weeks since my last entry, why bother? The routine is the same every day. Upon waking I tell myself, this is the day when I pick up the pieces of my shattered life. The day that I return to some form of normalcy. During the last couple of days I have stopped telling myself that, I know better. All I see when I venture inside myself is her, my angel. I have put a pet name to the image that is scorched onto every inch of my brain. The angel I see at night as I lay staring at the ceiling. The angel I chase around campus that disappears like a wisp of smoke.
I am now wondering if it is all worth it, trying to muddle around in this inane and insane existence. I no longer wish to live if it is without my angel. Maybe she is just that, residing on a higher plane than I could ever hope to achieve with the limitations of this body. Maybe she awaits me on the other side. It is two in the morning and I need some air. This may be my last entry for I no longer wish to continue this fight alone...
...it is now almost five. I left my room with every intention of not returning. Walking the short distance of my dorm I barely noticed the dark hulking presence of Drake Stadium or the quiet tennis center. I headed past Spaulding Field and into the myriad of brick buildings that comprise the medical sciences section of the school. I continued through the town of Westwood barely noticing the nightlife that was in full swing. My plan was to walk to the freeway, pitching myself in front of a car whose driver would have no chance of avoiding me. But as I reached the bottom of the on-ramp, a voice spoke one word. "No." I spun around to see where it had come from but I already knew it had not been spoken aloud. I also knew it was my angel though I'd yet to hear her speak.
I shambled back through Westwood towards campus near hysterics. So she had spoken inside my head, why should that surprise me? She did everything else there. I sat down on a bench at the edge of the campus. Leaning back against the damp wood I asked aloud, "Why?"
"Would you die for me?" The same throaty voice that had given me my stay of execution asked from behind me.
"I'm dying without you." I never glanced back, afraid that once again she would not be there. But she was and it must have been the right response because she came around and took at seat at my side. Once again I was given the opportunity to see those eyes. And in them I saw myself. Not the shell of a man that had been lost since my first encounter with them, but me. Whole and alive like I had never been before. We remained silent, eyes locked, for how long I know not. Then she said she must go. She promised to meet me tomorrow night at ten at our bench.
