Marry Me by Train

Perhaps it began when she heard his grandparents cursing at the TV in Polish. When she asked him what they were saying and he blushed as he told her, they said fuck. When his mother cried as he blew out his candles on his fifteenth birthday.

Perhaps it began when she was standing in her loft, chunking berries into the chili her mother had left out on the stove. When he was leaning against her and she turned her head to look at him sideways and he was laughing and his teeth weren't perfect.

Perhaps it began when she stayed up till four in the morning, composing a bucket list of things they were supposed to do together. Things like; go to prom, get in the car and just go someplace new and make out in an elevator. Things that never happened but could have. 

Perhaps it began when she put her shirt on backwards and he kissed her on the forehead and she grabbed his hat and put it on her head.

Perhaps it began when she walked him to his front door with the excuse of needing to see his dog whom she claimed to be in love with. When she dubbed him "Kiddo."

Perhaps in began when he held her in the ocean because she couldn't reach the bottom. When he beat her in volleyball. When he threw sand at her and then came over to wipe it off her face with his thumb.

Perhaps it began when he put his hand on the small of her back so that he could get past her. When he held her hand in front of his older brother. When she kissed him on her front porch and he whispered, thank you. 


Or perhaps it began when he said, I'm an atheist and liked her even though she was a Jesus-freak.


Perhaps, it was much simpler than all of these events.
Maybe, it was a combination of everything.
Surely, it couldn't be pinpointed.

It was love after all.

kindergarten.

 His name was Joseph Alvedo, and this story starts with him. 


 He first approached her with a picture in his hands. Two dark grey figures were meshed together, she turned up her nose at this. 
"these are elephants.." he said.
"soo?" she replied, arrogantly.
"well elephants are the largest land mammal...they're considered to be a sign of luck."
"you aren't like most boys..."
"my mom says that's a good thing..."
"I'm Ana, by the way."
"I know who you are, but I'm Joseph."


 While most five year old boys would be caught chasing each other around the soccer field at recess, Joseph stuck by Ana's side. He'd teach her things, mostly about animals, but Ana would always act interested and most of the time, she was. It was peculiar to see a five year old boy and a five year old girl together as much as they were. Most children at this age were screaming "you have cooties" towards each other. But not Joseph and Ana.  They'd switch sandwiches at lunch and sit under the slides at recess. When boys would bully Joseph, Ana would take a stand and defend him. One day after Joseph had gotten hit in the face by one of the meaner boys, Ana knelt by his side as he tried to suck back the tears.


"Joseph..."
"..yes Ana?"
"I saw this movie once...about this princess who falls in love with a poor boy, who wishes he was a prince so he could marry her...and well."
"what is it?"
"will you be my prince...?"


The pain on Joseph's face was replaced, by a smile. He sat up and looked down.
"did you know that owl's have three eyelids?"
"you're kidding? what else?"
"well, owl's also have the best hearing out of. all birds...."


  Ana had always been different than most girls her age, smarter, more mature. And even though they were five, Joseph had taught her something very special. He was just a chapter in her life though, this is a story, and every story must have a beginning, right?

Asleep By The Smiths

She’s ugly was Andrei Petrov’s first thought of Anya Rodionov. Perhaps, it’s her teeth or the way her hair is in her eyes. Or maybe it just started with her hair, the unruly curlicues and even the color of it: that brackish brown. The teeth were a grimy yellow too, but he would let it go- The lighting, perhaps is not so ideal. For the sixtieth time in a minute, he thought that it was a shame that he had no choice of who he was paired with. He had to trust in his father, Emir. To think that just forty minutes ago he had been on top of Irina Menchinkopf’s piquant body and now he here was with Anya’s thin, angular one.

 “Ah, my friend, I know the girl is no beauty! She’s my own, after all! But just hear her sing! Such a voice!” Anya’s father, Leon told Emir. Leon grabbed Anya’s arms, which, Andrei noted, were apple white and he pushed her out into the center of the room. Her eyes were downcast and Andrei knew she was ashamed, as is the peculiar trait of people blessed with a gift.

“I’d like to hear you sing something,” Andrei said keeping his eyes on her, “anything.”

She nodded, lifting her eyes to meet his. She observed that his were brown with golden rings around the irises and that he was looking at her intently almost as if she would disappear.  Anya lifted her head and closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Andrei watched her small chest rise and fall. She opened her eyes and began to sing.

“Your face isn’t ready for me to start,

So I’ll stand up here and pretend to know some words by heart,

Perhaps, I’ll sing of blackbirds and sailing ships,

Or men who balance the world up on their fingertips.”

EMIR CLAPPED.

LEON BEAMED.

ANDREI STOOD TOO QUICKLY (and hit his head on the rather short ceiling).

As he was dealing with the pain, he thought, she will not sing in opera hours but after she finishes singing, an enchanting echo follows. Her voice is something to pass the time. That’s what I need: something to pass the time. She will be that for me. There are things more beautiful, yes. There are things with brighter smiles and fuller breasts and lilting laughs but none as captivating as her. None with dearer intentions and sweeter nuances than Anya Rodionov.   

While Andrei was thinking, Anya glided away to the kitchen and grabbed a towel and piece of ice. Andrei watched her as she folded the towel around the ice and made it into a compress. Quietly, she strolled back over to him and as if she had been with him her whole life, she placed her hand on one side of his face and held it steady and with the other hand she pressed the compress to his head.  She murmured, “You’ve bumped your head, silly.” Which Andrei interpreted as: “When you’re in pain, I will always care for you.” 

He smiled a small, smile which was an unusual. She just looked back at him as if to say, “I’m staring so intently because I’m trying to picture your face in twenty years. I just want to see you the way you will be. I just want to know if I can still love you then when you’re different. I just want to make sure I still can love you after everything changes.”

 EMIR SHOOK HANDS WITH LEON WHO THEN WHOOPED IN JOY, “IT IS THE HAPPIEST DAY! MY ANYA! A BRIDE!”

They were married on a Wednesday in May. Anya wore a white dress that her twin sisters had both previously donned. There was a dull red stain on the lace trim around her right wrist from where Danka had spilt wine. There were earth colored stains along the hem because Riva had danced without shoes on and the dress had skimmed the ground as she spun in her new husbands arms.

 A tiny necklace, shaped like a sparrow, rested, hidden by the dress’s high neckline, against her chest.

 Yet she wore the dress without shame and because of this she was radiant, Andrei decided. He watched her as she walked down the short aisle to where he stood next to the priest. He felt infinite when she told the priest, “Of course” instead of, “I do.”

The rings they slipped on each others fingers were simple, gold and thick. 

Andrei found himself smiling as they held hands and dangled their feet off the edge off the edge of the wagon that was taking them to the reception. The wagon’s wheels blew little clouds of dirt up in their faces and Anya laughed when he licked his thumb and cleaned a smudge off her forehead. He noticed that her lips were rosy and full and that her eyes got all scrunched together and that she tilted her head back when she laughed, as if trying to taste her laughter. When she laughs she looks surprised by life, he thought. For him, all the intimate details of her compressed themselves into that single moment of bouncing crystal laughter.

At the reception as they sat beneath birch trees filled with the yellow glow of miniature candles (or were they fireflies?) he gently picked out the rice that had gotten tangled in her hair. He removed a sunflower from her bouquet and tucked it behind her ear. He kissed the spot where her hairline faded into soft fuzz. 

In the language of their budding love, a gesture like that meant, “YOU’RE NOT JUST SOMETHING TO PASS THE TIME, ANYMORE.”

Gradually, like the opening of a butterfly’s cocoon, the reception went on. Anya taught him how to whistle and he taught her how to make paper cranes out of the dinner napkins. His brother, Gustav, gave a speech in which he slurred all of his words and little ten year Kela Dirov, caught what was left of the sunflower bouquet. Anya pointed out the Big Dipper to him while he was teaching her how to dance. His father drank too much vodka and accidently let the words, “I’m proud of you,” slip out of his mouth. Her grandmother, Evka, grabbed Andrei’s face in her hands and pushed his cheeks together, “So handsome!”

And because it was the first day of summer, all those wonderful, storybook moments happened and all those moments where he though he loved her happened and all those grand promises were formed.

 Somewhere in the future, their life wasn't as magical as the warm night in May had promised it would be. Somewhere in the future, every moment was made of glass. Somewhere in the future, past a field of sunflowers and down a long dark lane shaded with leaves sat a small house. Somewhere in the future, Anya tucked her little boy into bed.

Sing to me, Mama. 

She got up from his bed and went to lock the door; Andrei would be home soon. 

“Some have furs and fancy cars

She climbed back into the bed.

But I have you, I have you.

Stepan slid into her lap.

Some have silk and caviar,

What’s carrveeyar?

Quiet, my love.

But I have you, I have you.

She combed his curls with her fingers.

Some have emeralds set in gold,

[A door slammed shut and she winced]

But they can’t sit and rock and hold you,

ANYA! STEPAN!

She pulled the boy closer, holding one ear against her chest while she sang softly into his other ear.

Like I do, like I do, like I do.

She pulled a blanket over them. Her voice filled the makeshift tent.

Some have lace and diamond rings,

Anya closed her eyes.

But I have you, I have you,

Her back ached from leaning to hold him.

They always have the latest things

But I have you, I have you,

Please, don’t wake, little Stepan, Andrei.

Some are always dressed in style,

You’re his father.

But they may never catch your smile,

Like I do, like I do, like I do.

You must know I love you both so much.

Some have homes on the finest streets,

Oh, you have to know.

But I have you, I have you.

The finest leather on their feet,

Anya kissed her only son, whose eyes were weighted with sleep.

But I have you, I have you.

Her arms were pins and needles.

Some have wine and a castle to keep,

She thought of their small house and the dirt that stained everything and the food that was never enough and the nights that were always cold and unwelcome.

But they can’t watch you drift asleep,

Like I do, because I have you, I have you,

Oh, thank fucking God,

I have you."

The tears Anya shed were for numerous reasons. She shed them for the first moment of sunrise she would see in the morning as she hung the wash. She shed them for the sound of dishes breaking and for the fact that she now locked the door when Andrei came home from a long day of going nowhere. She shed them for the baby girl, whom she would have named Tevra that she miscarried. She shed them for the thought of Stepan’s little hands that gripped her nightgown. She shed them because she never learned to dance and she wasn’t the singer she wanted to be. She shed them because she was a mother and someday Stepan would leave and someday he would permanently grow out of her and someday their house with its paper thin walls would be gone and someday all there would be left of everything was dust. She shed them because life was an attempt to be noble or was it normal? She shed them because it was all so short and love was so long.