choices made

school is making us alcoholics, she states - maybe waiting for me to negate, maybe just because, and hands me a glass of spanish red. 

we walk for half an hour, me carrying this chocolate-pineapple cake i just made and trying to find their flat on my little map drawing with the address and street names only i can read. when we get there, we get to experience an italian way of making veggies, french one to fry goat cheese, and after the first bottle, we start - of course - about men in our lives. eventually, eyes stay on me asking how slovakia was. 

was good. i met with my friends, fam, i just stayed in bratislava longer than expected. i dont want to go further, cause i dont know how to name him, what to say, what to think myself. but, yes, a question follows: why? i just shake my shoulders, tell them about his mom, our story that dates back to the time when i was young and stupid - more young and more stupid than i am now. they understand, have no suggestions, we do not need to discuss further. 

why do you care about him so much and why do you get upset when he doesnt write? she asks when we get home. 

because he will father my kids, one day

You and Déjà vu

We said a bye to each other through an email. I didn’t trust him – well, I didn’t because he was a liar. I might believe in everything you say until it starts not making sense. Because I am a woman, so I remember details. All details. Your bday, your breakfast, your dreams, your family problems, your favorite song or if you drink tea with sugar.

So that’s how it ended, and I forgot, not too hearth-broken, not too upset, with no regrets.

The last day in Chicago, I pulled over; waiting for a friend to come back since she forgot her camera in a gift bag with a tiny Kafka book. The last one in my collection – I mean: Kafka collection. And here he is, passing by on a blue bike, in a red outfit – I can see him in a rear-view mirror. My heart was pumping so fast - maybe it was because I didn’t want him to see me, maybe because a thought crossed my mind to open the door when he gets next to me and knock him on his knees, kick him and say here, you bitch. Anyway, no… ehm, yes, anyway, I just looked out of the window and saw a little body dressed in red, shrinking into an unclear picture.

Then I realize I stopped missing him. Not that red dot, not j. and his dog, not… I do not miss a boy that I believed was perfect for me, as I was for him. I still think of him sometimes, of course.

Pictures are so amazing! I have never seen you so sexy. Are you in love? Updates! She emails, and it makes me think: am I? Am I in love? Is that why?

Why I don’t miss you? Why I am not heartbroken? Why nothing makes sense and I am so comfortably lost in sigma algebras and extended real lines?

I am thinking of all my déjà-vu-s. The boys that were like one.  And then the boys I felt right about. Like this one.

tango tonight

watching them leave, he smiles one more time and says that tomorrow, he is coming to taste that pastry that is still in the process of my making. i lock the door feeling tired. we make progress on talking - there are no stupid quiet moments no more - i thought one cant fix if the second or third time alone theres noting to say - and i am truly enjoying this friendship first way. but after getting accustomed to a quick, american, dating - i feel its too long before the first kiss. hm... or... nah, no time for over-thinking.

come with us, a tango concert, just a few minutes walking, italians say. i agree, dont know why - i thought i had grown up from that nodding-to-everything age. the music is nice; i sit in the front row, falling asleep. only the couple that shows off their choreography in the middle wakes me up - i am quite scared that her heels will smash my feet. my thoughts are heading different way - i have to hang the laundry when i get home, finish the dishes, and take a hot shower. hot showers are pleasurable. i have no time for putting panties on, the sleep is quick, the rain strong and calming.

i dream about the next, argentinean, tango concert - discounted especially for me and my date - i got a flier for when leaving.

chosen

Enjoying him being comfortable to the point I can ask almost any question, I find out about that hot Puerto-Rican girl, S., that changed her school preference and all boys, of course -him being a Russian- just the Spanish ones, were so upset. You know, it’s not too many girls in the program!

S. was not hot at all, I keep thinking. Hm. Quite strange preferences these boys have.

And then, it occurs to me, looking around, who the hot girl boys were so excited about is in our year. ??

Men also have feelings… hunger, for example…

I don’t know who made such statement, but I am praising her for being this clever – I have him over, watching me folding little pieces of dough with potato filling. He eats everything I cook, prepare, or take out of the freezer – well, in fact, our friendship is based on me cooking - him eating. I really like to see that pleasure expression in his eyes.  Finishing the second bottle of red – since it is more comfy than movies in our plan A - - ~~

~~

Where was I?  Oh yes, the second bottle is finished when everyone walks in: the flat is suddenly full of lively conversations – it’s too early to go to sleep for Spain anyway. So, we walk out to finish up a small talk. Kisses on the cheeks are a must, so is uncertainty, rationality, and preference relations. That econ is getting over my poor little brain!