Just a Monumental Summer: Girl on the train (18 page)

“Hey, do you wanna know a joke about our shitty country?” one of the students asked us and continued without waiting for an answer. “There was a guy in a park. He was walking around, enjoying the landscape. Suddenly, a model airplane, you know, a toy, just crashed on the ground, right in front of him. The guy steps back, looked in disgust, and said, ‘Shitty country, shitty airplanes.’”

Jokes about our “beloved” country were common. Romanians used humor as a defense strategy against the hardness of communist life. Jokes were shared while at work, while sitting in the long line, while traveling, while marching for hours in communist parades, while among friends and strangers. The jokes were funnier when they were forbidden.

“I like it here,” Vera said neutrally.

Her comment didn’t surprise me much.

“Really?”  The students seemed amazed that anyone would find anything to like about Romania in 1989.

“You won’t leave if you have the chance?” Dana asked.

“Why? My family is here, my friends, my language.”

“You don’t have a dream to follow?” one of the students asked.

Vera paused, thinking. She then told us all, solemnly, “I don’t have a dream to follow. I have a comfortable life, and I love it. A good life, sexy guys. I like sex, preferably anal.”

There was a shocked silence, then everyone laughed. She was entirely without shame, and I loved her for it.

She looked at us, surprised we laughed out loud. “Come on, guys. Life is too short to pretend you don’t like anal.”

“You’re crazy, Vera, you know that?” I told her with a loving smile. Vera ignored me and turned all of her attention to the new guys. The students, of course, were more than happy to talk to her – especially after that bombshell.

“What’s your names, guys? Or shall I call you sweetheart?”

“Vio and Liviu” Vio replied and stood up.

“I need more beer. Shall I bring you something?” He offered, looking boldly at Vera.

“Yes, bring me a condom with a cock flavor. I always wanted one.”

Vio left, breaking into laughter.

“So, what do you study, Liviu?” Dana asked, visibly interested in him.

“Engineering.”

Vio arrived with a tray full of glasses and bottles.

“Yay! We are about to set the solid foundation for a durable friendship: alcohol,” Vera announced cheerfully.

“To alcohol!” we all cheered, passing the beverages around and raising our glasses. I joined in, reluctantly.

As the conversation continued to flow, the students and Vera flirted outrageously, I looked around. I was happy to see Jony approaching the restaurant. I wasn’t the only one; although seemingly focused on her new friends, Vera noticed to and immediately switched her attention to him, making room for him at the table close to her. Jony sat down, and we gave him a glass.

              “Are you guys done?” Geta asked him about the band’s performances

“Yes. Vladi is looking for you like crazy,” Jony told her.

Geta immediately swallowed the rest of her drink and left in a hurry, Jony said, disgustedly, “I lied. On the contrary, that woman leave won’t leave him alone for one minute.”

“Jony, you are a mean person. Vladi could have used some fun alone. Bad, bad, bad.” Vera was shaking her head and pointing her finger at him, poking him playfully.

“You like bad boys, Vera, don’t you?” Jony asked her playfully.

Vera was drunk, or she was pretending. I didn’t like Jony hitting on her. I tried to change the topic, switch the focus off of Vera. But Jony was still flirting with her. He leaned to her and whispered something in her ear, making her blush.

Suddenly, Vera stood up. “I gotta go. I will catch you later, love.” She leaned to me and kissed me on my mouth. Standing up with her, Jony took her hand. Vio wasn’t pleased to see her going. “Vera, can we meet later?”

“It depends. Do you have questionable morals?” Vera replied.

“I guess, yes.” Vio said, grinning and winking at Vera.

“Then, I’ll see you later.” Vera turned with a flounce and tugged Jony with her, leading him by the hand.

I watched them leave. It was only me and Dana left. Dana seemed interested in Vio the engineer. I was glad for her and decided to give them privacy. I left and headed back to the Obelisk. The Festival was still going on. I looked around, walking through the crowd. I spotted Ema and Alin sitting on the sand, under an umbrella. Ema was talking, and Alin leaning toward her, listening. My first instinct was to hide and spy on them, but it was too late: Ema saw me.

“Hey, here’s our girl,” Ema said with a forced smile.

“Where have you been? I was looking for you everywhere.” Alin tried to kiss me, pulling me down beside him to sit in the shade of the umbrella.

“I was at Dana’s, with Geta and Vera.”

“She is too much, isn’t she?” Ema remarked in a superior way.

I didn’t like the way she talked about Vera. But I tried to hide it. “Let’s say hanging out with her may require questionable morals, according to her. We had a lot of fun. I like her.”

“I like her too,” Alin confessed.

I decided to be a little defensive of Vera, now that Alin admitted he liked her.  Sure, she was outrageous, but she was my friend.

“Have you ever seen a typewriter?” I asked Ema looking straight in her eyes.

She nodded affirmatively.

“Have you ever wonder why computer keyboards are arranged in the way they are?”

Alin said, “That’s crazy you asked. QWERTY. I’ve always wondered why it’s in that order.”

I continued. “When the first typewriter came out, the keyboard was in alphabetical order. People will type fast, and that caused a jamming problem. The letters inside the machine would come on top of each other and jam. The Sholes Company decided to scramble the letters, so they put the most commonly used letters as far apart as possible in the machine’s innards. Jamming was solved. This is why we use the QWERTY keyboard today.”

“Cool,” Ema said appreciatively.

“Wait. The best part is yet to come. So one day, some guy was wondering the same thing — why the keyboard was arranged that way — and he invented a superior alternative. The Dvorak keyboard. It was easier to learn and made typing faster, less fatiguing, and of course, more accurate. But I have never seen in my life seen a Dvorak keyboard. The crushing power of standards, even stupid ones, killed that invention.”

“So there is a superior keyboard out there, and no one knows about it?” Alin asked, surprised.

“Yep. We are using computers today, and there is no jamming danger anymore, no letters inside the keyboard. We could type faster, be more productive, but still we use the same keyboard as the first typewriter. Why do we keep perpetuating old things without questioning them? Because we don’t question every concept and belief we are familiar with. We forget to do that. We maintain a system that is detrimental to our usage. We follow. This is what we are good at.”

I paused long enough to sip at my drink then continued. “Sometimes we have the proof in front of our eyes, and we still choose to follow the old, obsolete ways, systems, or beliefs because we are afraid of change. We don’t want to step out of our comfort zone. We are more concerned with people’s opinion about us than our well-being, and in the end, our happiness. We try too hard to please. If you keep doing that, you are no longer you. You become someone everyone else wants you to be,” I concluded in disgust. “Anyway, what I am trying to say: Vera is different, she may be too much, but she is genuine. She is real, and not a pretentious cold bitch.”

The last phrase was about you Ema.
I knew she noticed as well. I only hope Alin wasn’t able to get my words between the lines.

I had to change the topic. “How was it with George T.? You looked like a cold goddess, sitting next to him and ignoring him. I was proud of you.”

Alin seemed to like what he heard and kissed my cheek.

“Thank you, Mona. Feels good to hear,” Ema replied.

“What did he tell you when he whispered to you?”

“Some nonsense. He asked me a question. I don’t remember the right words, something like: Are you giving up, or is this the end?”

“Sometimes I think the guy has lost touch with reality,” Alin said, rolling his eyes.

Then, Ema hugged me unexpectedly. “Thank you for being here for me, Mona.”

I hugged her back.

The show was on break, and the Festival was about to move to the Summer Theatre. We left to look for the others and to get something to eat. We found them, and we agreed to go to Ema’s place. When we arrived there, her parents were in the living room. Her mother was crocheting something, and her father was solving a crossword puzzle in a newspaper. The only thing worth opening a newspaper for, was the last page. The joke or caricature of the day was there, along with the crossword puzzle of the day. All other pages were only communist propaganda.

Her parents were happy to see us, greeting each of us warmly. We all gathered around, taking seats on the comfortable furniture. Teo sat near her father’s chair and started to talk with him about soccer. Her father offered us his famous drink, and because nobody refused, I agreed to one shot as well. The drink almost burned my mouth. We all made disgusted faces and said, “Good stuff, Uncle.”

I felt like Ema’s mother was looking at me strangely. I leaned toward Alin, who was sitting beside me on the sofa, and said quietly, “I don’t think she likes me.”

“Some people won’t like you, Mona, and that’s ok. Some people won’t even like themselves,” Alin reflected while drinking another shot.

Ema asked me to join her upstairs. She started in on her problems with George T. While I knew that is why she wanted to talk to me, I was suddenly and completely exasperated with her. I was so tired of her drama. It wasn’t just her, of course - I was annoyed Jony had left with Vera. I was jealous, and I felt ashamed and angry for feeling that. Because of my preoccupation with Jony, I wasn’t in the mood to hear about her woes.

“Ema, you need help,” I interrupted her impatiently, turning to face her and crossing my arms.

She paused, surprised at my tone. “Mona -”

“Let me finish!” I interrupted her again. “Then you can talk.”

She gave me an offended “whatever” look, and sat down in a chair.

“Have I ever told me about my deadline theory?” I asked her. I was mad at her for not completely closing the door on her feelings for George T.

“So, you have a theory now?” she asked, resorting to sarcasm.

“Girl, I have a lot of theories. But, how could you know? Anyway, let me tell you a story. There is a woman: she’s fifty, she moved to a big metropolis, she gave up her job, she left her children behind to become a famous singer. It’s been six years, and she’s still chasing her dream. I read about it, and I was surprised. She is singing on the streets, and living from tips. At fifty. That woman has a problem. You know what it is?”

Ema took a guess. “Is she too old? She doesn’t have talent?”

“Nope. In fact, she is incredibly talented. Music is her life. She’s passionate, and she looks good for her age. Deadline is her problem. She said in an interview she will never give up on her dream. Her husband doesn’t support her anymore. She has no money, lives in a ghetto. When you set yourself a deadline, you know it: Ok, I am giving myself X years. One or six or twenty. But if I don’t make it by then, I will stop. Or I will regroup. I will take a break, or I will simply give up. That woman will still sing on the streets at sixty. Her problem is that she doesn’t have a deadline. What is your deadline, Ema?

“What do you mean?”

“How many years are you willing to wait for him to finally acknowledge you? How many years? What is your deadline? Or is it possible you crossed your deadline already? Where do you see yourself in five years? Or in ten?”

She shook her head, about to cry. “I am such an idiot, Mona.”

I walked over to her and knelt beside her chair. “Enough is enough, Ema. Your deadline is overdue! You failed your deadline. Move on! You know what you’re doing right now?”

“What?”

“You put your keys to your own happiness into someone else’s hands. You are responsible for your own happiness. Not him. He is gone from your life, and your happiness still depends on him.”

“I like your deadline theory. You should test it and publish it as a study,” she teased me. She stood up and gave me a hug.

“First, let’s get something to eat,” I said, ready to rejoin the others. We walked back downstairs in companionable silence. I hoped I had gotten through to her.

We ate and then returned to the Obelisk. The Festival was officially closed, but the show was still going on. The beach was still crowded; the students were gathered around drinks and food on the sand. Beach fires were being lit. The sun was setting and the weather was great. The air was fresh, a mixture of salt water, and smoke from the fires that is indescribable but uniquely beach-like. The waves continued their continuous susurration – a constant and soothing background noise. The beach was silvery and seductive in the fading light; the sky was crystal clear, the view only ending where the sky curved to meet the sea in the far distance. The diamond rays of light touched the sea, transforming it with a slightly silvery sheen.

When we approached the Obelisk some students recognized us, and they invited to join their ad hoc party. Someone gave Alin his guitar and asked him to sing a song. He announced, looking at me, that he would sing his new song, inspired by a true story. While he sang the song, my heart melted, and I felt bad for thinking about Jony today, wondering once again what was wrong with me. Alin was everything right – demanding, dominant, but so sweet and loving. His face glowed in the firelight as he finished singing.

“Is the girl from your song here?” a voice called out as the last strains of the song faded away to a smattering of applause. The crowd quieted to hear his reply.

“She may be,” Alin said smiling secretively.

A guy was reciting a poem from memory. I didn’t get it. The comradery continued; people took turns singing or reciting as the mood struck. Alin and I sat together in the sand; his chest provided support for me, his arms cradled me as we listened to the spontaneous entertainment. I tried to be content and live in the moment. I refused to let my thoughts drift to Jony, focusing on the strength in Alin’s arms instead. Later, Vera found us. She was alone. I sat up, shifting around to make room for her beside me, Alin on my other side. She hugged me, and I smelled fresh-washed hair. I whispered to her that Alin had written a song for me and had performed it tonight. She grabbed my hand and leaned toward me. “If you love him, I love him as well,” she whispered in my ear. She smiled and put her arm around me.

Then the discussion turned into politics.

“I think it’s US propaganda. They always tried to diminish communism,” I heard Alin spoke up beside me.

“Of course they do. And now maybe they decide to do even more. Something’s coming. It’s time. It’s overdue.” One student who seemed very involved in the discussion was passionate in his speech.

“It’s not, Traian. People can go like that forever. They are anesthetized by the system. No matter how hard it will become, we will go like this for years, we will follow the inertia.”

Traian answered. “Adi, communism has reached its limits. Look around, look at the other countries. Poland, they had their Velvet Revolution. Czech Republic had the Prague Spring. Not to mention Gorbachev’s Perestroika. It will happen, and sooner than you expect.”

“There are rumors, again, some spontaneous manifestations, a protest.” whispered someone.