fireworks and dreamland
it’s the start of a new season
“Emily! I want to hear all of your stories!”
The owner of the cafe comes out and opens the umbrellas before the afternoon rush.
Me and my new friend with the converse and bodycon dress are seated beside each other. The cafe is quiet, and it’s time for our daily boy updates.
“Emily - DO NOT tell him anything. He will talk, and I - I won’t say a word.” We laugh.
“Emily, come on, please! I’ll pay you!”
The sun shines down on all three of us this Thursday morning. Fluffy cappuccinos, dresses, gossip, and those angels in the form of strangers.
-
In my corner spot, I am slowly nursing my second dirty martini. The bar is unusually quiet this Wednesday evening, but I have no complaints.
I’m texting my best friend the usual play by play, head buried in my phone, laughing at the amount of content that this bar has given us.
Peter Pan walks by and taps the top of the bar of where I’m sitting. We look at each other and smile.
“It’s all we wanted.” My best friend says to me. “It’s like a little wink.”
-
“Emily! Everything good?”
The most familiar figure behind the bar greets me with a wave and a grin that I seldom see. I’m taken aback by his sudden warmth and start to laugh.
“What’s going on? I never get this huge welcome from you.”
“I didn’t see you when you came in. But you’re good?”
“Yes. And you? What’s new?”
There’s something about the air between us. It’s lighter than it was a year ago.
“A busy few days. I haven’t slept in weeks.”
“It’s always the same story with you.” I laugh. “Always busy, always tired.” I circle the air with my hand for dramatic effect. “Always something.”
He leans in and smiles. “Hey, I never said I was tired - I just said that I don’t sleep. Tell me what’s new with you.”
“Did I ever tell you I wrote a book? I was interviewed about it recently.”
“No, you never told me. What’s the title?”
“What’s it about?”
“Poetry, mostly.”
“Ah.”
“Remember the piece I sent you last year?”
Now, the air changes. His body language changes. He leans up against the wall.
“I remember.”
“I end the book with that letter. It’s my favourite.”
The way he looks at me doesn’t make me feel sad. The way he looks at me makes me feel thankful. He was a great muse. He was a beautiful catalyst. He was one of my favourite moments in time.
“I remember that piece. But you never told me about the book.”
I was never writing for him. I don’t know if people know this. It was never about wanting to be with him, and it was never about wanting him to change his circumstances.
I was writing for me.
In fact, I had him blocked on everything for almost a year. Which is why he never knew about Failing Gracefully.
“When do I get a copy?”
I shrug. “Maybe I’ll send you the link one day.”
I feel both sets of eyes on me as I get up to leave the bar. I don’t turn back and wave to either. I keep walking, I keep going, and I keep moving forward.
I hear multiple bangs. Fireworks light up the night sky in front of the collesium.
“Can you believe it?” I text my best friend.
A sign, I tell her. A sign for what - that I’ve yet to figure out.
-
My buzzer goes off at 3 in the morning. I open the door and wrap my arms around Peter’s neck.
“I missed you.” We laugh. I love kissing at 3 am. We’re mostly present, but mostly already in dreamland.
4 am isn’t the best time to have a serious conversation. But after my Disaster Date of 2023, I am starting to become hyper aware of everyone’s intentions.
“Can I tell you something?” Half asleep and half naked, I prop myself up with a few pillows and look at Peter.
He’s sits beside me on the edge of my bed. “Tell me.”
“I went on a date with a guy last week - “
He stops me there, turns away in a huff and stands up to leave.
“Emily - I do NOT want to hear this. I do NOT want hear about you going on dates with other guys.”
“Oh my god, I’m just trying to tell you a story.” I put my hand on his arm and he sits back down beside me.
Taking a breath, he begrudgingly says,
“Ok. Tell me the story.”
“He had a girlfriend and told me he was just trying to sleep with me, because he thought I was like every other foreigner who was easy.”
There are words and moments that stick with you when you’re a girl, and these moments are unfortunately one of them.
Peter looks upset. “This isn’t like that. This is different.”
“How? How is this different?”
He doesn’t respond.
“I know that last summer, everyone talked. There were rumours about me and him.”
(Him being The Object of My Past Newsletters, of course.)
He looks down at the ground. Peter knows the truth. Peter has always known the truth.
“I’ve never said anything. I’ve never said anything about us to him, and I’ve never said anything about us to anybody.”
“I know you haven’t. But I’m just tired of feeling like … a body.”
It is hard to explain objectification to a man, let alone when you barely speak the same language.
“They think that it’s a compliment, to have someone to want to sleep with you. But it’s hard for them to understand the emotional implications of feeling like an object.”
My friend tells me this over dinner.
I didn’t realize that my hand was gripping on to his arm the entire time, and his hand gripping mine.
Don’t go. I want to tell Peter.
I know we both don’t know what we want or what we’re doing. But don’t go.
“Do you still talk to him?”
I shake my head. “No.”
He breathes out a sigh of relief, but looks sad. And I can’t help but feel a bit sad, too.
But I wonder if the start of a new season is for all of this. All of this love & confusion, confusion & love. Is confusion disguised as love, or is love disguised as confusion?
Can we have one without the other? No, I think that would be asking for too much.
But maybe, we’ll find relief in those quick train rides to clear our minds at the beach. In new friendships and new relationships, especially the most surprising ones. The ones you really didn’t see coming.
It’s for riding it out, and taking it all as it comes in our little black and bodycon dresses, cappuccinos, wine, more wine, and more cappuccinos.
It’s for forgiving the past. Forgiving, but certainly not forgetting.
We don’t know anything. Anything at all. But isn’t that comforting? Some of our best days are still yet to come.
Let yourself be surprised this summer.
I know I will.
I love you,
Emily