A Short Love Story
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the one who will whisper the secret without moving his epiglottis, will change forever and shall not die like all men; but will remember me on his deathbed.
Oh, the sweet serenade of his gentle voice, only to be rivaled by the
delightful sprinkle of misogynistic wit.
It was pure amusement in our dance of challenges and playful banter.
“When are the classes over, Dizzy Miss Lizzy?”
“At two. And at two or so, I’m back from high school,” I said.
Oh, the sheer shock of his inquiries and my responses, as if I had
encountered him before — which I hadn’t, of course!
My unwavering politeness?
Blame it on my elder sister’s tyranny of etiquette.
Now, about this mysterious paramour of mine, our first conversation
remains an enigma.
Perhaps the phone simply rang and, lo and behold, my voice greeted his.
“Hello, hello, hello,” I repeated many times until he was kind enough to
mutter something, and our conversation ended when I heard my older
sister’s keys in the front door.
And because she never came back before ten o’clock p.m., I’d say I’d spent
four or five hours with him in a dream state.
That’s when I learned to meditate; I started in the morning and woke up
only in the evening.
“Ever since I met you, I’ve lost track of time.”
“You have a sleep disorder, Lazy Daisy!”
With a smirk dancing on my lips, I entertained the thought of slamming the
phone down and severing our connection — perhaps that could’ve been my
salvation.
Back then, I had found myself buried beneath the crushing weight of
textbooks and notebooks, a human sacrifice atop the altar of education.
Just when I was on the verge of embracing the sweet nectar of relaxation, I
inhaled deeply, as instructed by him, allowing the familiar chill to pierce
my very core.
Paralyzed, but enlightened, I drifted towards icy oblivion.
“I want to go to the next level!”
“You don’t have much left!”
Oh, the thrill of vacillating between two reveries, eagerly awaiting either
the ultimate paradise or a fresh start!
But alas, my faith in him wavered.
“Soon we’ll have to say goodbye forever!”
Of course, I didn’t believe him, that was not possible!
“Are you sick?”
He guessed my fear.
“Don’t be afraid of death, because it’s predictable. Your body has started to
slide out of the womb and will continue to descend another three meters,
that’s all.”
“Don’t tell me the soul is immortal …”
“I didn’t even think of that, Silly Vanilli!”
“If you leave me, I’ll kill myself.”
“I’ll always be with you, Crybaby Baby, but for that, I’ll have to …”
Imagine this — we both knew exactly what we were thinking, no words
needed.
But then, he decided to rewrite the Kamasutra.
He was like the Feng Shui master of sexy time!
Picture me on the floor, facing magnetic opposites, with a puffed-up belly.
Quite the enticing scene, no?
“Breathe in … Breathe deeper. Breathe in for four seconds. Yes, just like
that. And now, hold your breath for four seconds. Good.
Breathe out, for four seconds. Very good.
Now hold on for four seconds. Perfect.
Close your eyes and continue breathing.
Can you feel me? Now I’m inside you.”
Ah, the euphoria of abdominal breathing — I dove into its magical depths,
serenaded by the gentle whistling in my eardrum.
As if under some enchanting spell, my limbs melted into the plush carpet
like warm butter, and soon I was but a puddle of thoughtlessness.
Freedom washed over me as I gracefully tumbled toward my premature
demise.
But fear not!
For in that hazy chasm, my senses remained sharp as a tack — save for the
slight inconvenience of cracking eyes, fused teeth, and sticky lips.
But hey, at least my ears and chest stayed wide open to embrace the
serenade of my phone companion.
What a lovely trip into oblivion!
My paramour regaled me with celestial tales, a desperate yet endearing
attempt to woo me.
He harbored an odd obsession — stroking his knees as he chattered on.
The poor soul had injured himself sliding over a cliff edge, compelling him
to plead me into caressing my own knees.
Obliging to his peculiar request, I became lost in his passionate ramblings.
Strangely, our flesh seemed to meld together, exchanging cells, knowledge,
and our very essence — as if my hand became his thigh, and his emotion
became the very beat of my heart.
“Morgasm!”
Of course, I had heard of it, only we girls said it a little differently.
“Oh no, Silly Willy, morgasm is something else, you naughty.”
Oh, you know, just this guy, he couldn’t have been more reassuring,
practically gave me a hallmark card with his niceties. But the irony, my
body wasn’t having any of it.
Croaky voice, arctic chills, the whole nine yards. And, of course, breathing
seemed overrated at this time.
Figured I’d get on the floor, and find some sleep, it’s where all the cool kids
crash.
Bit of a hiccup though, apparently the floor thought chewing was a new
trend, and just gave right in.
But look on the bright side, at least my eyes played a grand light show just
to warm my leaden self up.
Some quality dream material there, my friend, truly!
A charming little confession reached my ears — he whispered, with the
gentlest tone, that his heart belonged to me, and that he was there,
witnessing my existence through a window.
Overwhelmed by curiosity, I sprang into action, brushing aside the curtain
marred by sun and hideous ink-stained flowers.
Balancing on the radiator, I peered out, searching fervently for my admirer.
Sadly, the street below was devoid of life — except for a sweet, ancient soul
trimming the enchanting lilacs.
Our gazes locked, his milky and wise, mine innocent and hopeful.
With a lovely smirk, I mimicked an angel tangled in tinsel, knowing full
well his failing vision would grant him that Christmas miracle.
Alas, my search for the one who passionately whispered such sweet
nothings left me empty-handed.
“I want to see you now. I want you!”
My lover hadn’t expected me to have this passionate reaction.
“Want to get engaged, honey?”
That took me by surprise.
We fell silent together, and time went by.
“I’m outside, Sweetie Pie!” he said an hour later.
Ah, the mysteries of life — a disembodied voice lurking in the recesses of
my mind, coaxing me out of the gate.
And what awaited me outside?
A scene worthy of a melodrama — a screeching gate, a door with a severe
case of the giggles, and an impromptu rainfall of assorted printed matter.
But lo and behold!
A torn beige treasure chest, cradling within it a ring — four gems, a pearl,
and a size that screamed, “I know you, darling.”
And then, the thrilling climax — an old neighbor, holding a mighty bouquet
like a victorious gladiator, transformed into the unsuspected fiancée.
Months of conversation led to this mind-blowing revelation.
But isn’t it just like life to surprise us in the most delightfully absurd ways?
I returned home disappointed.
On the phone — no one. I smelled the ring box.
“Do you smoke?”
“None of your business,” he said.
He felt that I hated cigarettes.
“Do you like the ring, Fat ass Badass?”
“Yes.”
“Then I want to hear you laugh, honey. Laugh!
Look at your ring finger and laugh!”
As he whispered into the night, his words enveloped me like the
intoxicating embrace of a fine cheese meeting its bubbly soulmate.
Laughter was a distant dream, as removed as my ancient betrothed’s
promises of future mirth.
For how could I chuckle when faced with the perils of masculinity?
He insisted that we intertwine our thoughts, chewing and regurgitating
each other’s ponderings like a gruesome, cerebral buffet.
Though the specifics are hazy, the symphony we composed was a
discordant harmony of borrowed thoughts and ambiguous reflections.”
and I will laugh even more mockingly …
“ … whenever I see a naked man …
“ … and I will frown, I will twist or I will turn my head …
“ … whenever a man looks at me and …
“ … and I will be filled with compulsion …
“ … whenever a man touches me and
“ … and I’ll be scared …
“ … whenever I see myself in the mirror and
“ … and I’ll be scared …
“ … whenever I see a woman’s face or body and
“ … and I won’t love any other man …
“ … except you …
“ … and no other woman …
“ … except me …
“ … and only with each other will we find delight …
“ … only and only for each other …
“ … without ever touching …
“ … and …
My old fiancé was at the receiver, he was in my mind.
“ You should always choose wiser boys and more beautiful girls, for that’s
the reason for a partnership.”
Then he suddenly got angry and started cursing.
I quickly realized that something had happened.
He told me that he was going to leave the country.
“I want you, I need you, honey. I want to make love to you… before
leaving, or I will die,” I said.
“What?!”
“We have to be together. Let’s run away.”
“You’re seventeen, I don’t want to talk to you about my age, because I don’t
want you to know who I am. Well, I’m not an old man, and I’m not even
halfway through my life. I promise to come back, to look for you, and if
you haven’t been married by then …”
I burst into tears.
“Now I want to die,” I said through tears.
“Don’t say that,” he said.
“Let’s be together, we have to be together.”
“I want that, too,” said a soft voice.
“What the hell is that?! Who’s there with you?!”
I roared like an animal and a vocal cord gave way.
In the evening, my father found us both lying on the blood-
stained floor on either side of the receiver.
I couldn’t talk, and my sister was …
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Julia Kalman 