Unquenched (19 page)

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The next week and a half flew quickly by as we spoke on the phone
every day.  The day before he arrived I came home to a message on my answering
machine from Tristan. 

"Hi, it's me," he said.  "I guess you're not home
but I'll leave you a message anyway.  Don't bother getting tickets for a show
tomorrow, I actually have another idea.  We might want to make reservations for
dinner but somewhere that is quiet, so we can talk.  See you tomorrow."

The roller coaster was on its way down.  I should have known but
the irony was I still didn't know why.  Nothing seemed to make sense.  And
suddenly, my curiosity was driving me almost more than my heart itself.  He was
an enigma.  So much so that I wasn't even sure he knew certain things about
himself.  But time would tell.  In twenty-four hours the truth would unfold. 
Or at least I hoped it would.  With Tristan, one never knew.  But this would be
the last time that I would bathe in uncertainty.  I needed to know.  And my
senses told me that he needed to tell me.  Either way, I would wait just a
little bit longer.

At 6:30 p.m. the following day, the phone in my apartment rang.  I
picked it up quickly as I awaited his call and answered, cheerfully, "Well
it's about time." 

I heard him laugh at the other end, and with his distinct foreign
accent said, "What do you mean, I'm early." 

I laughed too and said, "I know, I'm only kidding.  So what's
the big plan?" I asked, trying to act light despite the nervous feeling in
my stomach. 

"Well," he responded, as I heard the tone in his voice
become suddenly more serious.  "You remember me mentioning my colleague
Jean, don't you?" he asked. 

"Of course," I responded, suddenly not liking the
direction of the conversation. 

"Well last minute Jean was put on my flight and is obviously
here tonight," he continued. 

I didn't say a word.  He was going to have to get through whatever
he was leading to himself. 

"I was hoping that you wouldn't mind if we all spent the
evening together," he finally said. 

I felt the roller coaster go sharply around a curve. 

"Tris, I really don't know what's going on, but it clearly
wasn't what I had in mind," I admitted. 

I tried desperately to hold back my mounting temper but nothing
made sense from where I stood. 

"I need to talk to you about something", he managed to
say.  "And it will be easier for me to tell you if Jean is with me,"
he added. 

The whole situation was ludicrous.  His colleague, from what he
had told me, was new in his life, yet already, Tristan needed Jean by his
side.  From the sounds of it, they were running off together and Tristan wasn't
man enough to tell me by himself.  And the nerve of him, I thought.  To bring
Jean with him to make it easier on him.  Couldn't he even spare me the hurt of
having to picture them together after the intimacy that he and I had shared?! 
All that I had seen in him, all that I thought he had represented, I had only
imagined, as it was clear that I had been wrong.  I had thought he was strong
person.  I had thought that he could stand on his own two feet.  I had thought
he had been an individual, and for that, I had respected him.  It had all
seemed so simple in Indonesia.  Our feelings for each other, at least.  So
pure.  So real.  Or so it seemed.  I was furious with Tristan, but there was no
doubt, I definitely still cared.  I wouldn't have been able to live with myself
if I told him not to come.  I had to understand the complicated force that was
about to take him from me.  But then again, Tristan wasn't completely insane. 
To put me in a situation of extreme discomfort meant I really didn't trust him
at all.  He had to have a good reason for what he was doing and there was a
slight possibility that my instincts were wrong. 

"OK," I said reluctantly, "Why don't you and Jean
come over for a drink in about a half an hour," I offered, thinking to
myself that I was crazy. 

"Great," he said, as I heard his relief.  "Do you
need anything?" he asked. 

It was a strange time for formalities, I thought with sarcasm, and
I answered, by saying, "The truth Tris, that would really be nice."

A half hour later my doorbell rang.  I walked slowly toward the
door with intense trepidation.  I couldn't imagine what I was about to
discover.  But I had felt confident nonetheless.  I had put some extra time
into getting ready that evening in the hope of looking better than Jean.  I
wanted at least that much.  But just like the first time he had come to my
door, there was no turning back anymore.  My mind flashed back to so many moments
recalling the memorable times.  From the moment I had met him I had extended
myself, and did anything I had to, to see him.  I tracked down his number
without knowing his name, I borrowed a car I couldn't drive, I drove to the
Cape and back in a day, I showed him New York, I slept with him, and now I was
meeting his Jean.  But for my own sake, I had to believe that it had all been
worthwhile no matter what the outcome.  I had to believe that his feelings had
been real and I could cherish the storybook romance.  True, I had been
disappointed by him, but never had it seemed intentional.  I always knew that
it was tied to something that one day I would understand.  The doorbell rang
again.  I emerged from my thoughts, reluctantly, and yelled, "I'll be
right there!"

I opened the door and smiled at Tristan but was taken aback by
what I saw. 

"Hi," Tristan said, as he hugged me tightly but my mind
ran haphazardly in circles. 

I was more than a little confused.  I went through the motions of
shaking hands with his colleague, and as I tried to make sense of it all, I
looked into Tristan's revealing eyes, and they told me something new.  We all
stood in the hall by the door of my apartment in an awkward pensive silence.  I
did not invite them in, and nobody dared to move.  Looking at the person that
had walked in with Tristan, it had suddenly all become clear.  In no uncertain
terms could I ever have competed.  It was beyond competition.  Jean's body
alone, was something I could never have even dreamt of having.  And Jean's
face.  It was different than mine but if that was the type that Tristan wanted,
I understood the attraction.  Tristan did not need to say a word.  Nor did
Jean.  I saw it in their eyes when they looked at each other and I watched in
disbelief.  Tristan had been right to bring Jean to me, otherwise I wouldn't
have believed it.  The three of us stood almost frozen in place, and although
he did not need to explain any further, Tristan broke our silence.

"This is Jean," he said with conviction, but I knew he
had forced out the words.  As I stared at Jean I swallowed hard, still
digesting that Jean was a man.

I couldn't speak.  I needed space.  I needed to be alone.  Or I
needed to be with Tristan alone so he could tell me it all wasn't real.  But it
was and that's why Tristan had brought Jean to me.  My mind was saturated with
so many thoughts, but mostly of anger towards Tristan.  I couldn't believe what
he had done to me by bringing me into his world.  His world of confusion and
pain and searching when he knew, for us, there was no chance.  But as I stood
there, still motionless, I realized that he hadn't known.  He had been locked
in a world without any answers and had been looking for an escape.  And
although for the moment he had discovered his freedom, I knew he was a long way
from home.

We stood there for what seemed an eternity and a smile slowly
crossed my face.  It wasn't ideal by any means but it would somehow all be OK. 
What Tristan and I had temporarily shared, had been real, but never could have
lasted forever.  Jean had shown him that.

I missed the passion in the days that ensued but was thankful for
the experience of having had it.  I wanted to know that I could feel that way
again, but hoped the closure would be different.  It was a confusing time for
me, however, and I needed to digest it all.  I needed to release my entire
story to free myself and go on.  Maybe even take some time off.  Bali had a
nice peaceful ring to it and to me it sounded like the perfect place to write a
story.

THE
END