I met Stiva years ago when I was fifteen, he moved to my city from Moscow. I remember that when I first saw him, he was wearing a dark long wool coat and I had an instant crush. That winter I needed a new coat, and I had only one thing in mind... I spent $300.00 because I wanted that boy to notice me, not knowing that things don't usually work out so simply. He noticed me in many ways but never said a word about my new favourite coat. I just think that teenage love is silly. Later that year Stiva's coat was stolen at a party.
Through our time spent together, I learned that he was oblivious. I looked up to him for a while, carefully thought through every word he'd said to me. I wanted to know everything about him. He enabled me to fall in love by being so beautifully unaware. He would smooth his hair back from his eyes, smirk, fidget with his glasses, and stare at me intensely during our private conversations. Our conversations about his discoveries, his projects. We kept in touch throughout University. He lit up when he successfully explained his findings in theoretical physics, clueless as I was. I loved to listen to all of it, not because I thought wind shields that couldn't freeze were going to save the world, but because he spoke with incredible passion. I was equally oblivious to the signs that he wanted my love.
There were many signs. One night sticks out in my mind, perhaps the most romantic night of my life. It was 5AM, and he had spent the night at his office, but he told me he had found an old phone, told me how he deleted the photos of me on it. It reminded him of how beautiful I was. It would be better if his girlfriend didn't see those. I was drunkenly walking home from a bar in Hiroshima, he was texting me about this circumstance, and how if I wanted to go to Russia, he would go with me.
In every other way, that night I told him I loved him. He'd said it back, though in years I still haven't finished processing it.
"Back then, I often wondered what kissing you would be like. " the letters appeared on the screen in my hand. I finished the last of my Moscow Mule.
"Terrible."
"Very. But it's been a long time." What did he mean by that? Does he think of it still? Of how now it could be better? My heart ached, this was not the kind of resolution I was seeking, drunk as I was. I slowly typed my careful reply.
"I would be good to you anyway." I hit send. It didn't mean all that it should, going to him at 5AM, from my bar spot.
"But now we are both with other people." His reply came in after some contemplation on his part, five minutes later. Neither of us should have been having that conversation. I sighed, what did he want from me? I'll leave everything for you. I couldn't give that, but I knew I would have if he asked.
"We are." I finished it off bluntly. I couldn't break my heart any more that evening. He looks around the room now with clouds cast onto his blue eyes, dreamily taking everything in. He looks down at the arm of his chair and thumbs the dark evergreen coloured upholstery, and I catch myself staring at him too romantically. I breathe deeply hoping to smell his cologne, but we're sitting too far apart. The room is in early evening light, and a warm glow is cast from the lamp on a side table. It's beautifully furnished but I can't take my eyes off of him.
Sitting here I can notice his chest constrained behind a button up, his collarbone showing just slightly as a tease. It's his milky coloured skin there that I will imagine kissing when I am alone again. His arms are muscular and I can feel them around me whenever I look at them. Directing my gaze upwards his full rosy lips catch my attention, they are somehow painted in watercolour. His smile is full of bright teeth and it always meets his eyes when I make him laugh. When he tilts his head up laughing, the light will sometimes glint off his glasses. I'm still waiting for the conversation to spring from his mouth when I catch his stare, it's intense and maybe even teasing, or I'm just hoping again.
He chuckles, and I ask "What?"
"You're strange tonight..." He cocks an eyebrow and it takes me off guard. I've been thinking of him fondly and it shouldn't feel any different than it ever has but still, he's correct.
"I don't think I've said much to make you think that." I'm being cool of course, but I can't resist defying him.
"You haven't said much at all, and that's why I think that."
"Well you have me talking now, so congratulations." Perhaps I oughtn't to be so saucy with him but I have always believed he could hold his own.
He scoffs at me, "It's nice to see you."
We banter back and forth for an hour or so just the same. Although I'm enthralled, my appetite is increasing. I'm wondering how I could get him as a dinner date, and at that time I was thinking of how busy he usually is when he softens just for a moment "Would you have dinner with me tonight?"
My heart threatens to jump out of my chest, it makes it to my throat. If I was paler I would blush. "Yes, now."
We both get in and out of relationships and never stay single for long. But at the moment neither of us are with anyone else, something that hasn't happened in ten years. I don't like admitting to it but it's something I used to consider a lot, would we be together if we weren't spoken for? For the first time, I consider that we aren't anymore. I don't know what we are and I never have, so I'm uncertain whether this is a date kind of dinner or not. I'll allow it regardless.
I agree and I'm whisked down the street. We're all long coats and dress clothes and I think he's prettier than I am but it feels nice to be with someone. Together we're mismatched, and I think that's always been a part of it, the aesthetics of the two of us and how we visually contrast. It may seem silly to have that add up to your physical attraction, but it's an artistic sentiment.
