kedi
“Writers use everything. We can’t help it. Whatever touches us touches our writing.”
Rabat - Marrakesh - Istanbul. That was my map over the last seventy-two hours. Two buses, two taxis, two planes. I am now snuggled in Beyogju on the European side of the city, looking over the Marmara Sea.
A man sold me a bag of coffee yesterday that is not caffeinated. I asked for herbal tea and strong espresso. The tea has green Jasmine sprinkled in the fruit and flora, and the java is caffeinated.
I was locked out of my apartment yesterday, not for so long; a man with no teeth or English helped me in. It is the fourth home I have had this issue. Barcelona, Rio, Rabat, and now Beyoglu. I asked for consistency, so perhaps I need to refine what I wish for.
Three large cats keep me company on the balcony while I work.
An orange cat without a left eye. It watches me so intently from the right side, its striped tail swishing back and forth. It sits so neatly with its front paws pressed together. I put out my palm for it to taste, and it did not acknowledge me.
A white cat with a long blue strip with marker or dye is there. And the last cat is a fat black and grey cat that likes to pester the smaller ones. They fight a lot, and it wakes me up in the middle of the night. The screaming. My bedroom window looks out over the water. I am situated along a very steep hill that can see where the ferries dock. The windows are covered by sheer gauzy linen though it is very dark in the evening, so it does not bother me. I work from the living room facing the balcony where the cushions are gold, and three small portraits of girls with eyes shaped as saucers stare back at me. They are alien-like, these young women.
The flight with Abderrahmane was exactly what it needed to be. Given the last meeting at the beach, I spent several days worrying about how it would be for us. It was for naught. He greeted me at the airport, hugged, and had a pleasant conversation. Neither of us poked. I kept my space energetically, and when he reached out several times, I did not respond.
I am not feeding him in that way any longer. The ego will keep taking - in his case - it needs to to feel good. I am nourished through books, and so they kept my gaze inward.
Observing him as a person who is not my lover was fascinating. I've never had the opportunity to worth around someone in this way. His pride is fatal; it is one of the reasons I was attracted to him and his strength. At the airport, it was silly and a hindrance. Several times I felt how grateful I am to travel alone and not carry someone else's weight.
He did not want to check his back, camping knives, or the gas for the stove. You cannot get on a plane with these items. He did not care. I convinced him to put the two small knives in my bag. He held on to the gas. He refused at the security check, where we must strip and place our belongings on the belt to be scanned.
They cannot scan my bag or me!
Good luck getting on the plane.
Ultimately, they took the gas away, and he had to be screened by the police. I did not ask why. I didn't care.
We had a layover in Greece, which was meant to be ninety minutes, but it was only twenty because our flight was delayed. Instead of working with me to move through the airport, he made it more difficult.
You said we had thirty minutes.
Why does it matter? Look for the flight number.
What?
Later, he admitted being nervous because he had never been on a plane.
I've never done this- how would I know?
I understand. I also think he could have come more prepared. I would have at that age.
Our second flight was delayed, and he took it as an opportunity to reorganize his bag and change clothes. All of the things I gave to him were packed. The three shirts are from Brazil. The leather satchel. That made me happy. I liked shopping for him. I enjoyed giving him things. The shirts I thought he hated them. He did with them when I last saw him- so someone must have convinced him otherwise.
He is very impressionable and easily swayed if the source is more powerful than he is.
When we finally arrived in Istanbul, he told me where to walk.
Why do you wash your hands so much? Come- stand over here with me.
I left him sitting on a cushion outside our baggage claim. I'd given him the knives. He was trying to get the internet on his phone. I told him three times that a ticket with a code was needed. He had to find the stand and scan his passport. He would not listen.
Pride is the greatest flaw of mankind.
It was a great storm when we landed. Thunder, lightning, and very heavy rain. It was late and dark, and cold. I brought no clothes for such weather! My only jacket is the lovely purple suede unsuitable for wetness.
Where will you go?
Everywhere. I will camp.
Tonight?
I don't know.
Earlier that morning, when we'd met, he'd said three months was a very long time to camp.
I'll be fine.
He wouldn't look at me.
The statement hung between us awkwardly. I did not offer anything.
Abderrahmane, do you want to come stay the night? And can we go tomorrow?
I knew he would say no. It would cost him too much. I had to for my heart. It was in my integrity to say it. I need nothing from him and have everything to give. Just one night.
When he looked up at me, his gaze was soft, loving, and playful as it was when he opened to me. He stood up.
No, I will be fine. Take care.
We hugged.
It had to be this way for him to hold his ground.
I have accepted the decision and understand it. I don't need to know the details. There is despair nestled inside of the decorum, and even if he doesn't acknowledge it, we both feel it. I am tethered to him energetically. I felt him before he messaged me- I can preempt his movement and words. It was easy to navigate the day with him. He was like my child, though I stepped outside of the role of Mother. I do not want that. It does not feed me.
As the cats caterwauled this morning, I slipped on a pink silk dress and my dangly turquoise stone earrings. I brushed my cheeks with gold and my eyelids orange. My hair smelled like sweet Jasmine, and I didn't need the perfume oil for my wrists. Before I left, I lit a wand of incense and opened the balcony doors for the cats. There is a heavy metal screen so nobody can get in or out, save for the aroma. The cats were on the railing with their feet dangling over the edge. Five glittering eyes watched me depart.
I took my computer to a cafe and now sit with frothy late writing. It feels reassuring to be amongst people. It is somewhat windy today, and my throat is a bit sore. I hosted a writing workshop last night and talked for forty minutes straight! I rarely talk to people unless I am leaving voice memos.
What makes a good friend?
Someone who confronts you when acting from ego and not the heart. Someone who can poke and also play. Someone who apologizes when they are in the wrong and holds themselves accountable.
Why does the heart change?
We did not discuss anything. There was nothing to say. He closed the door of his heart to me, and I didn't need to know why.
Photo source.
