Remember (2 page)

“How
long has it been?” I asked her.

“Three,
four years?”

“Almost
six,” I said. “Do you want to have a coffee or something?” I asked her and
managed to look her straight in the eyes – a small victory. “I mean the both of
you.” I smiled at Dan or whatever was his name. “We can’t just stand here on
the sidewalk and talk,” I added when I realized that they were pondering
whether or not to accept my offer as if I wished to buy their souls. “With all
these people passing us by.”

Long
story short they agreed to go to a small café down in Piazza Venetia to have a
cappuccino. We sat at a table near the window. That I remember, because there
were always people passing by and peering inside, as if there was something
incredible happening in that small café.

We
talked a while about what had happened in our lives, what we had become, you
know, boring stuff, because I was far more interested in the future. And, as
you may or may not imagine, I couldn’t concentrate with her eyes constantly
pressing hard against my soul, when all I could think of was how much I wanted
to feel that burning sensation on my lips again.

“Who
would have expected for you to end up together,” I said jokingly and laughed,
so they could see I couldn’t care less.

“Me,”
she said and kissed Dan or Daniel or Danny on the lips.

And
that damn illusion burned hot on my own lips, a stupid, vague feeling that no
longer felt as real as it used to.

Before
I could say anything, the waitress came with our order.

“Thank
you,” I said as she put a steaming cup of coffee in front of me. (You should
know that I don’t tell people “Thank you” or “Sorry” very often, with the
exception, of course, of waiters and waitresses. You know, people who are paid
to be nice to you.)

“Where
are you from?” the waitress asked.

“Ro-”
I tried to answer, but Daniel interrupted me.

“Russia,”
he said and smiled.

The
waitress giggled. “Aw, Russia. Nice country. Big,” she said and she did a
gesture with her hands, as if she tried to draw the map of the country itself.

 “Why
the hell did you tell her we’re from Russia?” I asked him after the waitress
had left.

I
think that I forgot to mention the fact that we were speaking in Romanian at
the table, so it was fairly easy for anyone to figure out what country we were
from, but that didn’t annoy me as much as lying about who we were. Anyway, he
didn’t even bother to answer.

Alexandra
smiled and said, “Come one, if you tell them you’re from Romania they…”

“We’ve
been here for a week and…” Dan left the sentence unfinished.

“Do
you remember that restaurant in Venice?” she asked him.

He
put his hands hard against the table. “Yeah, yeah. Dude, you should hear this,”
he said and turned to face me. “We were eating at this restaurant in Venice.
Luxury, I tell you, five stars, exquisite, all that.” He raised his hands in
the air, and I was pretty sure he was going to kiss the tip of his fingers and
say, “Mamma mia!” or something ridiculous like that. Instead, his figure turned
grave, and in an almost whispering voice he said, “The waiter was super nice
until we told him we’re Romanians.”

“And
after that, you should have seen him…” added Alexandra.

“Yeah,
yeah,” Dan nodded. “He practically spent an hour or so, while we ate and drunk,
circling our table.”

“It
was as if we had our very own bodyguard,” Alexandra chuckled.

“Well…”
– that was the only word I said, before Dan started once more to raise and
lower his hands in an almost savant manner.

“So
now, every time we go to a café or restaurant, we’re from a different country.”
He grinned as if he had just said something particularly clever.

Alexandra
rose from her chair and kissed Dan on the cheek. I could feel the burn caress
my lips once more. Feverish, delightful, passionate, playful. You know, just
words, but for me, they paint a pretty accurate picture of what was going on in
that moment. I felt the urge to press my fingers against my lips, but it would
have been an odd thing to do, so instead I ran my tongue over my lips.

“I
have to go to the bathroom,” she said. “You boys behave.” And she disappeared
along with that burning sensation that made me feel as if something made my
lips squeeze. You know, like when someone grabs you by the cheeks and purses
your lips in an awkward position.

I
should tell you more about this sensation that almost drove me mad. But sadly,
I think that this “burn” as I call it and its intensity exceed my grasp of the
invention we call “word.” As I said earlier, I am not that smart anyway, so I
can only try, but you should know that it will fall short of describing how it
used to feel.

Have
you ever held an ice cube in the palm of your hand? After it melts, your hand
starts to heat up. Something like that, only better. And there’s this tingling
sensation that runs up and down, left and right, virtually in all directions,
but you don’t want to scratch it. No, no, you want to close your eyes and just
enjoy it.

It
burns and tingles. It’s hot and cold at the same time. Damn, this whole “use
words to express sensations” is pathetic.

Anyway,
let’s get back to our story.

This
Danny boy took a sip of coffee, looked me in the eye and smiled. “You really
love her,” he said, and his smile grew stronger. “But she never wanted you. She
never loved you, no matter how much you tried.”

Yes,
yes, he said those words out loud, while I sat there, on the other side of the
table, staring back at him, speechless.

“I
remember now,” he said, and his eyes darted around the café. “You were always
the faithful friend, the guard dog, all that.”

“I
tried,” I said and smiled in a mischievous way. Somehow I felt I looked rather
pathetic because I could see his smile as strong as ever.

“You
were always way over your head.”

I
might have sighed. I might have even felt my eyes wet. I might have felt the
urge to call my bodyguards. Instead, I frowned. I was, after all, worth several
million dollars at the time.

“You
still regret it. Oh, how much you regret it,” he said, and took another sip
from his cup.

“Why
should I regret anything?” I said and tried to sound as confident as possible.
“I made a lot of money.”

“Oh
please,” he laughed, “you’re the right hand of a business man that acts like a
thug.”

That
was rude, and I think, Dexter, that even you think that I was in my right, then
and there, to pull out my gun and shoot this Darryl or Darrell or Daren.(Yes, I
always carry a small gun with me because I had done business with some Russians
and things didn’t turn out so well.)

Instead,
I said something like, “He owns one of the biggest basketball teams in the
world.” After all, it was my duty to protect the man who was my employer at the
time.

“As
I was saying, after I sustained that injury and couldn’t play anymore, I had to
find a normal job,” this guy who’s name could’ve been even Dexter (no offense,
Dexter) said and then I saw Alexandra take her seat next to him.

He
wrapped his arm around her shoulders, as if he wished to suggest that she was
his property. And that he was, somehow, scared she might, all of a sudden,
disappear.

“It
was hard at first,” Alexandra said, and she didn’t seem to enjoy Daniel’s tight
grip.

“I
had to work in Iran, Syria and Nigeria,” he said.

“And
several other places,” she added.

“How
much do you make?” I asked and looked at my watch, pretending that I didn’t
really care.

“Not
as much as you,” he said in a poisonous tone.

“But
enough so we can get married,” Alexandra said, and he loosened his grip. They
kissed once more, and I could feel my cheeks burn, burn, burn, and my body
shuddered because of a bittersweet pain.

“I
have to go,” I said and took another look at my watch. (You know, how important
people do.)

“So
soon?” Alexandra whispered.

I
took a hundred euro bill from my wallet and put it on the table. “I am afraid
so.”

And
I left them there, holding hands and kissing. You know, doing pathetic things
like all lovers seem to do. I left them there, wishing that it was me doing all
those pathetic things with her, all the kissing and the hand holding, all the
jokes and smiles and giggles. I left them there, knowing that I had no choice
but to go back to my hotel room and try to forget. I left them there because
there was nothing else I could do.

Several
hours later I was in my hotel room trying to pick what shirt to wear in the
club that night. I have to admit that I have only one obsession; shirts. I have
an incredible collection of them: blue, black, turquoise, brown, pink, purple,
striped, and so on.

Ah,
and watches. I adore watches, expensive, big, shiny watches. And, besides, I
once read in one of Paulo Coelho’s novels that a watch is the only socially
acceptable jewelry a man should wear. A sophisticated man, I mean.

Someone
knocked at the door. I hadn’t ordered any room service, so I was a bit
suspicious. I looked at the gun that was resting on the nightstand beside the
bed and gulped. I have to be honest and tell you that I had never fired it.

But
somehow I made my way to the door, telling myself over and over again that
there was no way the Russians could have found me there. I opened the door
fast.

And
I was right. There were no Russians.

Alexandra.
Alexandra. Alexandra.

Standing
there, in the doorway, not really smiling, but not really sad either. I let her
in, and as I closed the door, she looked at it in such a strange way… as if she
was afraid that someone had followed her.

“How’d
you find me?” I asked her. My voice sounded so strained that it made her frown.

“You
have to stop doing this,” she said and she looked around.

“How
did you find me?” (Yes, I know that I should have asked her a ton of other
stuff, but still, you know, the Russians and all)

“This
is the most expensive hotel room in Rome,” she said, and she looked out through
the window for a while, and then glanced back at me. “You have to stop doing
this to yourself.”

“What
am I…”

“You,
me,” she said and shook her head. “It was never…” she left the sentence unfinished.
“And it will never…” She walked around the room. “I never loved you. At least,
not in that way.”

“But
I…”

“The
way you look at me.” She kept shaking her head like an old, demented woman.
“You have to stop this.” She stopped in front of me and sighed. “It’s not
healthy,” she said, and for an instant my mind strayed, and the picture of a
whole aisle of food marked as “bio” or “eco” was all I could see. “You have to
stop,” she whispered, and she was so, so close. So I did something that I don’t
normally do. I kissed her. It was not a real, real kiss. Our lips only brushed
for a moment, and then she pushed me away.

I
took a few more steps away from her, my lips trembling and my shoulders
shaking. I thought I was going to fall on the ground, that’s how weak my legs
felt.  But it didn’t burn. My lips. I felt nothing of the sorts. Her lips were
soft. That I remember. But it didn’t burn.

And
I felt as if she was different. She was still gorgeous, one of the most
beautiful women I had ever seen. Her blue eyes, her lips, her long hair falling
loose down her back, but something had ruined everything. Right there and then,
with Rome melting under the sun, I felt as if she was just another woman.

But
that’s not the only thing I felt in the few seconds that passed without either
one of us saying a word or moving. A few seconds in which she stared at me with
her eyes wide open and her lips trembling furiously.

I
am afraid I have to take a little break and smoke a cigarette or two. I need to
think about which words to choose next. That’s why I hate writing. Sometimes
words can’t describe certain emotions and feelings, certain sensations.
Sometimes, words are just as cold as an ice cube.

Okay.
So, Dexter, do you want to know how I felt in that hotel room in Rome?

I
felt empty. And I felt as if my entire future had died. My past had altered into
this viscous matter in which I slowly drowned. All my restless dreams, my foolish
love, that stupid void that I felt grow inside my chest every time I thought
about her, all gone. I looked around, at all the expensive furniture, at the
beautiful Rome unfolding toward the horizon, and I felt that everything was hopeless.
Everything around me seemed to slowly decay. That was what my eyes didn’t see,
but my soul could feel, and this uselessness felt ever more poignant inside
what I knew was a terribly pathetic existence.

“You
should go!” I was the first to say something. In fact, I was the only one who
said something. She just opened the door and walked out of my life, taking with
her all that I had ever hoped to gain in life.