Natalie's secret

Natalie was fat, ugly and lonely. That's how she described herself - and that's how most people would describe her as well. She was short and stubby, one of those women with broad shoulders and strong neck, yet hardly any breasts at all: and her hips seemed to have vanished somewhere underneath the fat that was hanging loose from her belly. She had short, plump fingers and toes, strangely yellowish thin hair and tiny ears. And her facial features didn't really make the package any better. In preschool her classmates had asked her if she was related to a pug; at that age Natalie had very little idea of how mean people (and especially kids) could be, so she had taken it as a compliment. She thought pugs were quite cute, after all. A bit strange looking with their bulgy eyes, but cute nonetheless. It took her years to realize that the kids in preschool hadn't meant the comparison as a compliment. She really did resemble a pug - and nothing about it was specifically "cute."
Her mother had always tried to make Natalie feel better about herself. And it worked for some years; but puberty hits even the prettier creatures, and in Natalie's case it hit fairly hard. Her unappealing looks became even more noticeable, and it became impossible even for her mother to lift her spirits. There was no way out of it: Natalie was ugly. And that's how it would be.

Natalie never tried to overcome her bad looks, like some people do. She never had any major objectives or goals in life, nor did she possess any great interest towards anything in particular. She had slowly succumbed to the idea that for some, life would always be something ungratifying. She didn't really hate her life - moreover, she had an attitude towards it that spoke only of neglect. When she had first understood she couldn't do anything to her unpleasant appearance, she had stopped trying. She ate what she felt like eating, disregarding the fat and sugar, and after a few failed attempts at the local gym she had stopped working out as well. Even if she miraculously would have managed to lose some weight, she could never reorganize her misfitting body parts and facial features. So she lived her life the only way she knew how to. Although she didn't like books or reading, she worked at the city library as a librarian; she enjoyed the fact that it was always nearly empty there, and silent as a tomb. Besides, during the evening shift that she had, there was only one other librarian: that meant they had their breaks at different times, so nobody would ogle at her weird selections of food she brought with her.

Days in Natalie's life passed almost unnoticeably. They reminded one another so much that she couldn't really tell if it was Monday or Thursday. When the weekend came, she would go to the supermarket and buy as much food as she could imagine eating in two days. Usually, she underestimated the amount, of course. As she had nearly no social life at all, she would spend Saturday and Sunday sitting on her huge couch, watching mindless movies and TV series past midnight. There was nothing exciting about her life at all, but as she didn't know of anything better, she seemed quite content. The beautiful, dashing people from movies didn't make her feel envious, although on occasion she would have to switch channels. Especially if there was a Julia Roberts movie on. Everything always worked out for her, Natalie had noticed. And of course it did. She was pretty and thin. Fat and ugly people weren't supposed to achieve their dreams - or dream to begin with. Nice lives were for the beautiful ones. She had learned that much about life.

One Friday afternoon Natalie was working on the library alone. It was almost closing time, and the endless, book-filled corridors had emptied almost an hour ago. Even if she didn't ever truly feel happy about anything, there were a few moments she managed to feel slightly better. This moment was one of them. Sitting in that huge space filled with countless books she suddenly felt small - a sensation she rarely had. If she made a small sound it would echo in the halls; that would give her a feeling that she was tiny and feeble. Surely, she wasn't. But the books didn't know that.

At 9PM she took her coat and performed the usual late shift ritual - checking all the sections to make sure no one would stay behind closed doors during the weekend - then shutting down the lights, and finally closing the big wooden doors behind her, after double checking that they were properly locked. It was cool outside, the first winds of autumn were approaching and the leaves had started to fall off the trees. It was mid September: where had the summer gone? she noticed herself thinking. And why did it even matter? It's not like she had ever cared much for summer. It was merely the time of the year when she would need to dress more lightly, and she had never enjoyed showing off her body. It was summer when the kids and teenagers would start making their rude comments, and even the older people would look at her with pity and repressed mockery. So, this would do good. She could start wearing her shapeless winter clothes soon. People would still see that she was big, but they wouldn't be able to see any ugly details.

Just a week before her car had broke down. She lived only half a mile away from the library, but due to her overweight she preferred driving to work. She was a slow walker and even a tiny bit of exercise would leave her out of breath, not to mention that she would have had to walk among other people. It was nicer to just sit inside the car and spend minimum time outside with other human beings. And once she was inside the library, there would be only a few of them bothering her during the whole day. Thank God for internet, she often thought - nobody borrowed books from libraries anymore. All the better for Natalie.

The sun had set some time ago and the dim streetlights were slowly turning on. With a deep sigh, Natalie started off towards home; and more importantly, the supermarket, which was on the way. She could have taken the bus but at this time on a Friday evening it would be full of teenagers - she would literally do pretty much anything to avoid being in the same space with those creatures. But at the corner of the library - already a bit out of breath - Natalie heard a strange sound. Other people's argues and fights didn't concern her most of the time, but there was something different about these noises. Something seemed to be wrong.

There was a bunch of kids at the alleyway behind the library. They were screaming and laughing and shouting out senseless profanities. First Natalie thought they were fighting amongst themselves and she was nearly going to walk away - but then she noticed something lying on the ground. Her heart skipped a beat. Were they beating up someone? It was a group of four, five kids, and all of them seemed to be quite young and small; but nevertheless, if there was an assault going on, she'd need to stop it. Natalie didn't like teens or kids, much because of her sour experiences in childhood, and also because of the way they still treated her - a fat freak with ugly eyes. And they were never afraid to tell her that. But this was different. If something bad was going on, she could face the court for not taking any action to prevent it. She gathered up all her courage - which was not very much - and began walking towards the small gang. "Hey!" She outed after a dozen steps. "Stop it, you!"

The kids hardly noticed her until she was only a few meters away from them. Natalie tried to peek into the middle of that circle - they seemed to have cornered their victim next to the trash bins, unable to run away, while they were performing their mean ritual. "Hey you, stop it now!" She said again. It didn't come out quite as harshly as she had wished, but at least she had caught the kids' attention and for a moment they stopped. A skinny boy, perhaps eleven or twelve, stepped out, wiping her nose in his sleeve as he did so. "What do you want, fattie?" He blustered with his squeaky voice. How original, Natalie thought and realized these kids were only just reaching puberty. She adjusted her handbag on her shoulder nervously and tried her best not to seem threatened by these brats. "I want you to stop whatever it is that you're doing", Natalie went on, sounding a bit more self-assured this time. "Who's in the corner? Let him out of there. Is he hurt? Have you beaten him? I will tell your parents about this," she continued. The snot-nosed, almost skeletal boy that had confronted her first, made a weird little laugh. The rest of the group chuckled along. "Go ahead, fattie. See for yourself. I'm sure he's nearly dying." Now they all laughed loudly. Natalie felt suddenly unsure about this. This wasn't any of her business anyway. Nobody had helped her out in school, when the kids had kicked her and ripped off her lunch bag. Nobody had cared. Why should she?

As Natalie was wondering whether to stay or go, the group of kids suddenly moved aside, revealing the corner next to the trash bins. "I'm sure you'll make the best of friends, fattie," the skinny boy said with a sneer. "You kinda look alike anyway, you and - that. Now you can be the best of friends!" The kids started laughing, as if the boy had outed some joke of the century. And to Natalie's amazement, they took off. She could still hear them calling her names as they were running away, but she hardly heard them anymore. Her eyes were fixed on the corner.

It certainly was not a human being, she concurred. Well, so much for that heroic action, she mused grumpily. At first it looked like a regular plastic bag, filled up until it looked like it was going to explode. It was white and almost perfectly round, and had a strange glimmer on it, like it had been polished. She took a step forward to make sure there was no living creature inside the bag - she knew boys of that age, perhaps they were beating up a helpless small animal inside it. But a closer look proved that it was not a plastic bag at all. She leaned in a bit. What on earth was that? It was certainly not plastic - moreover, it looked like something organic. Like a giant egg of sorts. A fairly disgusting one, too. It appeared to have a jello-like consistency. The surface was so thin she could almost see inside it - but not quite. "How odd," she muttered and poked the thing tentatively with her index finger. For a split second she was sure she saw something move inside. Alarmed, she jolted back, accidentally stepping onto a small stone that got her off balance. With a very ungracious thump she fell to the ground, butt first. "Damn kids!" She whispered to herself and prised herself on her feet again. For a moment she thought she'd leave that thing - whatever it was - on the alley and no one the wiser. Let the kids kick it around if they wish. It wasn't her problem. But something came over her as she stared at that weird, white orb. She approached it yet again, this time concentrating on her balance too - and gave the thing another small nudge. Again something seemed to move inside. It was a slow movement, barely visible for the eye, but now she was sure there was something in there. Was this some stupid prank, maybe? Or was there something really alive in there? Natalie decided to take the risk. She took her gloves out from her purse and put them on, and decisively started lifting the ball. It wasn't easy. It wasn't simple for Natalie to bend down to begin with - and lifting something at the same time made it even harder. Besides, the thing was heavy. A lot heavier than she had imagined.

After a few attempts she finally had it in her lap. It was the size of a huge pumpkin, and it wobbled a bit as she held it. Still a bit amazed at herself for taking such an interest towards the orb, she began walking towards home. It took her some minutes to realize that she could hardly stop by at the supermarket while carrying this weird object; and by the time she'd reach home, the supermarket would be closed already. Well, what the hell, she thought. There were still some frozen pizzas in the freezer. She would go to the supermarket tomorrow.

The walk home was long and painful. As Natalie didn't really use her muscles for anything more than the remote control, she had to take a few breaks before finally getting to her apartment building. Gladly, there was an elevator so she didn't need to carry the ball all the way up to the fifth floor. A few times on the way she had questioned her weird mission, and almost assured herself that this was total nonsense - but there she was now, standing outside her house, still carrying that thing in her arms. She went in and released it on the elevator floor. Her arms were aching and shaking for the sudden exercise, and she was feeling hungrier than ever. What a day! As she entered her home, she left the ball in the spare room she had. It was near empty as she didn't really have any use for it. She had first thought she'd use it as a guest room but then again, she didn't have any friends that would visit her. Then she had tried to make it a work-out room, but that idea was dead before it even became anything more. So there was only an old sofa standing next to the wall. She placed the ball on the corner of it, and closed the door behind her. Starving, she then headed to the kitchen. For the rest of the evening she ate pizza and watched some brainless reality shows. It wasn't until a few weeks later that she would even remember she had brought the orb inside her house.

Something woke Natalie up in the middle of the night. She sat up on her bed and tried to listen what it was - perhaps some sounds on the street. But she heard nothing. Just as she was drifting back to sleep she heard it again. It sounded like something was moving inside the house, yet she didn't hear any footsteps. She crawled out of her bed and wrapped herself in her blanket. She heard to noise again - it seemed to be coming from the extra room. Her heart stopped beating as she finally recalled that she had brought the weird ball there days before. How could she have forgotten? And more importantly - what was going on in the room now? Terrified, she walked over to the door and pressed her ear against it. Yes, the sounds were definitely coming from there. It was like soft thudding. "Hello?" She uttered and instantly felt like an idiot. It was not like anyone would answer anyway. She opened the door slowly and switched the lights on before she would feel too scared to do so. She was expecting to see the ball on the corner of the sofa - just like she had left it. But it wasn't there anymore. Instead, there was something horrible on the floor. Natalie screamed and slammed the door close. What was that?! Her heart was racing and her plump fingers were shaking. She tried to gather what she had just seen. It looked like a giant larva - a greenish, worm-like creature, just as she had seen in her biology books when she had been younger. But this was bigger. A lot bigger. It was the size of a small cow, unless her sleepy eyes were betraying her. Yet she knew what she had seen. There was an enormous, hideous creature inside her house; and this time, she mused frantically, it was not herself. The thumping and thudding kept on going in the room. The creature was moving around. Gladly, it seemed that it wouldn't get out of the room by itself; regardless of its size, its movement was slow and feeble. To be on the safe side Natalie locked the door from the outside and went to the kitchen. After a liter and a half of various different ice creams, she decided to do something about this weird situation. First thing tomorrow.

Not knowing what lifeform she was unwillingly supporting in her house, she didn't want to spend any extra time there the next morning. She got up fast - faster than in years - and went to work. Natalie had always been a bit antisocial and nervous, but that day she seemed even more so. The slightest sounds would make her jump, and her mind was wandering. She could only think of the larva in her apartment. Or whatever it was. But it sure looked like a caterpillar, even though the size of it was unnerving to say the least. When her lunch time came she didn't go to the break room; this time, she went to the biology compartment and started looking up books about insects. Without noticing she spent three whole hours there, reading about different species from all over the world, in hopes to find out what kind of maggot was dwelling in her apartment. But even though she read a lot she couldn't find anything even remotely similar to her little guest.

Usually it was the best part of the day when she could finally go home. This time she feared the moment she would have to go back to her flat again. What if the thing had moved? What if it had broken free from the room and would devour her for supper once she'd step inside? That would be a big meal, she mused grimly. But as she had no friends to go to, or quite honestly any other place to spend time at, she was finally forced to go home. She spent a good ten minutes behind her own door, trying to listen if the larva had gotten out. She couldn't hear a thing though - no thudding, no thumping, no sounds at all. Fearfully, she stepped inside and looked around. Everything was as she had left it in the morning. The door of the spare room was still firmly closed and locked. Natalie sighed out of relief. Well at least she wouldn't become a maggot's dinner - yet. She thought about calling the fire department, or animal rescue, or whichever people were supposed to deal with these kind of things - but before that she wanted to make sure that she hadn't dreamed it all. That would make great headlines; the fat, ugly lady finally lost her mind and thought she had brought a gigantic worm inside her house! Determined, Natalie walked over to the extra room and placed the key in the keyhole. She was listening so carefully that she thought her ears must have moved forward as well. But despite of her best efforts, she heard nothing. She turned the key and opened the door. It was still there.

Natalie wanted to slam the door and run off. Or, at least walk away very, very fast. But something about the creature caught her attention; and this time in a different manner. It was lying still, almost too still. In the light of day it didn't look as monstrous as it had looked the night before. Moreover, it looked like a very helpless, big chunk of meat, just laying there. "It's dead!" She whispered to herself and walked a bit closer. Nothing happened. The greenish creature didn't show any signs of life. Perhaps she had imagined it after all. Probably it had never moved anyway. It had just been her drowsy mind playing tricks on her. But just as she thought there was nothing to fear, the larva moved. Only a tiny bit though - but it was enough to scare Natalie. She jumped a bit and covered her face. No need for that, she understood a moment after. If this thing wasn't dead yet, it was certainly dying. The skin of it had been clear and shiny at night, as she recalled - but now it seemed grayish and dull. Sudden concern took over Natalie; the same feeling that had made her pick up the egg some weeks earlier. She didn't think about calling the fire department anymore. This was clearly her responsibility now, whatever creature it was. And it was suffering.

For the remaining of the day Natalie tried in vain to feed something to the poor thing. She tried nearly everything she could find in her house; bread, cookies, jam, some leftover lasagna even - but nothing seemed to work. Each time she passed something in front of the worm she was sure it would eat her instead, but it didn't move. It wasn't until she brought up a packet of chips that the larva would start showing some frail interest. Natalie poured the content of the pack on the floor - close to the end she imagined was the creature's mouth. Very slowly it moved forward, opened its mouth and devoured the pile of chips. Natalie was amazed and awed. The maggot had swept the floor clean in a matter of seconds. Finally something that could eat a whole pack of chips faster than I do, she thought. Exhilarated, she went back to her pantry and poured out all packs she had. Gladly, she had a lot, because the thing was clearly very hungry. It wasn't until seven packs that it would finally seem content. Slowly it seemed to start regaining the color and glimmer on its skin. It was by no means a pretty sight - Natalie had always thought that there was a good reason insects were so small. For who would have wanted to see a larva that size? It sure looked nasty. But strangely enough, perhaps for the first time in her life, Natalie felt some kinship with it. And it felt good that she was able to help it, even if it was with just some chips. Maybe it wasn't exactly the kind of friendship she had always wanted: this thing would most likely never speak to her, and there was no certainty yet that it wouldn't try to eat Natalie at some point, too. Yet for now it seemed nice. Natalie felt good about herself. In fact, she felt so good that she left the house immediately, went to the supermarket and bought a whole cabinet full of chips. Thankfully, due to her previous shopping habits, nobody suspected a thing as she drove away with a car full of potato chips.

The following days went on much in the same manner. She would pour some chips on the floor before going to work - and once she'd be back she would pour some more. A few times she had even touched the larva, but it didn't feel specifically pleasant under her fingers; and it didn't seem to care much for cuddles. All the better: Natalie was not the cuddly type herself either, and quite honestly she had no idea how to pet an animal. Far less a huge larva.

She spent hours and hours reading at the library. Her colleagues raised their eyebrows at her sudden interest towards books - and what books! Only books about worms and maggots and caterpillars. A few times she heard how the cleaning ladies joked about her: Finally she's reading about her own species. Even though the comment stung a bit, she didn't care. She went through as many books as she found, reading about larvas all around the world. She surfed the internet through and through, trying in vain to find out what worm it was that she had at her house. But nothing came up. She was slowly becoming a bit frustrated, even though the creature was getting seemingly better - she didn't want to think how close it had been to death, thanks to her dull mind and neglect. Yet Natalie understood that she couldn't go on forever just feeding chips to her maggot pet. Besides, it was clearly growing. And moving around even more. She had trouble sleeping because of the thudding sounds the larva made, and even when she managed to rest a bit, she dreamed that the neighbors found out and took it away from her. Natalie didn't know why the thought was so upsetting to her. Surely, she couldn't have developed any major feelings towards a creature like that? But something kept her from talking. Perhaps she just felt possessive about it. After all, she had spent almost all her life alone, with no real friends or even pets due to her numerous allergies. Didn't she deserve a bit of affection? Even if it came from a worm? Sometimes Natalie was certain that the creature seemed happier at the sight of her. Well, even if it did, it was most likely because of the food. That's all it seemed to care about. Much like Natalie herself.

The winter came quickly that year. The trees dropped their leaves and the barren branches were soon covered with a thick layer of pure white snow. The days in Natalie's life rolled by much in the same manner they had before; she would go to work, organize the book shelves, and read more about strange insects and larvae every chance she got. She had tried to feed something else to the creature too - after all, chips were not very healthy, she figured - but her attempts were all in vain. The maggot seemed to have a very particular diet. After coming home on one Monday evening in the beginning of January, Natalie had a bit of a surprise waiting for her. She wasn't really afraid of her strange pet anymore, although it still kept her on her toes. She entered the spare room with the food in her hands - but something was horribly wrong.

The larva was not there anymore. Or if it was, it had undergone some strange mutation. Natalie dropped the chips on the floor and stared at the sofa in mild horror. The creature had either died; or transformed into something else. A strange shaped, greyish cocoon was lying on the sofa. It was completely still - even if Natalie tried to poke it a bit, it wouldn't make a move. I should have known, she thought. I am barely fit to take care of myself, let alone a critter from another world! She tried to search for its mouth; at least she could try to keep feeding it. But the larva was hiding somewhere inside, and Natalie was too afraid to touch it more. She poured the chips close to the cocoon and retreated. What had happened? She was frantically trying to remember all the pictures she'd seen in the many books she had read. It was certainly changing into something - that's why insects cocooned. The dreadful question remained though; what would it turn into?

Days rolled by. Natalie was becoming more and more anxious. What if she had created a monster? That had never been her wish. She had merely wanted to aid the helpless creature, not turn it into some hideous bug. She didn't really like bugs. Especially when they were big enough to eat her - and living inside her own apartment. She checked on the cocoon every day: each morning before going to work, and as soon as she got home again. But there was no change. The capsule never moved. A few times she considered getting rid of it. Just take it to the garbage in the backyard and no one the wiser. But regardless of her doubts and concerns, she kept the thing in that extra room.

Natalie was desperately hoping that nobody at work could tell a difference in her behavior. Her colleagues had always considered her boring and weird, which in this case worked for Natalie. Yet she was scared that her secret would come out: that it was something written on her face, and people could tell what hideous thing she was hiding in her home. She spoke even less to people - she asked to be moved to the archives, where she wouldn't have to face any living creatures at all - and once her working hours were finished, she would rush back home to see if anything had changed. For months she would perform this little ritual: she'd open the door and prepare for her worst nightmare. Yet, there it would lay, huddled on the sofa, that big grey cocoon. Until, of course, it was time for it to hatch.

Natalie had come home early that day. It was soon Easter, and the library was completely desolate. Thus, all the employees were given a half day off. She had become so used to the sight of the cocoon that she wasn't really even expecting for anything to happen anymore; so when she entered her apartment that day, she was more than a bit alarmed to notice that something was different.

Usually her flat greeted her with the silence of a tomb. She was accustomed to the stillness - but this time she was hearing something. It wasn't the quiet thumping she'd heard the larva do before. It was the sound of something stretching and breaking - the noises were so loud it sounded like someone was bending metal. She rushed to the spare room as quickly as she could and listened to the horrendous sounds. It was coming out, she concluded. Some weird creature was finally hatching. And she wasn't quite sure she wanted to know what it was. But curiosity is a strange thing; regardless of her fears, her chubby fingers reached for the door knob. She stared at her own hands, frightened, yet she couldn't stop herself. The door opened slowly. Natalie held her breath. Is this how she was going to die?

The cocoon was lying half broken on the floor. A few pieces had already come off, and something was desperately trying to break through the tough shell. Not knowing what to do, Natalie stood still and stared at the strange spectacle from the doorway. Huge, insect-like legs were coming out of the cocoon first - they were slender and hairless and moving about rapidly. The cocoon was cracking even more, the sounds were making Natalie's ears ache but she barely noticed. Next she saw the antennas and the head - at least she thought it was a head - it was covered in bright green hair. The creature had huge, bulgy eyes and they were so black Natalie couldn't decide if it was frightening or wonderful. Little by little, the fat larva Natalie had fed for months, was transforming into a giant butterfly. It was nearly out of its capsule now: she could see the vivid colors of its huge wings as it slowly pushed through - she had never seen such colors in her life. Purple, blue, yellow, emerald green; red, orange and brown; lilac and gold, bronze, white and turquoise - all mixed up in the most beautiful way Natalie could ever have imagined. Once out of its cocoon, the butterfly started moving towards Natalie, trying to open up its wings while proceeding. Natalie stepped backwards. The creature was gorgeous yet horrendous; she wanted to run away but her feet could hardly carry her. Keeping her eyes on the gigantic butterfly she backed off to her living room. It followed her, stumbling on the way as its wings were still glued to its sides; it hit the corridor and fell down a few times, knocked over a drawer and dropped a mirror on the floor. "Don't hurt me," Natalie whispered. Clumsily, the butterfly started stretching out its wings - each time it moved, it managed to drop something. The ruckus must have alarmed the neighbors already. It sounded like Natalie was deliberately destroying her own house. Yet the butterfly didn't seem to care about the noises, or the damage it was causing with each movement. It seemed happy to finally be out of that cramped cocoon. Natalie leaned against the living room wall and kept staring. If she hadn't been so wide awake, she would have been sure she was dreaming.

After some minutes - which felt like lightyears - the butterfly had finally managed to spread it's wings to their maximum. They glimmered in the afternoon sun and nearly blinded Natalie. It made a few wing-strokes, as if to test they certainly worked; the second flap dropped down the TV and started up a fire in the corner. It approached Natalie - but it didn't seem aggressive. Instead, there was something benevolent in its being. Natalie reached her hand towards the weird, hairy head. Suddenly all doubt escaped her mind. For the first time in her life she was sure. She knew what she would do now. There was only one way.

She wasn't scared anymore. The butterfly lowered its wings and Natalie climbed up - effortlessly. She didn't know how she had become so agile all of a sudden, but she didn't care. She breathed a few times with enthusiasm. The butterfly lift its wings and flapped a few times more; then it approached the living room windows and broke through with its giant insect feet. For a split second Natalie was afraid the creature would damage its wings - but the only thing damaged were the windows. The butterfly stepped on the windowsill. Natalie held tight. Her stomach flipped around when it finally took wing into the blue skies ahead.

It wasn't until a few weeks later that people would start wondering. Natalie might have not been the most effective or liked employee but her absence was noticed nevertheless. It was her colleague who finally took the effort of going to her apartment - and it was her colleague who found her lifeless body. Later investigations suggested that Natalie had lived in a kind of retreat for months. The apartment had been destroyed - bookshelves had been ripped down, decorative items and random papers were lying all over the place. The TV set had been smashed and the short circuit had burned down a corner of the living room. But it wasn't there where they found her body. She was lying in her spare room, huddled in a corner of the sofa, with a strange, illuminated smile on her face. The room was filled with emptied potato chip bags; there were tens of them, if not hundreds all around. The doctors concluded that the cause of death was most likely sudden stress to the heart - it was easy to tell that her living habits were unhealthy to say the least. She was buried in the small cemetery next to her mother a few days later. Only two of her colleagues would show up to the memorial.

If the doctors would have performed a proper autopsy, they would have been surprised though. For underneath that ugly, fat corpse of Natalie, there was nothing inside: it was as if her body had been a cocoon, until something made her break through and fly away from her own skin.

The emancipation of Andy Hertz

There was nothing out of the ordinary about that Tuesday morning, in June 2011. The K & Smith's Office Supplies opened its doors at 9 o'clock, as it had opened its doors for the past 7 years. It was one of those typical small business spaces - walls painted headache grey, a few dusty plastic plants placed here and there - and 4 small, crammed cubicles ready for the daily action; which in this case meant mostly listening to and collecting complaints and doubts (K & Smith's was not a very trustworthy office supplies company, but they tried their best).

The staff consisted of five people only - the boss, mr. Smith, and his four employees. Surely, mr. Smith was smart enough not to spend any time in the actual office premises, thus only the four cubicles. He liked to work from home, he said. On occasion he would visit the paper factory which manufactured the actual supplies - just to walk around idly for an hour or so: or as he liked to define it, "controlling the goods and checking on the quality" (which was non-existent). The company had done better a few years back when Mr. Kirschenzweig had still been alive, but as he passed away, so passed away all business intellect in K and Smith's. Mr. Kirschenzweig's name was too hard to pronounce, so they only used the first letter in the company's name. Some people said that it was also because the neonazis in the town were quite aggressive, and mr. Smith feared they might attack the precious office if it had any indications of Judaism. But, none of this is actually relevant regarding the story that started in this very office, on a regular Tuesday morning, in June 2011.

Andy Hertz was one of the lucky men who worked at the office. He came to work every weekday at 9 o'clock sharp, sat in their cubicle and spent a good 8 hours listening to people whine about the supplies they had bought. It wasn't an easy job - listening to deploring day after day could have been considered heavy. But Andy for once didn't seem to take it that way. Not that he was specifically happy about it either; but he always showed up, right on time, hardly ever had sick leave, and only took holidays when it was particularly requested - and he never ever said a cross word to anyone. He would just sit there, listen, write things down, have his lunch, sit back down, and continue listening and writing down with a strange, calm look in his eyes. After the incident people would often wonder about Andy. Some would say he never seemed "calm" - the look in his eyes was more like psychopathic, or dangerous, or just plain weird.

One of his colleagues - let us call him John, as he didn't want his real name to be revealed - said that on that Tuesday morning everything seemed extremely normal. In this case "extremely normal" merely defines the dull and boring office routines. The coffee machine was slowly dripping off in the corner, the PC's were switched on, and there were some feeble attempts to start a small talk. Later on, the day would turn out to be extremely strange. Thanks to our hero, Andy Hertz.

John said that it wasn't until 11:30AM, shortly before lunch hour - after mrs. Lesley had walked in, that things started happening. Mrs Lesley was one of the biggest buyers of K and Smith's Office Supplies, so naturally she also spent a lot of time in the office, complaining. This day she had chosen to sit down with Andy Hertz. She had her usual things with her: a huge briefcase full of damaged paper (crunched, ripped, wrinkled, whichever form paper was not useful anymore) and a big red apple that she would eat at some point of her endless complaining. Some foulmouths suspected that she only bought the supplies from K and Smith's because she loved nagging so much (they sure gave her a lot to nag about.)

Somewhere there - around 11:30AM - just as mrs. Lesley was starting to warm up, something weird happened. Later on John assured that nothing special really happened. He had overheard mrs. Lesley's reclamations and according to the accounts Andy Hertz had written down until that point, there really was nothing concerning going on. Yet for some reason, Andy Hertz had suddenly got up, grabbed mrs. Lesleys big red apple from the desk and walked out. Just walked out. His colleagues were so surprised they didn't hail after him. They figured he'd just had enough for now, and would return into the office within minutes. But he never did.

People who live in a small town recognize each other on the street. At least they know some little details, such as name, occupation, address, maiden name, pets, kids, which car they drive and so on. So when Andy Hertz, age 28, headed out of his office on that June morning, people noticed. They tried to greet him, wave at him, ask how he was doing and where he was going - a few would even try to stop him. But he wouldn't stop. He held on to that apple like it was some enigmatic treasure, and kept walking straight forward; and to the specator's horror (or delight), every now and then he would release himself of a few clothes. First came off the tie. It was actually found just a few meters outside the K and Smith's office entrance. Then came off the jacket; then the left shoe; then the shirt; and so on - until he was marching through the city with only his boxer shorts on.

The people who attempted to talk or halt Andy Hertz that day said he barely even looked at them. As if he had suddenly created some invisible barrier that prevented him from seeing or hearing them. He seemed very persistent, but nobody could say what he was up for, and why. A small crowd started following him - some of them shocked, some of them angry, some of them curious about where this all would end up. And so Andy Hertz kept walking, nearly naked, towards some mysterious destination; he didn't care about the traffic lights or crosswalks or people who happened to be on his way. A few police officers tried to stop him, as some old ladies had allegedly fainted from the sight of this nude man (later on it was said they had fainted out of mere joy, but who knows), but after a few blocks they stopped trying. It wasn't every day that something strange happened in a small town like this, so they might as well all enjoy it.

At the edge of the town there was - and still is - a huge forest that goes on and on for miles. At the sight of the woods Andy Hertz began strolling even faster, and with even more determination. He was clearly heading for the forest, and ripped his boxer shorts accompanied with a peculiar exclaim. It sounded like an animal freeing itself from a cage, the observers would say afterwards. Like he was a werewolf at full moon, finally embracing the monstrous side of his being.

Still holding on to that big red apple, he started running. The awed crowd followed him - from a safe distance. As he reached the border of the forest he suddenly stopped. The people following stopped also, standing there some 20 meters behind him, in revered silence. Andy Hertz took one look back - that made them all jump a meter backwards - and began slowly walking towards a huge oak tree. As soon as he reached it he started climbing up. "Like a monkey he ran up that tree", the spectators claimed later. He quickly vanished out of sight, and supposedly made himself comfortable in the treetop. The people underneath tried in vain to peek up. The thick foliage hid Andy Hertz in its green embrace. After a good half an hour of waiting, they started calling out for him. Some laughed, some called him names, others just wanted him to get down from there. But Andy replied to no one. The only answer the people received an hour later was the core of the apple he had taken from mrs. Lesley just some hours before.

There are many speculations still going around about Andy Hertz and what happened to him on that Tuesday morning, in June 2011. Most people say he just went cuckoo. Some say he had magical powers and he flew away like a bird, and others claim that there never was Andy Hertz to begin with. But there certainly was an Andy Hertz, who stripped away of all his possessions and escaped in an enormous oak tree. The town police kept watch under the big oak for a full 3 months, brought food underneath it and tried to persuade him to come down. But nobody ever heard anything, or saw even a glimpse of him - and all the food brought to him remained untouched. Some had tried to climb up the tree and take him down but the tree was so big he could have easily hidden in it. They even considered taking the tree down, but as it was protected by the local environmental committee, they couldn't do that either. As the autumn arrived, people started speculating what the tree would reveal after the leaves would fall off. A horrible, naked human corpse, perhaps? Or some apeman with an immense beard and a crazed gleam in his eyes?

But they were all disappointed in the end. Slowly the big oak would start dropping its leaves - it took weeks until it was finally barren - and in the end, there was nothing there. It was just a big tree, with no sign of a human ever climbing up its branches, far less living there for months. The townspeople blamed the police - surely Andy Hertz had climbed down at some point and disappeared in the forest. A few weeks after though, an ornitologist approached the police department - he had placed a night vision camera, accidentally pointing at the tree, in May 2011 - but there was no sign that Andy Hertz had ever come down the tree in those videos. The only thing that ever came down there after he had climbed up was the core of the apple he had eaten.

Thus, it will probably forever remain a mystery what happened to Andy, and why. But the people in the town say that if you go under that oak tree on a silent night, and listen very carefully, you can hear a very silent chuckle coming from the treetop.

Kuinka lotossa voitetaan

En varmaankaan ole ainoa joka on lähiviikkoina lueskellut Umayya Abu-Hannan kolumnin kirvoittamia vastalauseita ja puheenvuoroja. Aluksi en ymmärtänyt mistä moisessa älämölössä oli kyse - Suomi kun tuntuu olevan maa jossa vähäpätöisemmätkin mielipiteet ja artikkelit saavat koko pienen kansan hermoromahduksen partaalle.

Useimmille on varmaankin selvää että asun itse Portugalin pääkaupungissa Lissabonissa. Taidan olla itsekin jo virallinen maahanmuuttaja, vuosia kun täällä etelässä kun on ehtinyt kertyä jo miltei neljä. Näiden Suomesta pois vietettyjen vuosien aikana olen etääntynyt kotimaastani merkittävästi - uutisia Suomen maaperältä en juurikaan enää lue, eivätkä poliitikkojen ja pikkujulkkisten skandaalit enää jaksa kiinnostaa. Toisinaan kuitenkin kansa älähtää sellaisista asioista jotka minuakin vielä koskettavat. Etenkin jutut maahanmuutosta ja rasismista.

Kävipä siis niin että onneton Umayya kehtasi häpäistä koko Suomen kansan väittämällä että olemme (vai olette?) aikamoisen moukkamainen ja rasistinen kansa. Itse luin kirjoituksen neutraalisti - eihän minulla vaaleaihoisena, sinisilmäisenä alkuperäissuomalaisena ole juurikaan kokemuksia rasismista Suomessa. Olin joka tapauksessa hämmästynyt kirjoituksen saamista kommenteista. Montaakaan sivua en jaksanut läpi selailla - jo alusta asti tuli selväksi, että oli kaikkien kannalta hieno juttu että tämä liberaali takinkääntäjä on muuttanut muualle.

Abu-Hannan artikkeli nousi nopeasti Helsingin Sanomien vuoden luetuimmaksi jutuksi. Facebookissakin kolumnia on ehditty jakaa jo 41 000 kertaa. En uskalla edes arvailla kuinka monta kitkerää vastalausetta artikkelille internetin ihmeellinen maailma pitää sisällään; muutamia tosin ehdin lukaista Uusi Suomen blogiketjuista.

No, mikäpä minua tässä hälyssä siis kiinnostaa? Ei ex-poliitikon maastamuuttaminen minua juurikaan kosketa. Asukoon missä lystää. Muuttakoon vaikka Kongoon.

Suomalaisten täysi kyvyttömyys ottaa vastaan kritiikkiä omaa maataan kohtaan kyllä koskettaa. Sivustakatsojan roolista tämä on vielä ilmeisempää. Mitättöminkin kannanotto saa koko maan varpailleen. Valtaosa tekstiä kritisoineista kehtasi vieläpä rehellisesti väittää, että Abu-Hannan kokemat rasistiset tilanteet olivat täyttä humpuukia, valetta ja vääristelyä - "eiväthän suomalaiset nyt..."

Argumenttien taso oli hävettävän alhainen. Sen sijaan että juttua olisi luettu ilman ennakkokäsityksiä ja tuota ah, niin tuttua suomalaista paranoiaa, kommentoijat halusivat keskittyä muiden maiden ongelmiin ja huonoihin ratkaisuihin maahanmuuttopolitiikassa. Samalla tasollahan mennään jos joku kehtaa avoimesti arvostella lasikattoa tai muita vastaavia "höpönlöpön feministikukkahattuvasemmisto-ongelmia." No muutapa Iraniin! Siellä näet kuinka paljon naisia arvostetaan!

Mistä lähtien tämä nopeasti kehittynyt, melko hiljattain itsenäistynyt valtio on muuttunut takakireäksi, muutosta pelkääväksi ruikuttajamaaksi? Ei uskalleta kuunnella kritiikkiä, ei haluta tietää erinäköisten ongelmista, menisivät takaisin kotimaihinsa, mokomat sossun siivelläeläjät. Onko maa muuttunut liian nopeasti? Euroopan rajoilla elävä pieni, homogeeninen kansa ei ehkä olekaan valmis muutokseen. Ei haluta muuttua enää. Eikö tässä ole jo ollut tarpeeksi muutosta.

Mutta maailma se vaan muuttuu, Eskoseni. On liian myöhäistä sulkea silmänsä ja teeskennellä etteikö puoli maailmaa jo olisi kynnyksellä. Ei voi piiloutua - eikä pitäisikään. Turhaa jeesustelua kuvitella että Suomi tulee aina ja ikuisesti pysymään samanlaisena. Turhaa on myös kuvitella että maan kritisoiminen tulee loppumaan - oli se sitten syntysuomalaisen kritiikkiä, tahi maahanmuuttajan, tai luoja paratkoon, pakolaisen. Ottamatta sen enempää kantaa Abu-Hannan tekstin todenperäisyyteen haluaisin vain muistuttaa, kuinka takapajuiselta ja pikkusieluiselta kolumnin vasta-argumentit kuulostavat. Voisiko jopa olla niin, että Suomessa esiintyy rasismia? Ihan sitä itseään - ilkeää toisennäköisten ja eri väestöryhmiin kuuluvien avointa solvaamista, jopa toisinaan väkivaltaa. Miksi tätä ei uskalleta myöntää? Minkä vuoksi kritiikki otetaan aina vastaan niin penteleen negatiivisesti? Mikä pelottaa? Mikä ottaa niin kovasti pannuun?

Mikäli rakas Pohjola aikoo pysyä muun maailman kyydissä, niin ajatusmaailmansa kuin taloutensakin kannalta, kannattaisi ruveta hieman pohtimaan omia asenteitaan. Hankalaahan se varmasti on - onhan tässä jo maailmansivu ehditty elellä korven keskellä, muusta maailmasta välittämättä. Ja sitten tullaan avoimesti haukkumaan upeaa kansaamme ja kansalaisuuttamme. Mokomat!

Silmät auki nyt, ja mieli myös. Ei kukaan ole suomalaisuutta ryöstämässä, vaikka uskaltaisikin hieman maata ja suomenmaalaisia arvostella. Kukapa tällä planeetalla on koskaan kaunopuheista kasvanut? Jos kaikki kritiikki sivuutetaan olankohautuksella, pelkäänpä pahoin että Suomi jämähtää nykyiseen olotilaansa. Eihän siinäkään toki mitään pahaa ole, jos kansa näin haluaa. Mutta uskallan myös väittää että sukupolvien vaihtuessa kukaan ei halua elää maassa jossa vallitsee näin negatiivinen ja itserakas mielentila.

Lukeudun nyt siis varmasti itsekin alhaiseksi Suomen arvostelijaksi. Enkä ole edes vuosiin asunut maassa. Häpeällistä, toden totta! Mutta älkää peljätkö. En ole muuttamassa takaisin kotimaahani, ainakaan lähiaikoina. Saatanpa ihan piruuttani odotella siihen asti kunnes tuo jäykkä asennemaailma on edes hieman lieventynyt.

Sitä odotellessa. Toivotan kaikille avoimempaa Uutta Vuotta ja kykyä tarkastella ongelmatilanteita myös muiden näkökulmasta. Jopa niiden ei-niin-suomalaisten. Jääräpäisyys saattaa olla hieno luonteenpiirre kun hakkaa soita pelloiksi, mutta eipä ole tainnut Jussi kuokkaa heilutella vuosikymmeniin.

Spectacular failures

What better way to start a new year than to walk through the big events of the past one?

After months of consideration, I finally decided to write down a little story - something that made me think, consider, reconsider, doubt and change a lot throughout last year. I tried to put it together in order for myself to finally properly analyze what happened (and what didn't). As it includes another person, like most stories do, I want to make it clear that this story is told from strictly my point of view; any speculations regarding the other person's thoughts or feelings are filtered through mine. I wish not to offend anyone by writing this, most of all it's something very personal for me and now more than ever works as a therapeutic tool, if you can say so. Sometimes I need to see things written down in order to understand what happened and why, or did anything happen in the end, after all.

Of course some things have been left out - even if they might have been important. I guess the crucial point here is that I remember what happened, and how it felt.

Lastly I'd like to state that this shouldn't be considered as a love story. Just a story about love.

-------------

The first time I met him was on a gloomy autumn evening in 2010. I can't recall if it was Friday or Saturday, or even which month it was. The only thing I clearly remember were the lights that night - when colors fade to different shades of grey and brown, with the exception of yellow and hint of blue, coming out of the cafeterias and street lights.

I recall not liking him. I considered him pretentious, arrogant and posh: regardless of what he said there was something in his stance, his physical presence, that strike me as annoying. I didn't think of him after that first time. I believe I forgot his very existence quite quickly. It wasn't until December the next year our paths would cross again, this time in a slightly different manner.

In December 2011 I had only recently broken up and been demoted at my workplace. I was troubled and upset about everything to say the least, traumatized by my last so called relationship and vastly disappointed about my demotion. Things seemed unfair and I was rapidly losing all faith in humanity. Thinking about this later on, I still can't figure out if it was the absolute perfect timing for us to meet again, or if it was merely one of the things that made me even more splintered after it was all over.

The second time we met - when we dined together with our mutual friend - was not a special occasion by any means. But this time I thought there was something curious about him. Something I couldn't quite put my finger on. His eyes seemed to challenge everything and everyone they were looking at - I couldn't categorize him, what he was, where he came from or what he wanted from life. I'd later realize that I would never be able to categorize him at all. The times we met up after that dinner I sensed he was mildly interested in me - but due to my recent, sour experiences I was trying hard to push him away from my mind. I was hoping he wouldn't find me attractive or interesting. I don't know if I should have wished harder now - but you can never know what exactly life has in store for you.

***

I agree to meet him at my place, to buy a present for A, as his birthday is drawing nearer. I have a funny idea for a gift and the store is close to my flat, so we meet up there. He rings the bell and we exchange the mandatory little kisses. I find the situation mildly disturbing. He wanted to see me, just me, alone - I sure hope he doesn't want anything out of me. As we stroll towards the store he talks a lot, in a strange French accent, regardless of the fact that it's not his first language. And there's something fidgety about his mind. It seems like he's thinking about everything, all the time. I try to keep up, but at the same time I find his company welcome and interesting. Certainly the kind of person I have never met before in my life. But what's with that curly hair? I never liked guys with curly hair. Green eyes? Why am I thinking about this so much? Stupid.

After we get the present I invite him over for dinner, out of a whim. He agrees. I'm aware that inviting a guy over, when there are no other people attending, could be considered as sending a message or even flirting. But what the hell, I think. I don't have much sense in my head nowadays anyway. Besides, he seems like a reasonable guy.

***

It started out innocently enough. We kept bumping into each other, mostly in some small gatherings that always included other people. I was sensing something was bound to happen sooner or later but did my best to not initiate anything. I had made a solemn promise to myself to not get involved with anyone. Of course, promises of the kind are hard to keep, especially when you start genuinely liking someone.

It wasn't until we were celebrating our friend's birthday when something finally happened.

***

Walking back from the ATM, he suddenly grabs my hand and kisses me under the bridge. Caught off guard, I kiss him back. My heart starts racing. He kisses me again - just to make sure it was as pleasant as the first one - and then me and him head back to the rest of the crew. I'm confused, exhilarated and angry at the same time. Who is he to kiss me like that, without any warnings? Why did I enjoy it so much? What does he want from me? Later on, when we enter the nightclub I slap him several times. I'm extremely surprised anyone would still talk to me after that kind of treatment. But I feel I have the right to do it; for the amount of confusion he's causing to me right now, he can have a few slaps on the face. Bruises heal, anyway.

***

A real connection with someone is a rare thing to achieve. Perhaps even more so when it's with a person you've only just met, of the opposite sex, and from a whole other culture. Yet me and him managed. There was good chemistry and tension between the two of us. Things happened fast after that silly Christmas evening. I spent more and more time with him and didn't even notice. I asked him to come look for an apartment with me that I had found in Alfama. He came with A; I recall it was a very nice day - we saw the flat, I fell in love with it, and then we headed back to their place for dinner. I was going to get my own place for the first time in years, I had a new job, and I had this wonderful guy in my life. Things didn't seem bad: not bad at all.

***

It's past midnight, I have just drifted off to sleep when my phone rings. He's calling. This time? He must be a bit tipsy. I pick the call with a drowsy smile on my face. He sounds happy and excited, urging me to go to the window. The moon is beautiful, he says. Go to your balcony and have a look. I sneak out in my pajamas, only to see him waving at me from the street below. I laugh. What a guy. I don't see the moon from my balcony anymore - it has drifted past the neighboring houses. But seeing him now is far better than any moon could possibly be.

***

I moved into that flat in Alfama a few weeks after seeing it. The guys were a huge help for me in the moving process and after we had finally gotten all my stuff inside that little cave and dined in a small tasca close to my place, I invited him to stay overnight. It would have been scary to spend the first night there by myself, I remember telling him.

I was starting at my new job the next day. I was absolutely exhausted when I woke up, and feeling very nervous about everything. I wasn't sure where the metro station was, or where to go, and so I somehow managed to make him come there with me in that cold January morning. I don't know what madness made him get out of that bed and literally walk me to the subway gates.

***

He looks very sleepy. I feel horrible for dragging him with me but I also feel selfishly better that he came along. I leave him with the keys and wish him sweet dreams as he heads back to my place. I only hope I could go back to that cozy, big bed with him right now. Instead, I hop on to the metro and face my fears of packed public transportation and the first day at a new job. But for this time I don't feel anxious actually. I'm perplexed and grateful, I want to run after him and give him a huge kiss. Something has calmed down in me. I feel safe after a long while. Protected.

***

It didn't take me long to understand what was happening to me; I was quickly falling in love with him. Suddenly, all the disappointments I had faced just mere weeks ago, seemed to start fading away. I found his attention and caretaking like some kind of balm in my wounds, even though I realized it was happening too fast, and he was most likely not in the same set of mind as I was. But I had always been a fool when it came to love. I didn't know how he would react if I said something to him. It scared me and excited me at the same time.

***

As we're both drifting to sleep, I feel I can't hold it back anymore. I need to say it - even if he doesn't hear what I'm saying. I whisper it very silently; or so I think. There's no reaction. But for that small moment he misses one breath. Did he hear me? I'm not sure I'm ready for this after all. I instantly regret saying anything. Why can't I keep my big mouth shut! I try to fall asleep but I feel anxious. He seems to be resting peacefully. Or is it just an act of a lifetime?

I wake up to work early next morning, and decide not to wake him up. He's going to the countryside with A the same day, it'll take some days for us to meet again. I feel strangely grateful I won't have to face him soon. Wishing to erase what I had whispered him the previous night, I decide to write him a very friendly and ordinary letter that he can read in the morning. I hope it fixes what ever damage I had caused. I hope he doesn't remember. I spend the day at work wondering what he's thinking. I'm feeling like a total idiot again. How do I manage?


***

It was clear since the beginning that he was never here to stay. His presence was always something inconstant, yet I couldn't help the way I was feeling. Even though I realized the nature of his visit, it was something I tried hard not to admit to myself. Didn't I finally deserve something nice? Something even remotely stable, where I didn't have to question the situation all the time?

Regardless of my wishes and hopes for something real, taking a stable stand about it all was finally the one thing I failed at miserably. As it was obvious he'd eventually leave, I figured he didn't want anything serious, or even anything with a proper definition. Thus, I tried to maintain a careless attitude. That, of course, didn't quite work out as well as I had hoped. It seemed to bother us both that there was nothing to define us - friends would have been too casual, yet a couple would have been something too heavy.

The talks we tried to have about what was going on were highly unpleasant and never reached any conclusion. I knew there were things I shouldn't tell him. Or moreover, things I chose not to tell him, out of fear of losing him. So I kept on my gameface and tried to make him - and myself - believe that I really didn't want anything more. Of course, this wasn't true and most likely we both knew it. Yet safe for the first time I tentatively told him how I felt about him, I had managed to shut my mouth about it. Even during the first something-like-break-up we had, I never uttered those words out loud. Probably because I was scared shitless.

***

The door closes with a bang. I stand still, holding on to the paper bag with his hoodie in it. Suddenly everything collapses. I fall to the floor like in a tacky movie, crying. The sobs come out of me uncontrollably like convulsions, like I'm having some strange seizure. I can't move for some minutes; and when I finally do, I reach for the wine bottle. Stupidity, I think, but it has to be done. The numb, black dreams that I have the following night give me a moment of rest but no peace.

***

Things came back together after a small while, of course. I didn't really know how to stay away from him, and supposedly he had a similar feeling. Having certain feelings doesn't always mean that you should base any decisions on them. I don't know if I would be smart enough to act differently, had I the chance to do it all over again now. Some lessons need to be learned the hard way, and I can be a bit headstrong on occasion.

I was too grateful and stubborn to stop things on my own. If anyone could have done something about it, it would have been him. I had a blind spot when it came to my emotions towards him, thus I was completely unable to act in a reasonable manner. The time we spent together was becoming addictive to me; I listened to his numerous stories with unfeigned interest and I could have sat there, hearing whatever he had to say, for hours in a row. I can't remember when the hours turned into months.

***

The night was so nice. He's already asleep even though I can hear A softly plucking the guitar downstairs. The wine is still slowly flowing through my veins, making me feel warm and mellow. I'm drifting into sleep too, but all of a sudden I can't seem to bare it anymore. The urge to tell him how much I appreciate him being in my life is becoming overpowering - yet I don't want to wake him up, and least of all tell him what I'm thinking. But if I stay by his side a moment longer I know I can't stop myself. So I pull on my sweater and sneak back downstairs with my ruffled hair. A is singing silently. The sound of the guitar is soothing me. I light up a cigarette. Why are you still up? Did I keep you awake? A asks. I smile and shake my head, pretending I just came down to have a smoke. All I want to do is shout it out from the windows and rooftops and wake up the whole goddamned city. If I think loudly enough, would he be able to hear me? Would he answer?

***

Regardless of all the good times there were - and there were many - I always felt a bit uneasy about the unspoken, unresolved part of our relationship. I could somehow pretend nothing was wrong - I feared the moment when the question would rise again and I'd have to face the situation once more. I was afraid I couldn't hide anymore, that he would finally figure me out, and leave me with no hesitation.

After one, quite rational effort to disentangle this looming issue, we met up at my neighborhood to finish the talk. I was desperately trying to steer the conversation into another direction, or at least make it sound less serious. He wasn't that dumb, though. We spent some hours in a closeby café, only drinking wine and eating a few olives - in an attempt to at last figure this all out like two adults should. We headed back to my apartment to cook some dinner, when my fears were finally realized.

***

The talk starts again; just when I think it was forgotten. I'm uneasy and unable to say anything purposeful. Trying too hard to avoid saying certain things I end up repeating I don't know, I don't know. But I do know. It's starting to irritate me. He's relentless. I want you to be honest with me, he says with exasperation. What do you want? I start opening a new bottle of wine, although I know both of us have had too much already. My fingers have no idea what they're doing and my brain is frantically trying to think of something to say - anything to stop this moment. I feel angry and anxious. Why is he forcing me to say things that shouldn't be said? Because then it would be easy for him to leave. That would finally give him the reason. You want me to tell you the truth? I think you can't handle the truth! I exclaim and suddenly disregard all better judgement I still had. He looks at me tentatively; Yes, tell me the truth. So he really wants to hear it. I love you, that's the truth! I shout and miraculously manage to open the wine bottle at the same time. I hold on to it, unable to look at him in the eyes. The silence stretches. My heart has sunken into a black hole.

***

In retrospect some parts of our argument were hilarious. We were both too drunk to make any sense, thus it became a strange, overly dramatic fight about meaningless concepts. Nothing was resolved in the end. But afterwards I started doubting everything about myself - it seemed like me outing those magical three words always ended up in an utter chaos. I couldn't figure out how my love could be so repulsive. I had tried to be good; I had tried to give him what I thought he wanted - something casual, something with an expiration date. I knew I wasn't handling it very well in the end. The feelings I had to suppress started to eat me up on the inside in a manner I had never known before. The more rational I tried to be, the more irrational I became.

We had yet another pause in our dysfunctional affair, before finally meeting up with a group of mutual friends in a park several days later. I was nervous and uncomfortable. The unresolved fight was looming over me like a little black cloud. Feeling like a total outsider, I tried my best to be a part of the conversation and have as little as possible to speak with him. Later that night the same set of friends were heading out for drinks, and I was invited. I don't know what whim made me accept the invitation.

***

He doesn't want me to be here, I think to myself, and avoid talking to him at all. A has asked me to join the guys for some drinks in Bica, and I agreed to his invitation - even though I know he thinks it's disturbing I'm there. Wine is been carried to the table in a constant pace, thankfully. Somehow both of us manage to pretend that there's nothing awkward going on. I don't know if I want to slap him or kiss him. I try not to look at him.

After I leave the bathroom of the café we're sitting in, I end up cutting my finger in the doorknob. Walking out, I pass the bar where he's ordering more drinks. He laughs when I tell how I, once more, have injured myself in the weirdest of ways. He grabs a piece of paper from the counter and knots it around my finger. How do you manage? He smiles. I laugh along.

The bloody piece of paper is still tightly wrapped around my index finger as we hail for a taxi a few hours later.


***

I recall one time when he told me that we're not laughing together as much as we used to. He was right; in the beginning there was a lot more joking around, acting silly, laughing, teasing. It had all escaped into some dark corner of my mind. The witty girl he had met months earlier was hiding somewhere, feeling too terrified to show her face again. The fear of losing him completely had created barriers in my mind that I wasn't able to break down. I was always a bit more stressed, a bit more anxious, a bit more sad. How could I have told him that half of the smiling and laughing that I was giving him was already a bit forced? I wanted to laugh again - like I knew we could. But the temporary nature of his presence was starting to press me down with each day passing.

As the months rolled by, I became subconsciously aware of the fact that the day of his departure was drawing nearer also. I deliberately avoided asking him when it would be. I didn't want to start counting the days, I wanted to enjoy the moments we still had together.

It was a lot tougher for me than I ever admitted to anyone.

***

Look at the stars, he says. I tilt my head back. I only see a white ceiling. It's hard to see the stars from the bottom floor, I say with a smile. You just have to look, he replies. I think I see them now. Anything in between me and the stars is just in my head; a distraction. I lean to his shoulder and hope that the moment doesn't pass. The stars are bright tonight.

***

My mind started wandering. In fact, it seemed to have disappeared completely at times. I chose to live in denial - but there were moments when reality hit me hard. I cried a lot; I never wanted to tell anyone, even my close friends, how horrible I was feeling, so I cried alone. Even a thought of him leaving was unbearable for me. But when I was with him I was happy - smiling, trying to fake a positive attitude, as if I wasn't breaking down on the inside. It must have triggered strange behavior in me also, certain episodes that I was never able to explain to him. I wanted to ask him to stay but I knew that was impossible. I wanted to ask him if I could go along, but that seemed ridiculous even for me. I decided to block those thoughts from my mind. I'm not sure how big of a success that finally was.

***

I skipped my day at work. While feeling slightly guilty about missing a day, it seems a lot nicer to walk around in Cascais. It's warm and mellow, the seawater and the fresh summer wind make the air smell intoxicating.

We drop by at some museum and check out the exhibition. It leaves us both laughing. We head back to the marina. My feet hurt.

Once we've dined by the seaside we head back to Lisbon. The train is near empty. We're both drowsy after a few glasses of wine - he leans his head on my shoulder and drifts into light sleep. I dare not say a word: it's a magical, tranquil moment for me. The chug of the train is the only sound to be heard and the Tejo river is glimmering in the late afternoon sun. For a moment there I manage to make myself believe that we will go on and on forever just like this.

***

Before the end both of us seemed to try to enjoy each moment we spent together; and in the end both of us seemed to realize what we were doing to each other. Until the very end I wanted to believe that there was something good coming out of it all - I forced myself to trust that thought. I think he was smarter than me though, and recognized the reality of the situation far before I even began to understand it. We spent the last two nights together, and the second before the last was literally heart-quenching. I didn't want him to see me too sad, I didn't want him to leave with a bad feeling. I tried to keep up a smile and a meaningless small talk. Even though I understand his grim mood now, it tore me up on the inside.

***

Is there enough wine for these kinds of moments, I wonder as I out yet another silly sentence. I want to make him laugh, even smile a little, but it seems impossible. He hardly talks to me. There's only a tiny table between us but it feels like light years. I take another sip of wine and head to the bathroom; occasionally giving him a kiss on the forehead while passing him, and making some seemingly light comment about his foul mood. Once I get to the bathroom, away from his eyesight, I take a dozen deep breaths. It's very close - I would really like to cry now. I look at myself in the mirror while leaning on the sink. No, you won't cry, I tell myself. I come out with a smile and pretend that I'm okay. I'm okay. It's all gonna be okay. It'll be fine.

I'm so screwed.

***

Spending the last day of his stay at a completely meaningless new job was really irritating me. We stayed up late the night before and I was very tired, almost falling asleep during the training. It seemed so vague and idiotic. The job, my life, the whole situation. All of it. I hated it. When I finally got off work I headed back to the guys' place, to have a well earned nap. Nobody was home as I entered. It was a hot July afternoon and I felt disgusting; after taking a shower I headed up to the attic and covered myself with the thick winter blanket, falling asleep instantly. He came home a few hours later, gladly with a better mood. I don't know how much effort it took him, but to me it seemed like he was carrying a few elephants on his back at least - figuratively speaking. But I took it on, and played along, like a good sport. It turned out to be a pleasant evening, watching a movie and playing the guitar. I had managed to numb myself completely - at that moment, there really was no tomorrow for me. Next morning he woke up early to catch his plane and sat downstairs by his computer. I followed him down, to have a cigarette. I don't remember even touching him then. I just sat beside him and inhaled. Exhaled. Inhaled. It was the only function my body and mind was able to manage at that moment.

***

I don't want to say goodbye to him in the livingroom or in the corridor - so I head back up to the attic and ask him to tuck me back to bed before going. I lay down, not knowing what to feel. He climbs up - I've heard that climb a hundred times, and this will be the last, I know. It suddenly stops my heart from beating. Last time. He sits on the bed and gives me a hug; saying the usual things people say when they're going away. Take care of yourself. As he stands up I gather all my courage, grab his hand and say it one more time. It takes me a split second to realize that I will never hear him say those words back to me. Childish delusions of a childish girl. To hide the inevitable horrible silence that I know would follow, I quickly add: take care. He goes down the stairs and I cover myself with the blanket. I hear him saying goodbye to A. He will leave in less than a minute. The last thing I saw of him was his back. How ironic.

I cover my ears with my hands as hard as I can. I don't want to hear the door slamming. Not now, not ever again. I start crying while pressing my palms against my skull - I stay like that for a good ten minutes. When I finally take them off I hear nothing. Nothing. He's gone.

***

I was left on a state of mind I'd never experienced before. Suddenly reality and fiction were mixed in the most confusing way and I didn't know what I should believe anymore. Had it been real? Was it just my deepest wishes crashing to the surface so hard that my head made me believe something had actually happened? I guess I will never know. Perhaps I'll never see him again; it's totally possible I won't. That subject was never brought up in our discussions, nor were any other subjects that might have indicated some kind of emotional closure. Only now, months after he has left, I realize how it mutated me - trying consciously to deny the fact that I just wanted to be loved back. It's the stories that don't really start that are devastatingly neverending. How can you finish something that never even truly begun?

Wikipedia defines love simply as "...the unselfish loyal and benevolent concern for the good of another", and followed later: "...There are many different theories which attempt to explain what love is, and what function it serves. It would be very difficult to explain love to a hypothetical person who had not himself or herself experienced love or being loved. In fact, to such a person love would appear to be quite strange if not outright irrational behavior." Truly, it doesn't make much sense. It took me weeks to even begin thinking I might have learned something out of this all. It left me on a vacant state, as I refused to let myself get angry or finally admit that I had been hurt. I thought that would have been unfair for both of us, as none of it would have happened without my consent. Thus I struggled to maintain a vision of myself that I thought we both deserved: untouched, friendly, fair.

Back then and later on, I wanted to give him an image of myself that I thought he wanted to see. It never occurred to me that maybe he might have wanted to see the real me. I guess it's hard to admit sometimes that there are people who would still care about you, even after knowing all your deepest secrets.

Lessons learned? I'm still wondering. Sometimes I feel like I learned a lot - other times I think I didn't come out any wiser. Perhaps it's something I will realize only years later. After all, most people in life pass you by - leaving you behind as their collateral damage; or you leaving them. Giving up isn't easy. Accepting the fact that things would have never worked out between us still feels like telling myself that in the end, I simply wasn't quite good enough.

I changed a lot - a lot more than I initially was willing to admit. Some naivety has been ripped out of me, and the forever positive attitude seems to have faded. The attitude I have towards love and loving has drastically altered. I don't know yet if it's a change that will keep me safe from harm in the future. Maybe it will just keep me alone. And maybe that's exactly what I need.

Getting over something is a fitting allegory, actually. It's a huge climb and takes a lot of effort and will. Sometimes you stumble a little, sometimes you reach the paramount just to fall back to the bottom in a split second. I'm getting there nevertheless. Like walking through a tunnel, searching for light, and then it hits you and you feel nothing.

On occasion I still wonder what would happen if I would see him again. Would we be just like old acquaintances that no longer have anything to talk about? Would we recognize each other anymore?

It doesn't matter in the end. I can't change what happened - only accept it. And finally, after all the months that have passed, I can genuinely say - I don't regret a thing.



Please note that the images and songs belong to their respective owners, I have no copyrights for any of them.