Nights Like This (29 page)

 

 

The next few days, little changed except that we barely spoke and she insisted I sleep in the spare bedroom. I didn't want to press the issue. The silence was unnerving at times but what could I say to her? I couldn't say, “What's bothering you?” because I knew full well where her hurt lay. It was in my wrongdoings, once again in my fuck ups. I never knew when she awoke or when she left because now, sleeping in a separate room, I never heard her stirring in the morning. She never called throughout the day and if I called her, which I had twice, her secretary told me she was too busy to come to the phone and would call me back which she never did. When she came home from work, she delicately prepared her martini as always, sat on the couch and gingerly placed olives in her mouth. She ate the dinners that I made, complimented me on the balance of spices or the softness of the meat. Beyond that, we didn't interact and I started to feel suffocated. I wished for a break in this solid silence, this quietude that had become Anjali.

She came to me one night as I sat on the couch trying to write something that would stop me from feeling as helpless as I felt.

“Jess.”

I was happy to hear her say my name.

“Yes?” I said, hoping we could talk away everything that had happened, hoping once again for Anjali's unrelenting forgiveness. But a fear rose within me that hadn't been there before. Anjali seemed different. I knew she was sad. But now, she seemed somehow resigned. I couldn't place it. I knew that when she was angry or when her heart ached, she did not react this way. The last thing I could ever have expected from her was resignation. I was pondering this dilemma when she came to the couch and sat down beside me.

“Jess, I want to talk to you.”

“Yeah,” I said, heart pounding, racing, tumbling.

I was relieved that finally, we would talk about the other night. About Vanessa. About my commitment to Anjali. About the journal. About muses. About love.

“Jess, I'm leaving.”

I stared at her as if I didn't understand what she was saying.

“I love you, I do,” she said.

“You're leaving?” I repeated slowly as if I didn't understand the language in which she spoke.

“I'm leaving,” she said as she breathed harder, as she looked towards the wall, as she avoided eye contact with me. She was gathering her strength, making sure she didn't fall in her attempt to rise. As the tears slipped from her eyes she ignored them, pretended they had a place upon her cheeks, that she wanted them there, streaming down her face.

“But I love you,” she said as her voice quavered.

“Then why are you leaving me? You can't fucking love me and leave me.”

“I used to think there were rules in love too, Jess,” she said softly, “But you proved me wrong. There are no rules. You can love someone and fuck a thousand others. You can love someone and run off with a muse and share your soul with her. You can love someone and not be honest with her. So then why can't I love you and leave you at the same time?”

“Because I love you too, damn it!”

I wanted to break something, shatter something that was whole. I took the vase from the coffee table, smashed it to the ground.

“Are you finished?” she asked.

“Anjali, listen to me,” I panted, “listen, it's just you and me. It's just us and we're going to make this work.”

“This,” she said as she rose of the sofa, her hands up in the air making circles, “this doesn't work. We don't work. We won't work. Do you understand that?”

“It's not true!” I screamed. I wanted to kiss her but my lips were quivering. I was trying hard not to cry, not to be weak. I needed strength to coax her, to make her forget the ridiculous notion of leaving.

“I talked to the landlord and paid the year off,” she said, “so you could relax and write. I want you to do that. Here, without me, you can invoke your muse.”

“I don't want a muse. I want you.”

“All I inspire you to do, Jess, is run to other women. Aar paari naa.”

With that she turned to make a graceful exit, to walk away from me forever.

“Fuck that! Why are you leaving? Because I kissed someone? Because of the journal? Anjali, I was ending it with her, I was. And the journal is just us writing back and forth. You have to give me a reason!”

She turned at glared at me. Her face had changed. The softness that had been there moments ago was gone and it was replaced by a fierceness I had never seen in her.

“Actually I have to give you nothing. And as far as your journal, have you read it? Would any self-respecting person be with you after reading that journal? You bared your soul to this woman while I was here, praying for your success, your life, your dreams. I'm not doing this anymore.”

“Fuck that Anjali! Fuck that!”

“Okay, how many times am I going to sit here and be fucked over? It's not about the kiss. It's about all the other kisses and fucks that are to come.”

“None, Anjali. No one but you, jaan.”

She laughed. She actually laughed while my chest and heart hurt so badly I could barely breathe.

“Okay, Jess…I believe you. I believe all the
jaans
and all the
babys
. I do. Because I'm just that stupid.”

I looked away from her and stared at the shattered vase. I finally started to cry. It all came out at once. I started gasping for breath. I felt like a fool.

“Anjali, I promise.”

“And I promised myself that if you broke my heart this time, I wouldn't stay. I promised myself that. And I finally have enough respect for myself to follow that.”

“Anjali, you can't leave. You can't. I love you!”

“I love you too, jaan.”

She got up and I followed her into her room, wiping my eyes with the back of my hands, feeling helpless and frightened and foolish. There were two suitcases packed and ready to go. When she had packed or where she had hid them, I didn't know. Was I such a fool that I hadn't even noticed?

“I left you some money in the top dresser drawer,” she said.

“You think leaving me money is going to make you any less guilty? What the fuck?”

She turned around and faced me. Her eyes were ablaze with indignation.

“I have nothing to feel guilty about. Nothing. I have done nothing but love you. I have done nothing but wait up nights and quietly tolerate your girls in my apartment. I have given you everything of myself. So don't you ever make the mistake of saying I should feel guilty.”

“Where the fuck are you going? What are you doing?”

She was silent.

“What, I don't have a fucking right to know?”

“You want to know? You really want to? I'm getting married to Abhay.”

I felt as if she had hit me. I couldn't breathe. “You're marrying the asshole?”

“Jess, he loves me. And it's time for someone to love me, isn't it?”

“Dick or no dick? Love or no love?”

“His love is more complete than anything you ever offered me. And maybe I'm wrong but I need to be loved. By someone.”

“You're selling your fucking body for love then!”

“Maybe. Maybe. But I need to be loved. I need what you never gave. And at this point in my life, I would do anything.”

“I love you. He just wants you. But I love you. Please stay with me. Please.”

She made sure to look in my eyes before she spoke.

“With your betrayals, Jess you want to know the truth? I would rather marry him than be loved by you.”

“Anjali!”

She continued to say everything she had wanted to say for years. And I listened. I deserved it, didn't I? I had betrayed her, lied to her, stolen moments from her a thousand times over. And she had patiently erased my mistakes, tucked away my transgressions. And now it was my turn to listen, to hurt, and to hear her out.

“Your sorry ass excuses for love, for desire. You don't know what it is to love. Love changes you. Nothing changes you, Jess. You're the same manipulative, heartless person I met at a party once. Your life is random. Random fucks with random women. Do it. At least, at least he gives me a position in his life. What am I to you?”

I felt as if she had struck me hard. I don't deny that every word she said was true. I don't deny that I deserved her tirade. But the mirror she held up for me to see myself made me realize how pathetic I was. And I had no answer for that.

She didn't hesitate to grab the handles on her suitcases and drag the wheels through the apartment. I could hear the gurgle in my throat as I cried. I heard my voice shrill with despair. She stopped walking and for a moment my heart had hope.

“Jess, no one will ever love you like I do. And I do love you. I just can't get fucked over any more, Jess. My heart can't do this anymore.”

“There will be no more.”

“You're right, Jess. Finally, after all these years of loving you, there will be no more. Aar paari naa.”

As she walked out, I did nothing but stand there. She closed the door behind her and I felt myself crumble. I cried. I cried so hard my chest hurt from heaving. I sat at the glass table, our breakfast table, and cried to no one. I wanted to hold her again. I wanted to find her fragrance wafting through the apartment after she had showered. I wanted to hold her close to me, run kisses from her temple to her jaw to her neck to her locket. I wanted to feel all of Anjali against my body, grazing my mind and soul.

But I couldn't feel Anjali anywhere because she had left. The stillness of the air attested to the fact that she was gone. The sound of the suitcase wheels resounded within me and I realized she wasn't coming back, wasn't looking to come home to me another day, wasn't reaching for me in the middle of the night. I cried for the loss of her, for the loss of Vanessa, for the loss of myself. I don't know how long I sat and cried. I do know that the sun teased me when he rose in the sky, promising me the start of a brand new day full of possibility.

 

 

 

After Anjali left, I would not leave the apartment. I had groceries delivered to me and I had my laundry done for me. Except for the trash chute, I went nowhere. I stayed in my bed a lot and I cried a lot. I rocked myself to sleep most of the time. And for the many nights I couldn't sleep, I sat by the window and looked out, hoping I could see Anjali coming home to me. All I saw was strangers and street lamps, cars and streets. The entire city seemed desolate without her, as was my soul.

It was one such night when the street lamps' dim glow seemed sadder than it had ever been that I opened the journal again. I sat at the glass table in the kitchen and closed my eyes. I felt as if Anjali's voice had seeped into the walls and was crying out to me. I felt as if Vanessa's voice had soaked itself into the paper and was whispering to me. The voices of lovers on this quiet night moved me to tears. I sat and cried, as I did every night. But that night, I started to write.

I wrote all through the night and the next morning until I was so exhausted that I put my head on the table and slept. When I awoke, it felt like twilight. It was either that darkness was seeping into light or light was sweeping into darkness. I wondered what time it was and for a minute, I felt as if Anjali was in her room, sleeping soundly. As I began to realize that it was almost dawn and that Anjali was not and had not been there for seventeen days, I felt again the uneasiness within my stomach that had stayed with me ever since she had closed the door behind her.

I took a shower and brushed my teeth. I combed my wet hair and as I was about to walk out of the bathroom, I saw that she had left her bath gel behind. I unscrewed the cap and the smell of freesia taunted me and for an instant I thought of bathing her all those days that she couldn't bathe herself. I would have given anything to touch her again and to hear her voice. I closed my eyes and pictured her talking to me. I envisioned her kissing me. It was too much. I screwed the cap back on and placed the bottle back.

I went into her room. It still had all her furniture. I felt that her essence was gone. It wasn't any longer Anjali's room but just a bedroom, already furnished, waiting to be inhabited. I opened the top dresser drawer and, true enough, she had left me a lump sum of money as if that would compensate for the loss of her. To the side of the money, there was a piece of paper. I took it out and opened it. She had written me a love letter after all.

Jess—

If you only knew how much I love you and how much I wanted us to work. But it wasn't meant to be. I have had a hard time accepting that but I accept it now. I thank you for all you have done for me these past few weeks. I know you love me but I also know that you are not in love with me. I was hoping you would love me, that love would change you. But it didn't.

It was I who was in love with you. And it has changed me forever.

I used to imagine that you were finally writing that book you always wanted to write and we were in the living room. You would read passages to me and I would be the first person to hear your words. And after, when you were reading for the rest of the world, I would be jealous that I had to share you. These were dreams that I had as silly as they are. I never told you. But I believe in you and whatever it is you desire. Someday, you will love. It will change you. Think of me.

One more thing I have to tell you. I am leaving you my locket, the one you have kissed many times with what I still believe was love. I have to tell you now that yes, those are my initials on the back but the script? That's your name Jess, not mine. I don't know why I never told you. The little things we do in love are the largest memories we have of it all.

Of all that I will miss, it's your voice saying my name. The world can call me whatever it wants but you were my love. From you I wanted only “Anjali” because it is you I loved, not them. It made me feel like an offering to the gods, like a queen, when you called me to you.

I know I was difficult at times. But I want you to know that there is someone who loved you beyond reason. I did, Jess, and I still do. Always will. For you, the world. Always.

Your Baby, Teri Jaan,

Anjali

I folded it carefully as the words blurred before me. I didn't know what to do. I went to the kitchen and placed the letter in the journal, hoping that someday, I could read it without the guilt and sadness that I felt at that moment.

I flipped through the journal stopping here and there. There were those two pages still stuck together and I decided to finally open them even though I thought they were blank, that we had skipped over them. But as I slid my finger through them to pry them apart, I saw ink. I realized I had never read what was contained in them. It was Vanessa's writing, smooth and sexy, as if even with her handwriting, she was capable of seducing a lover. I read her words.

You're in the shower. I am waiting for you to come out. I want to make love all day today but I'm scared to ask you. The more I know you, the less bold I can be. I wonder when you will read these random thoughts.

I'm falling in love with you like rain falls from the sky. It might not make sense but if you were the earth and I was the rain, I guess it would, right? I'm allowed to make no sense.

Yesterday, when we passed that empty auditorium, I had a vision of you at the podium, reading your words to me. I imagined that the night stars were above us and that no one was around. And with your words, you serenaded me.

I notice you write my words down. You can have them. Whatever you need to write the story you want to write. I imagine reading your drafts. I imagine lying in your lap on a park bench and hearing you read your work to me. I would be the first person to hear the story and no matter who heard it after, I would know that it was mine.

Just as if you ever leave me, I know that you might love, but you will never fall in love like you did with me. I see that in your eyes. Someday, you will see the difference.

My one confession…that day you called after our first night together, I remembered you. I hadn't stopped thinking about you. But I was scared. The thing is, Jess, love changes you. You changed me the minute I saw you. You change me still. Every moment with you, I am different. I am no longer scared. I am just madly in love with you (did you smile reading that)?

I think you're about to come out of the shower.

Kiss me when you read this, princess.

I couldn't kiss her. I couldn't kiss Anjali. I couldn't kiss anyone because both of them were gone.

I sat back in amazement. How two women that different had loved my soul as tenderly as they had, I couldn't imagine. They had both claimed me and loved me and I had done great injustice to them both. I know most people try to find one true love in a lifetime. And whether it was a blessing or a curse I didn't know, but I had found two women who offered themselves to me wholeheartedly and simultaneously. They allowed me into themselves, loved me, let me change them.

I turned on my laptop and stared at the screen. What had Anjali said that night after the Chinese restaurant?
“When you're a big writer, you will write about us, won't you?”

I wondered if I could. I wondered how I could. I missed them both. And I had lost them both. And here I was, searching for my lovers in the emptiness of my life, listening for their voices to emanate from walls and paper. If there was anything worth writing about, it was these two women whom I knew, both of whom I loved, even though, even though I still didn't know what that word meant. I would. But I didn't then.

I wrote the entire winter. I wasn't trying to make a bestseller. I was trying to clear my head and my heart. I was trying, finally, to do some justice to the women I had loved. Sometimes, I closed my eyes and thought of Vanessa's laughter and Anjali's eyes. I remembered moments I had stolen that were full of certainty and happiness. And then I remembered Anjali's face when I returned home from Philly. I remembered Vanessa storming out of the party. The painful thoughts, they lingered longer and deeper.

Once I went to the fountain at Central Park at dawn. I sat on the cold cement of the fountain rim. I looked up at the angel with her wings spread wide as if to protect me. And then I wept. I went back to the apartment and fell asleep, searching for Anjali's scent in the comforter and sheets.

Thereafter, if I went out, it was only for a walk or to mumble curses at the pigeons as I walked by them. If I couldn't sleep I wrote. I remember that Christmas as the only Christmas I ever spent entirely alone. I turned on
It's a Wonderful Life
and let it fill the living room with its traditions and hope. I watched the snow fall gently to the ground, giving the city a dusting of white.

It was cold that winter. I walked in the evening to the tree at Rockefeller center and drank hot chocolate as I studied Atlas holding the world upon his shoulders. I looked up at the star at the very top of the lighted tree and wondered if I should make a wish. What would I wish for? I wished for love to change me and then stood there, watching ice skaters fall and laugh and cry.

When I returned home, it was as if the apartment had grown more desolate. I lay on the couch that Anjali had slept on during most of her recovery. I cried. I wanted to leave. I wanted to leave and go away to a place that was far and different. I wanted to get out otherwise I would crumble and never be put back together again. A bona fide Indian female Humpty Dumty.

I picked up the phone. I dialed. It rang again and again.

“Hello?”

“Ma?”

“Jasbir! Merry Christmas to you. They celebrate well in the States, no?”

“Yes. How are you?”

“I'm okay. Your father's asleep. He's okay too. When are you coming to India?”

“I've booked a ticket, Ma.”

“Really? Beta, that's wonderful! We'll be so happy to see you.”

“I need a few months,” I said.

“What about your school and work?”

Yes, my parents thought I was on my way to becoming Dr. Jasbir Banerjee. I had forgotten all about that.

“I have to talk to you about certain things,” I said. “When I get there, not now.”

“Okay, Beta, we'll talk then. Do send me your itinerary and we'll definitely come to the airport.”

“Yes, Ma.”

“Be safe, it's very dangerous in New York. Especially for a young girl like you. Have you given thought to getting married?”

“We'll talk,” I said. “When I get there.”

“Is there a boy? Jasbir, is there a boy?”

Her excitement made me feel guiltier and more trapped than I ever had.

“Ma, no there is no boy. I will talk to you when I get there.”

“Okay, Beta. Take care. Eat well. And drink your milk every night with Horlicks.”

“Yes, Ma.”

“You do drink your milk?”

“Ma, this call is expensive,” I said.

It seemed that the only sentence my parents understood when hanging up was the cost of the phone call. Nothing else indicated that the conversation had ended or that there was nothing else to talk about.

“Okay, Beta, bye.”

“Bye.”

I hung up. I opened my laptop and booked a one-way ticket to Kolkata. I didn't know how long I wanted to stay but I knew that I had to leave.

“Just pick up and leave everything?”

“Not now, Jess. But someday you'll want to. At least once in your life there'll be a time when you want to be with just you and your thoughts.”

“Yes, Vanessa,” I said softly, “I guess there's a time for everyone to want to pick up and leave.”

I packed a suitcase with most of the clothing I had. I took the money out from the dresser and put it in my bag as well. There was no sense in leaving it there. I placed my suitcase on the floor, ready to take off at a moment's notice. My flight was at 11:00 the next night from JFK. I wished there had been a morning flight because the thought of one more day in the apartment made me very uneasy.

I slept that night with a paisley journal under my pillow. I didn't sleep extremely well but I slept knowing that in a day, I would be transported far away. I was sure that once I was away from New York, I would be away from Anjali and Vanessa and the past few months. I didn't know then what I know now. You take the stories and the hurt with you wherever you go. And somehow, somewhere, the wind will find a way to bring a fragrance to you that will make you remember, detail by detail, the very moments you tried so hard to escape.