A terrible, horrible, sad story
A page in the diary "Good mourning!"
Written by Luise 7. Jun 2007 08:56 AM
Hi diary and everybody out there,
here are some memories:
I left canada on a wednesday. 4 weeks earlier as planned. It was a sad day.
We stayed in his apartment until noon, we didn't speak a lot. I was so scared that I can't even remember how I felt, what I said, what I did - well, except the cigarettes (I'm a non-smoker who smokes only in stressing situations - I've never smoked more than in canada). We couldn't look at eachother. I would have wanted to jump in his arms and stay there forever, there was a craving for anyone to save me, it was almost not bearable. How lost I felt. Something very big is just going terribly wrong, was my only thought. Well, except "We've ruined it" - followed by "Is there anything I could have done better?"
We were invited for lunch with his parents in a vietnamese restaurant, and we went, good children we were. Farewell gifts from his parents, poking in food, i tried to make conversation, he just stared on his plate in silence. After lunch we went next door in an oriental supermarket. Lots of dried fruits and nuts. His father bought me victuals for the journey - sugared chickpeas and salted cashew nuts. (I still have the cashews, kept in a ziploc bag like a piece of evidence.) He even asked if I needed money. Although they already had paid my flight with their miles.
I hugged his parents goodbye and thanked them as good as I could. It was easy, said his father: Because it was you. Almost made me cry.
(As soon as they had realized how bad things were going they had started to invite us for meals every day. They saved my life. They showed me that I am appreciated - at least by SOME canadians. They showed me that I was not wrong expeting to be treated like a human being. That was nice. The contrast couldn't have been bigger between being with him and being with them - because they were simply kind and caring.)
Back in his place we spent two more horrible hours waiting. Smoking cigarettes. Did we speak? I don't remember. I felt the seconds dripping by slowly, like the tick of an old-fashioned clock. I think we tried to have a normal afternoon. Well, if there was any normality possible.
Finally, it was time to go. What a relief. I started getting my stuff together, went to the loo, looked around if I had forgotten something, went to the loo. Eventually I was finished, and there was nothing left that could be used to keep us from going. I felt like being torn apart - I HAD to leave, because I couldn't bear the situation, but at the same time I still dreaded the thought to leave HIM - my beautiful nightmare.
Out we went. He stood at the door and suddenly he presented me his arse with a sad smile - you can kick it! - but it just made me cry. I stil owe him this arsekick.
There was a traffic jam on the way to the airport, and we had to face that we were pretty late. The tension got unbearable. More cigarettes, no talk. What if I would miss my plane? Every spark of affection for eachother was consumed by the blank horror of the imagination of having to spent more time together like this. We were shivering for fear.
But we were lucky, we got there in time. No strength left for anything except saying goodbye as fast as possible. I wished so much that any of us would say something to make up what happened. I wished he would cry. I already did. But we were too exhausted for any emotional effort. We just hugged eachother, said goodbye, and I went through the gate to the security check.
Just once I turned to look back:
A sad young man with a full beard and an ugly winter coat, leaning at a wall near the entrance of Gate D - that was the last I saw about him.
Nobody of us died. No one got wounded physically. Nobody got beaten. Nobody got raped. But I'm still overwhelmed by my memories of this time. It was the worst time of my life. I have never felt so lost, so helpless, so scared, so disappointed, so WRONG.
It was as if all social rules were completely forgotten. I did not know how to orientate in this world - in HIS world. It's hard to explain. Usually, you know how people react. With him I never knew. All the time I felt as if I have to say sorry. Just because someone HAD to say it - and he didn't.
In good moments he was my only love. He was my family. I never wanted children until I met him. I never felt so close to anyone. In bad moments he was full of disdain. For me. For himself? I never understood why - for a long time.
I stop here - don't want to start speculating about personality disorders again...I think it's more important to express my feelings. To tell the story. To cry the tears that have to be cried. To remember.
In Quebec on every car's license number is written "Je me souviens": I remember. We always wondered what especially you have to remember about Quebec.
Good night, all. Stay well. Be nice in chat!
Luise.