Chapter Two: Photographs and Memories.

"Satine, you really should just try and go on a date or something. It's been over a year since the accident and.."
"Mom okay, I gotta go, I'll call you tomorrow or something. Love you, bye." Satine quickly pushed the "hang up" button on her blackberry and stuffed it deep into her purse. The cold December air biting at her face, she had to get out of this frigid weather. Spying a nearby coffee house, she quickly walked towards it. Immediately the warm air enveloped her and she found a quaint table in a secluded corner. Sitting down, she put her purse on the table and pulled off her gloves. Rubbing her hands together, Satine quietly got a nearby waiter's attention. 
"Hello ma'm, how may I help you?"
"I'd like a chai latte and a cinnamon roll, please." 
"alright is that all?"
"yes."
"alright, I'll be back with your latte and cinnamon roll in a moment." The two women smiled at each other politely and once again Satine was left alone. She looked around the coffee shop, it was mostly filled with couples too in love to care much about their surroundings.  Satine remembered what it felt like to be that in love, to be that selfish, to be that comfortable, to be that happy..
"Enough of that Satine, you're fine.." Satine told herself in her mind. 
"Ma'm, your chai latte and cinnamon roll?" the waitress said placing Satine's beverage and small meal on the small black table she sat at.
"Thank you." Satine replied, "How much is it?"
"$8.55" the waitress said, her name tag read "Monet."
Satine reached into her purse and pulled out her wallet, while fumbling for the correct amount of cash a picture fell out onto the table. Monet noticed it and picked it up,
"Oh wow, is that Eiffel Tower?! I've always wanted to go to Paris. You look gorgeous..who's that man?" 
Satine looked up confused as to what Monet was talking about. As if a cold bucket of realization had been dumped on her she politely took the picture back,
"Ha yeah, it's beautiful over there. Full of culture, history, and of course romance...but the man, he's a...an old friend of mine." She said vaguely handing Monet the money.
"Oh, thank you. You have a good day, ma'm." the waitress said departing from the table. Satine smiled, then looked down at the picture in her hands. Stroking it softly, she forgot she had this. 


It was taken about two years ago, on a bridge next to the Eiffel Tower in Paris. Satine's hair was long then, almost to the middle of her back. Her side sweep bangs covered her left eye partially. She was dressed in all black and had a heavy overcoat on. She was also in the arms of a man. He was tall, Satine's head came up to about his chest. His hair light brown, was styled youthfully, he was skinny but built at the same time. They looked happy and in love.  


Satine closed her eyes, the music playing in the coffee shop surrounded her. Cellos, violins, and pianos. All echoed, she indulged herself into the memory of the photograph.


"Je t'aime , même quand vous êtes une douleur dans le cul" he said to her as they looked over the city of Paris.
"What does that mean?" Satine asked looking up at him.
"It means I love you, even when you're being a pain the ass." He joked grabbing her and pulling him into his arms. 
She tried to act mad at him, but she couldn't. She wrapped her arms around his neck and stared up at him.
"Je t'aime, toujours." Satine said before kissing him lightly on the lips. 


"Ma'm, it's about closing time..are you alright?" Monet asked Satine, snapping her out of her daze. Satine's eyes damp with tears.
"Oh yeah, I'm fine. I'm sorry, I lost track of time...thank you." Quickly she grabbed her things, and patted her eyes dry. Still holding the photograph, she pulled out her wallet once more. She looked around, the coffee house once full of happy couples, and peaceful readers. It was now empty. Satine walked to the doorway and carefully placed the photo back into her wallet. She opened the door a gush of cold wind splashed her, Satine took a deep breath and walked out of the coffee house. Looking down at her wallet, she placed it back into her purse and said quietly, this time aloud,
"I love you, always."

Zoya's Dream

Zoya dreamt about the night she married Daniil.


There had been a candlelit procession, Daniil at the front. He was resplendent in his white shirt and brown pants. Hs thick hair pushed off his forehead and his shoes reflected his shy smile. He had made such an effort for her. She almost loved him for that. He kept his eyes straight ahead, gazing up at her family's house. She could see them coming around the curved bend of the street for miles; torches alight and voices mingling with the birch leaves. She stood at the window with the curtain pulled so only her eye was looking out. She was denying the processions existence by refusing to allow the rest of her body to acknowledge that there was life outside her room. 
Her mother came up behind her, "Zoya, darling, he is almost here. We must hurry." She lifted a white dress from deep within a pine chest. She slipped it over Zoya's head and arms. She buttoned up the eleven buttons that stretched from Zoya's lower back to the nape of her neck. Then Masha, kissed her daughter on top of her head. She took a pair of pearl earrings from her pocket and she snapped them into Zoya's ears. Zoya had never loved her mother more in her life.


She closed her eyes. Rada brushed her hair off her face with her fingers. Rada's gold rings snagged in her hair but she didn't mind. Rada plaited her hair into a single braid. She twisted Zoya's the braid into a coil in the middle of her head. Rada knitted white flowers in her hair in front of the mirror.

She remembered seeing all three of their faces reflected in it's polished glass.

"Rada, who brought these flowers-they look fresh?"

"Why of course Domovi brought them."

"Domovi Wolowitz?"

"Yes of course. You know he grows the most beautiful roses." Rada touched her sister's shoulder.

"He was here?" Zoya breathed. The yellow glow of candlelight cast pale shadows on her cheeks. Her eyes moved toward the door. Then out to the yard and the fields and then to the road leading from her house to town. She ran to the window and threw back the curtains.

"Don't be a fool," Masha grabbed her eldest daughter's face between her hands, "He is a Jew," and then she left the room.

The light from the wedding procession grew closer. Zoya's bedroom was almost entirely bathed in the glow of thousands of lanterns. Light flooded over her body. 

Rada stood in the doorway, watching her sister gaze at her reflection in the mirror. She watched as Zoya smoothed her dress with her hands and tucked in a fly away behind her ears; expressionless. Her eyes were wide and her mouth flat. She wore her sadness like a crown. She was so proud. "It is time to go."

Zoya spoke without turning around, "I know." 

The silence stretched between them. Their was no need to say anything else but Rada grabbed Zoya's arm as she brushed past her, she pressed her lips next to Zoya's ear. Zoya could see her sister's face was red and blotchy. Why hadn't she noticed before? "Since you know so much, perhaps, you should know this too: if I could take your place, I would" Rada's eyes were closed but tears slipped through the lashes, "You are not the only one who is losing what you love most. Remember that as you see me in the crowd just as I will remember your loss when I see Domovi watching you from the woods."

That day he slipped the string around her finger was the first and only day she believed in love. He had taken her out into the fields behind their village. He had placed a hand over her eyes and guided her through the streets of the city.
He was her eyes; it was the first time she had ever seen the world so completely and so beautifully.  He had told her, "We are passing Valentin and he is still sitting in his rocker with War & Peace open on his lap. He waved to you."
Zoya waved to him.
Passing the fountain, "Don't the fountain's drops feel so good on the skin?" His fingertips slipping up her arms, "Kinda like this?"
"Yes, just like that." She had said. 
He kissed her in the back alleys and in the doorways of shops. Pushing her up against cold stone walls and lifting her off the ground all in the same motion. Laughing into her hair as an old woman walked by clicking her tongue. 
"You're not missing much, Z," as they strolled past the place he called home. 
"Just wait a little while longer," He crooned into the shell of her ear.
She eased her hands around him, "I just want to make sure you are real."


"Do you trust me?" His hands were beginning to show glimpses of some foreign place.
"Always." She never lied to him, even if she could have, she wouldn't have.
He lifted his hands and the only thing she saw was beauty. 
The sky was orange, the moon was an afterthought and below it she saw fields of white blossoms. Domovi walked a few steps in front of her and pulled back the edge of the wildness. The thorns of white roses pressing into his palms. He asked a question he already knew the answer to: " Ti viydesh zamuzh za menya? Will you marry me? 


My grandmother didn't answer she just stood there at the edge of the world she hated. The breeze picked up the hems of her purple dress. Her hair blew into her eyes. Dust stung her cheeks. She stood there at the edge of the world she hated and she ran into his world, a world she loved. 


"The roses will be our chuppah," he whispered as he pulled her slowly down into the thicket. Thorns pulled at their skin, spilling drops of blood onto the white petals. Slowly the colors mixed and red and white roses bloomed up all around them. Slowly, so slowly, they unfolded into each other and slowly, so slowly, she forgot everything that mattered. 


She turned her face towards Domovi. She ran her skeletal fingers through his black hair. Her velvet dress slid up over her hips as she stretched her young body against his. His hands held the small her back. He spoke into her ear, "Don't you know that someday we will judge angels? They will write our story in cloudy cursive up in the sky. Someday, we will be there and we will tell them our story and it will be the greatest one ever told. It will not be the happiest or most beautiful, perhaps it will be the saddest but it will be the greatest. It will be so simply because it is ours. It is only for this not for any other reason." 


The only thing they longed for was time. They wanted to enjoy the arrogance of being young together, all the wasting of seconds, all the languidness of doing nothing. Every moment of  was made the most of, every moment was lifetime of love. They wanted to have the unique luxury of being able to tell each other, "Love me less." They wanted to mold each other like clay. Gradually smoothing out edges, and filling in spaces with their fingers, sculpting their bodies until they could fit exactly together. Every day was gift. They wanted to be able to grow tired of each other; to be able to fight and scream and leave. They wanted some of their pain to come from not being enough for the other person rather than it being an uncontrollable product of chance. They wanted the endless joy of slamming doors and making up. But they had no time for such things. 


Something about the way "Forever," felt as it rolled off their tongues didn't feel right. They knew it was out their reach. And so they lived a life that was equivalent to a small child on a swing who calls, "Higher, higher! I want to touch the sky!" But then turns to look at the person who was pushing them only to find that they have disappeared or perhaps (as in some rare and fragile cases) were never there at all. 

Revelations

Yesterday, my mom told me that I needed to stop writing about love. That I need a new subject. Love is overused. Yesterday, I told my mom that everything I could ever hope to write would contain some form of love.

Yesterday, I found out some things.

I found out that the story of my life is not a love story but rather a story about love. 

(It is a tale of every inkling of love I've ever felt.)

I found out that the passage of time can change a lot of things.

(Except the things that are most important to you.)

I found out that music fills the silence in a room but not the silence in your heart.

(I've never loved music more. I've never been more alone.)

I found out that the three most important words describing life were: "It goes on."

(I know this is true with every fiber of my being.)

I found out that sometimes it is better to be a forgetter than to be a remember. 

(If I could tell you one thing it would be this.)

I found out that darkness and light will always coexist. 

(We must know that perfection is unattainable.)

I found out that love is selfish and boastful and unkind. 

(You must want to keep the person you love as close to you as possible for as long as you can. Hide them away from the world so they can remain unspoiled. Boast of their goodness and grace, sing their praises from hilltops, lull the world to sleep with tales of their splendor. Be unkind, in that you must ask to much of them and that you must inspire them to change because you changed for them. Then after all of this is said and done, share their light with the world.)

Tonight, my mom talked to your mom and your mom asked about me. It made me sad because she didn't forget about me and you did. 

Do you remember when I stayed up till two in the morning to wish you "Happy Birthday" first because there's a time difference between Colorado and Texas? 

Do you remember when you said that when I laughed it made my whole face light up?

You were the only one who made me laugh that way. 

Do you remember when you said I deserved the nicest, sweetest guy in the world?

Did you know when you said that the only person I thought of was you?

Yes, of course, Mom, I won't write about love anymore.

Yes, of course, it's a tired subject. 

Yes, of course, I'm over you. 

Yes, of course, I'm telling the truth. 

Yes, of course, I'll be your friend.

Yes, of course, that's exactly what I want. 

Tonight, I'm listening to Lifehouse because I can't help it. 

Chapter One: The Boy With The Iron Man Action Figure.

 "Daddy, push me higher!" a six year old Satine Larson cried out of joy as her father, John Larson, pushed her on the neighborhood swings. 

"Satine, if you go any higher, you'll touch the sun!"

"I don't care Daddy, higher, higher!"

John Larson chuckled and pushed his daughter as high as she could go, the little girl laughed and screamed words of happiness. Satine stuck out her feet, and let them drag against the mixture of sand and small pebbles. She came to a stop and looked up at her Dad, smiling. He took her by the hand and they sat at a nearby bench. Satine grew quiet, and her father knew she was thinking about something, but what could it be? Satine was a very imaginitive child, everything she said was completely far fetched and randon. Finally, she spoke:

"Daddy, what does it mean to be in love?"  

This question took John Larson by surprise, he looked at her thoughtfully and said

"Love is the feeling you get when you're playing on the swings, Satine. When you feel so high, so infinite. When all you can see is the sun's light radiating down on you, and all you can feel is the sun's warmth bathing on your cheeks." 

Satine pondered her father's statment for a moment, he knew this by the way she twisted her lips to the side. 

"How do you know when you're in love though?"

John Larson laughed and said
"Little rabbit, why do you want to know about love all of a sudden?"

"I don't really know...maybe because I hear you and Mama talk about loving each other all the time." she said looking down at her feet. John lifted Satine's faced and kissed her forehead. 

"We do love each other Satine, and someday, you will find someone that makes your heart soar to cloud nine.." 

Satine smiled at the promise of her Father's words.

"I'm gonna go play play more, kay Dad?" She said getting up.

"Alright, but we're leaving soon!" 

Satine ran towards the sandbox, the park was completely empty except for a mother sitting on a nearby bench reading a magazine and one boy playing alone in the sandbox. As Satine approached him, she noticed he wasn't even playing in the sand. He was playing with a toy, it looked like Iron Man. She stepped into the sandbox, and he looked up noticing her presence.

"Hi! I'm Satine." She said happily sitting beside him. Satine smoothed her yellow sundress and started playing with the sand.  He stopped playing with the action figure and looked at her. She studied him for a moment, he had skin the color of the surface she was sitting on  and deep brown hair. But what Satine noticed most, was his eyes. They were deep brown and framed with thick dark lashes. It wasn't the color that she noticed, it was the way he used them. When he looked at her, he wasn't just looking at her face or her hair, he was looking at all of her. Her heart, her mind, her soul. Finally, after what felt like an eternity. He spoke:

"Hi Satine, I'm Alec...and this is Iron Man!" He said smiling as he picked up his toy. Satine giggled, "Hi Alec...how old are you?"

"I'm six and a half, but I'm gonna turn seven in march! How about you?"

"I'm six too, but I don't turn seven until May. Do you come here a lot?"

"No, only when my Mom and my Dad fight.." Alec said growing quiet.

Satine looked at him noticing his silence, "I like your toy." Alec lookd at her too,

"I like your dress." Satine smiled and the two contiuned to talk and play until the sun disappeared behind the trees and the sky turned into a pink and orange mixture.

"Satine! Let's go honey!" John called from the bench, Satine dissapointedly got up. 

"My dad wants to leave." She said to Alec. He stood up for the first time and Satine noticed how tall he was for his age.

"I hope I see you again.." he said to her. Satine smiled and said

"I hope I see you again, too. Let's play on the swings next time though. They're my favorite!"

"Bye, Satine."

"Bye, Alec." Satine said smiling, she walked off towards her Dad. When she approached him she was met by his embrace as he scooped her up into her arms.

"Did you have a good day Little Rabbit?" He said as they walked to their beat up suburban.

"I made a new friend, his name is Alec." 

"I'm glad, sounds like you had a fun day!" John said. As her father placed her into the car, Satine couldn't help but think about Alec. She felt the car start rolling and she said to herself, "Is this what Daddy was talking about? Is this love?"

Proluge: Satine's story.

  A woman of twenty-three sat behind her busy desk in a crowded workroom. The unending sound of sirens and cars from the busy streets of Manhattan, New York crept through the cracks of her office window. On her desk were scattered papers, a stapler, a morning copy of the "New York Times", an outdated laptop, a picture of her and her parents at Christmas last year, and a glass vase filled with fresh, carnations. Every so often, as she worked, she would look up at the vase. The spicy, sweet aroma of the flowers would reach her nose. Gently, she would close her brown eyes and quickly remember the boy. She would say to herself, "I love you, always." Just as fast as the memory would come, it would vanish. And reality would set back in. Quietly, she would survey the room. Paranoidly thinking the people surrounding her could read her thoughts. Then, she would nervously tuck a strand of her thick, brown locks behind her ear and get back to work. Her name was Satine Larson, and this is her story.  

  Every day was the same rouine for Satine. She would wake up at six twenty every morning, shut off her alarm and think to herself "I love you, always." She would get up, start her coffee maker and jump into the shower. After being in the shower for exactly fifteen minutes, she would shut off the water, grab her towel and go into her bedroom. She would pick out an outfit for the day, then lay it on her bed. Afterwards, she would go back into her closet and pick out matching shoes, and place them on the floor parallel to her clothes. After getting dressed she would go into the bathroom and plug in her hair dryer. It would take her exactly twenty-two minutes and forty-three seconds to dry her hair every morning. Satine would brush her eyelashes with a touch of mascara, powder on some blush, and brush her teeth. She would then make her way into the kitchen, fix herself some coffee and grab her briefcase. Right before she walked out the door, she would say to herself, "I love you, always." Once in the busy streets of Manhattan, Satine would walk past thousands of unfamilliar faces. She would walk to a man selling the morning paper, hand him the two dollars and thirty-five cents needed to pay for it, thank him, and leave. Satine would then keep walking to a nearby flower stand, buy herself a dozen pink carnations and walk three more minutes to her job. She worked as a journalist for a local magazine. It barely paid, but it was enough to keep her somewhat happy. Once inside she smiled and greeted those around, but hurredly made her way to her desk. Setting her coffee, paper, and briefcase down. After getting her things in place, Satine picked up the bouqet of carnations from yesterday, saying to herself "I love you, always." opened her window, and threw them out. Refilling the vase was her favorite part of the day, for it felt like she was refilling the love she had once experienced. She brushed her fingertips against the soft, pink petals of the flower as if she was brushing her fingers against his soft lips. A single, silent tear crept down Satine's face. She let it fall upon the flower petal and she said to herself "I love you, always."

Letter 105: My Everyday Life

This is what you  would do if you were me:

You wake up in the morning and you tell yourself, “Today is the day I am going to forget.”

You go through your routine.
Put on a sweatshirt. 
Lace up your Converse.
Stare at the picture of him that's taped to your mirror.
He looks better than you...remembered.

You go to Journalism class and take notes.

You eat lunch with your friends.

You sit under the weeping willow in the park with a Kurt Vonnegut book.
Harrison Bergeron. They kiss ceilings in that book. 

You go to Astronomy class and the professor tells you that sometimes it takes millions of years for a star’s light to reach the Earth, to reach our eyes; millions of years to illuminate the hazy outlines of two people kissing on a warm summer evening.

This makes you think of that day driving through the mountains.
He needed a shave. 
He said: " "They say the snow has been up there for an immeasurable amount of years. Even during the summer, it remains. Isn't it a pretty idea to think that others, perhaps, a thousand years ago, have seen the same snow that we are looking at?"

And you said: "The prettiest."
You remembered.

You go back to your dorm.

You get ready for a blind date.

You put on red lipstick.

You go to dinner.

He walks you back to your dorm.

He kisses you and it’s not so bad. It’s just a kiss.

You say good night.

You walk the eight flights of stairs to your room.

You brush your teeth.

Take off your makeup.

You change into pajamas.

You slide into bed.

You close your eyes.

Somewhere in this distance, music is playing: “There must be some kinda way outta here, said the joker to the thief, there’s too much confusion, I can’t get no relief.”

His song.

You smile a sad smile.

You remembered and it’s not so bad.

It’s actually kind of nice.

This is what you’d do if you were me: you would remember you (and you would realize that even if you wanted to forget, you couldn’t). 


Sasha, this is what I do most days. Most days I can't breathe because I miss you so much. Because I love you so much. I wish it wasn't this way sometimes but you're the most real thing, I have. It takes me saying this to make it true. Let me come see you. That is all except for my wish and it is simple: I wish I was wherever you are every single day of your life.