Anticipation
Thoughts on a lovers' meeting.
Words by Alma Khasawnih.
IN NOVEMBER OF LAST year I traveled to Ramallah, Palestine, as a participant in Bait Makan’s Arab Artist Residency and Exchange program. I’d been sent there to write a love story inspired by the city. But within the first week of being there, and being asked what I was up to, friends and strangers alike began sharing their own love stories with me, indulging me with details of love found and lost. So I changed my project and set about collecting these accounts. People were generous with their emotions, perhaps because I was a stranger—someone they could talk about taboos with.
The following story was inspired by a friend who told me about a man she spent one day with, years ago, and never saw again. It is a work of fiction, and my projection of the thoughts that might take place in her mind if they were to plan to meet again.
I take a deep breath and hold it in. Close my eyes. Let it out. Again. There is stillness in my mind, a comforting quiet that disappears if I open my eyes. I keep them closed. Softly my upper eyelid meets the lower, barely touching. Just enough darkness to hold in the quiet, the thought, the stillness. The truth is, I cannot feel him, hear him, or smell him. But he is within me. Like a kidney. I know it’s there but I cannot feel it. Soon this will change. I will feel, hear, smell and touch him.
But I try not to think about it. I try not to plan for it. I try not to expect it to be wonderful.
I take a deep breath and hold it in. Close my eyes. Let it out. I try to remember his smell. Perhaps the tone of his voice. I cannot. Maybe it’s for the best. Just in case he has a different skin tone, voice, when I see him. It’s best not to think of his body in case my memory betrays me and he is taller, skinnier, or with longer hair.
The last thing I remember are his fingers intertwined with mine while the fingers of my other hand are touching his hair. Standing at extra attention, knowing he will be gone as soon as my fingers are free. Our bodies standing close, the morning sun casting soft light on the trees around us. It is a Friday and everything is quiet, except for a group of men negotiating their day’s plans. They see us. They know this is goodbye. They look away, trying to give us some privacy.
Often in movies, moments like these are slowed down to give viewers the understanding that time does slow down and linger here, but it’s not true. They slow the scene because time is racing out of it. It just wants to move on to something more concrete. Or maybe it simply passes these moments like all others, without recognition of the participants’ need for it to slow down, to give them another breath together. Time.
As Fairouz sings: “They say love kills time. They say time kills love.”
Truth be told, I don’t think time cares much about anything but its job – to keep on passing, tick-tock, clockwork. It’s our job to live the ticking to its fullest potential. But time just tick-tocks. It does not care.
I take a deep breath and hold it in. Close my eyes. Let it out. I think of the moment when we meet again. Soon. Will we be alone? Will our friends be with us? What should I wear? My black dress? Should I wear earrings? Kohl? Oh, I wonder if it will be a sunny day, maybe humid? Or maybe we’ll meet in the evening with a soft breeze cooling my skin? Should I hug him? Shake his hand? Kiss him on the cheek like we do here? Will I recognize him when I see him? Oh God, will he recognize me? I really shouldn’t think about it.
I take a deep breath and hold it in. Close my eyes. Let it out. Again. I search for a shudder inside me, something out of place. But all is quiet. Calm. Just my heart beating at a normal pace. There’s nothing to fear. I will know his face. From a million faces, I will know it. It’s been within me. Ever since that moment in the late afternoon light, just beside my car, just before we were introduced, when time didn’t even matter and the world was just fine.
I take a deep breath and hold it in for a short moment then let it out. My eyes are open. The trees are shuffling in the breeze. I hear children laughing, chasing each other. Coffee cups and conversation. I am here. That is all that matters.
