At My Door by Oleksandra Khelemendyk

Sitting in front of me, you look amazing,

as if the tea in my cup was wine. I lose myself in the soothing warmth of your body next to me, in the sound of your voice, pouring on me like sugar. It's unbearable, so when you get up to put our plates into the sink, I cover your hand with mine. ‘Stay put, leave that to me,’ it's the least I can do for you – even if I want so much more.

I want more since that Saturday night when the high-pitched piercing sound of the doorbell scattered my lazy bedtime thoughts. In my pyjamas, wiping the sleep out of my eyes, I opened the door to find you standing in the staircase with snowflakes melting in your hair and your whole life packed into a little yellow backpack. At half past eleven, on a freezing January night. ‘Tessa?’ you force a coy smile, piercing holes in the toes of your suede boots. ‘I’m sorry for barging in this late, but… may I stay at your place for a few days before I figure out what to do?’ – ‘You can stay here forever,’ I wanted to say, but bit my tongue at that instant, letting you in and putting a kettle on the stove for a late night tea. I wouldn’t dare to take advantage of your trust, yet as soon as I saw you going to sleep on the couch and bent to adjust the blanket, I first blushed at the thought... What kind of person was I?

You ended up moving in with me for good, turning ‘a few days’ into a whole year of bliss. As the time passed, we got used to sharing everything from household chores to our secrets, choosing the same electives, drinking tea: green, soursop, Earl Grey – whatever you liked, and cuddling on the couch, laughing at trashy reality shows. Day by day I lost the game to your natural elegance, sincere kindness and the affectionate names you called me so effortlessly, but you didn’t ever need to win me over, as you were… normal.

Just look at me, turning on freezing water to cool my burning skin. Look at me, touch me, hug me, please stay with me when I tell you.

* * *

On Wednesdays, we only have electives on our schedule. Greek Mythology, History of English Literature, Modern Drama – the subjects you enjoy. Today, they seem to be dragging on for hours, but I do not mind, as long as I can see your graceful head tilt and drown in your voice, flooding the classroom whenever you comment on the reading. Questions, you have so many of them in your sparkling eyes that I lose the courage to ask mine, marvelling at your modest beauty. My marks are going to be the worst: listening to the professor at the same time is a Sisyphean labour.

After the classes, you suggest going for a walk in the nearby park. As we are walking down a narrow alley side by side, the fresh snow is creaking under our soles, and the bare branches of trees and bushes covered with glimmering whitish frost are producing a faint melodic ringing.  Suddenly, you slip on the ice and gasp on the cold evening air, trying to keep your balance. I grab your waist to stop you from falling and watch your chocolate eyes filling with gratitude, while you are calming down in my embrace. ‘A-are you alright?’ I choke on the words, I stutter when your cheeks redden, reaching a new level of ‘charming’. Could you be?..

You nod and try to pull away, so adorable. I let you out of my arms and take the chance. It’s now or never. ‘Carys,’ your name, tastes sweeter than cocoa. ‘I have something to tell you. To be honest, I cherish you. For a long time. Maybe, more than a friend. Would you… would you like us to become something more?’ The moment of silence feels uneasy, as my heart makes a leap of faith towards you, beating against my sternum in an uneven rhythm. 

‘I know the heart wants what it wants, Tessa,’ you reply, taking a quick tiny step back.  ‘But I’m… not like you,’ you are being so nice with your pale lips pursed in a narrow line. ‘I just… need some time to think, okay?’

‘Sure,’ I pull on the end of my scarf to feel a little warmer in the wintery air. ‘What would you like for supper?’ You shrug and take another path, leaving me out in the cold. 

* * *

At home, I cook lasagna for five persons instead of two, clean the whole flat, put the kettle on the cooker – and finally give in to loneliness. The sound of boiling water in our small kitchen suddenly seems too loud, as your meal is cooling down on the table. The show we used to watch together, bursting into a laugh every minute, is actually such rubbish that I feel glad when the broadcast interrupts and white noise fills the room. In silence, it subtly reminds me of the sea, so without even turning the TV off I bring your favourite Sacher from the fridge and stuff my face until I drift to sleep on its salty waves. I’m so unready to reap what I sowed.

In the morning, I wake up to the doorbell ringing and rush to the door. Nothing special, you just want to return the key.