Just a Monumental Summer: Girl on the train (23 page)

“I would call it drama’s gene. Artists have it. We are all drama queens. I can’t sleep when I have a song in my head. Too much melody and too many words rattle around my mind. Until I pluck them from my mind and put them together, I can’t sleep and find my peace. And when I find my peace, I can’t stop thinking of people criticizing my songs. But I don’t complain little miss
Oh, my demons!
” He was mocking me.

I knew it was the perfect time to attack him. “Yes, you do have your demons. You are not aware yet. You’re still in love with Ema. You met me, and you should be happy, but you get in your own way. You’re not even aware of it. It’s all down to the subconscious mind. The other you wants us to fail. It’s an subconscious sabotage. You keep telling yourself that I’m not all in, only to stir things up and create drama. This way, I’ll eventually give up, and you won’t be the one that’s ending our relationship.”

He looked at me, perplexed. “What are you talking about?”

I couldn’t be stopped: “You become the victim to your critical inner voice, which will guide you to become your worst enemy. You, as a rational person, you want to be happy again, after the break up with Ema because it was actually a defeat. She left you, and how can you cope with that? But the alter ego, the inner voice doesn’t want to move on, not yet, or at least not so easily. That part of you still wants to hang on to her love. So you have a conflict. You found me, and, on the surface, you are ready for love. But the other voice is saying: nope, not yet. And that voice is analyzing every move I make, every gesture, which could help you - ”

Alin interrupted, totally confused, “I’m not following.”

“The other you wants to find proof that I don’t love you, or I am not worth it. That’s its job. To sabotage you and to end our relationship.”

“So you’re telling me, all the thoughts, doubts I have, I shouldn’t have them?”

“Yes. There’s no need to worry. You’re overthinking. I’m with you, I chose you, I you told I’m falling for you. Yes, I’m stubborn, and I’m afraid I will lose my freedom, but I love you.”

“All the stuff that you read, the psychology stuff? It may have messed with your head.” He rubbed his face with his good hand.

“Alin, I’m already damaged. Not that I offer an excuse for my behavior. I know I am damaged. And I know why. Eric Berne has a theory. He claims each of us end at the age of five or six with a script of life largely dictated by our parents. The script will be responsible for all our actions during our whole life.
The script will tell us how we are going to carry on our life, and how it's going to end.  Winner, non-winner, or loser.
The good thing is, you can break up your script. In order to do that, you need to know why we are who we are. You may never know why you keep making the same mistakes. But I know why I am making the same mistakes, Alin. That’s huge. I am aware my script is fucked up. Most of people will never be aware of their issues. Like you with Ema.”

“Stop with this nonsense. Now, according to your theory, your inner voice is trying to tell you that I’m not worth it because I am still in love with her.

“You got it. You see, it makes sense.”

“Then what shall we do, Mona? Are we doomed?” he asked, leaning forward and taking my hand.

“We may be. But, who isn’t? I told you, I need you to be my rock. Stop overthinking. I can’t have you so dramatic. That’s my prerogative as a woman. If you are my rock, I can be crazy. If you turn crazy, there is no balance between us. And I am sure all that psychological nonsense may help.”

“You know that Freud failed to cure his patients? Each and every of them.”

“You know there are well known cases of patients who deliberately picked bad psychoanalysts, moving from one to another, only to demonstrate that they can’t be cured?” I shot back at him.

              “Why would they do that?” Alin asked, puzzled. He pulled me back on the couch with him.

“Because adults play games as well. They crave for attention, drama. The sick things people do; the brain is still a mystery.”

“It’s fucked up. Let’s not let our brains control us,” he concluded, kissing me.

I giggled at him: “You’re aware of what you just said, I suppose.”

“Damn, it came out wrong. Let me rephrase it. Let’s not let our demons control us. Damn you, Mona, now, you’re sucking me into your world. Like a black hole. I never thought I would ever agree to acknowledge your demons.”

“I know. It’s sick,” I admitted sadly.

“I’m losing my identity. I’m not me anymore. I’m turning into you. Now I believe in demons,” Alin said dramatically, hand to his chest.

“They say you become like the closest five people who surround you. I wish it was the other way around: me turning into you,” I said, suddenly tired.

Between the confrontation with Alexandru and now Alin I was exhausted. I looked at him, and I knew he was tired as well. I didn’t know what to feel. He was right. It wasn’t an extraordinary love. I replayed my conversation in my head, realizing I could turn my words onto myself just as easily as I could with Alin and Ema – what was I doing except sabotaging my possible happiness? I just slept with his friend and with my ex-lover in a single week. Alin was right. I was a hypocrite. I was even more: I was a cheater.

I went to the bedroom, lost in my thoughts and self-loathing. Alin followed me to the bedroom, took another pain pill, then joined me on the bed. Although we were both tired, we had sex. All I could think of, though, was that I wanted to go home, to my parents.

Too much sex, too much talk, too much drama. Afterward, I rolled over and tried to focus on the sound of the waves, hoping to find some solace.

For once even the ceaseless sound of the waves didn’t soothe me. I hadn’t been able to switch off my thoughts for a moment. I’d been so naïve, thinking Alin would change me. It seemed Alin had just replaced Alexandru, only with butterflies in my belly. And better sex. I couldn’t seem to handle a couple of months with just one guy. I was too afraid of getting hurt, so I wouldn’t let myself be totally open with one other person. Instead I was numbing my feelings with sex, and sexual attraction. The endorphins released from really good sex masked my inability to really, truly feel something for another person – monumental love was beyond me; I was monumentally fucked up. I didn’t even feel guilty for what I’d done with Jony. I knew I was incapable of losing myself to a pure love and, somehow, I was coping with that by cheating.

After a sleepless night with my thoughts for company, feeling alone even with Alin beside me, I told Alin over breakfast in the kitchen that I needed a break from the beach.

“Alin, I want to go home to my parents,” I said calmly.

He hesitated. I waited.

“Just for a couple of days. I need my space.”

He sighed. I waited.

“That’s one part of me being free. Feeling free.”

“Mona, I try not to say anything, because I don’t know how to handle you. You should have come with handling instructions.”

“I need space. It’s not you. If Johnny Depp were here, he would have heard the same words.”

“Stop.” He took my hands in his and asked me seriously: “Mona, can you please tell me what I need to know about you, now that we live together?” He took a break and waited for me to continue.

“I need my space. Every three, four days. I notice that I get easily annoyed, I get nervous, I’m looking for a fight. I look for defects. I go home to my parents, not that I enjoy being there. You know how much I hate that place. But I need to go and calm down.”

“You said three days? Mona, we’ve been together for the whole summer. Oh my God, did you feel the need to get away all that time?”

“No. Not until today.”

“When exactly?”

“Does it matter?”

He didn’t answer.

“After our long discussion last night. I felt exhausted, tired, worn out. I just want to go home.”

“What else?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think it’s something else. Or maybe the sex. I can’t have it daily. It’s a matter of mood.” I couldn’t think of anything else to tell him; sex was the fallback answer. There was no way for me to describe my feelings of loneliness, of emotional apathy. Sex was an easy answer, although I knew it would upset his male pride.

“Have we had sex when you weren’t in the mood?”

“Yes…sometimes.”

“Anything else?” I tried to read his face. Poker face. He dropped my hands and sat back in the chair.

“That’s it."

It was my turn to ask, “Oh, what about you?”

“I am boringly simple. I don’t need space, I don’t get angry if you wake me and try to cuddle; you get the picture.”

“Why do you have to be so damn perfect?” I asked, exasperated.

“Mona, I know you hate normal, but have you ever tried to enjoy boring, simple things?” He asked, pleadingly.

“Like you are going to offer me a boring life. Look around, look at your lifestyle.” Turning to face him, I leaned against the sink and folded my arms.

“Look, feel free to go to your parents,” he said. “I’ll be here. I’m happy I broke your record. Maybe one day you won’t need your space at all.” He walked to me caressed my arms, coaxing me to relax my stance.

I tried to interrupt him, and he covered my lips. “Let me talk. The sex. Damn, Mona! If you’re not in the mood, just say it. You’re mine. I can wait. For a couple of hours or so,” he said, smirking.

I laughed. “Ok, I will. But same for you. Let me know.”

“Babe, men think about sex every five seconds on average; you won’t have this problem with me. Ok, are we good now?”

“Yes. You still can get out, Alin. I know I’m too much to handle. I won’t blame you.”

“Bullshit. You don’t believe what you’re saying. No baby. I bet on love. The monumental one.” He tugged me to him, and kissed me so tenderly that tears filled my eyes and overflowed silently. He realized I was crying and used his good hand to wipe the tears away, cradling my cheek with his palm. “My little silly demonic girlfriend, what shall we do with you, what shall we do with you?” His sigh was sad. I felt guilty for all the drama I put him through. He didn’t deserve that. The shame and guilt were overwhelming – I didn’t deserve him.

Alin insisted on driving me to the train station and buying my ticket. He even gave me money for the trip. I tried to refuse the money – I still had some from Alexandru that I hadn’t spent, but didn’t want to tell him that. The station announced final boarding for my train, and I gave him one last hug and kiss. He smiled his wonderful, naughty smile and said, “Tell your demons I want to make a trade. My soul for yours. They can’t refuse it. You don’t find a rock star soul so easily.”

I wanted to tell him that was the most beautiful thing someone ever told me; I was so touched that tears filled my eyes yet again. I like to think he could tell how much his words moved me as I touched my fingers to his lips, then turned and boarded the train. I watched him through the train window as he receded in the distance, then sat back, finally alone in truth.

Alin decided to leave the resort the day after I did, also going home to visit his family. He called me to let me know; since his hand was taking longer than expected to heal, there was no reason to hang with the band. I was surprised at the anticipation I felt every time the phone rang. Alin called every day, and we talked for hours. I looked forward to those conversations so much I didn’t want to leave the house, worried I would miss his call. My family couldn’t help but notice my preoccupation; observing my conversations, they didn’t keep their observations to themselves, either.

“Look at her, she’s in love. Look at her smirk on her face.”

Everywhere I looked, everywhere I went something reminded me of Alin. Happy memories would constantly bombard me, causing me to blush. It was more than remembering something – much more primitive and sensory than that. I would catch a faint smell that reminded me of the beach – sunscreen, maybe – and I would be immediately thrown back into reliving a moment – re-experiencing the feelings and sensations associated with the memory. So vivid, these memories – it was like I was experiencing the moment in time all over again, but more intensely than the actual experience. I think that at the original moment in time, my stupid hang-ups got in the way – intrusive thoughts that would interrupt my ability to be completely immersed – that idiotic gene for unhappiness, maybe. The memories had none of that interference, and were therefore more pure; more intense.

After a week, Alin’s hand had finally healed, and he decided to rejoin the band at Costinesti. I felt more at peace, so I went back as well.

The beach, the rehearsals, the performances – it was like nothing had changed. But the smell of autumn was in the air at night, bringing with it a sense that summer was coming to an end. Anticipation, restlessness, and anxiety all carried on that nighttime breeze.

The band was the same – same jokes, same songs, same personalities forming a synergy and performing flawlessly. Ema was finally single, able to ignore George T. with equanimity. I was happy for her, but I realized her pain was the only thing that had connected us. Now that she was free, I didn’t feel easy with her anymore. Unlike Vera, who I could say anything to, Ema’s prior relationship with the guys in the band interfered with my ability to confide in her.

Being thrown back into the routine meant being around Jony. I tried to avoid him, clinging to the peace I had found while away and wanting my relationship with Alin to work. Jony didn’t seem to notice or care, and I felt relieved.

Our song was already a hit. It was constantly on the radio, and was hummed or sung by beachgoers in town. I realized I was the only one who didn’t have the lyrics memorized; although I had heard the song many times, I didn’t know the words.

One night soon after our return to the beach, Jony showed up badly wasted, holding hands with a new girl. I was in the living room watching tv when they came in. I had never seen him so drunk; I couldn’t look at him – although I had no right, I was consumed with jealousy – how dare he parade a bimbo in front of me! I tried to focus my thoughts on Alin, to grab the feelings I’d felt back at my parents’ place. It was no use – the intensity of my memories had faded now that I was faced with Jony. As much as I had been avoiding it, I was now confronted with the fact that my feelings for Jony hadn’t changed. That was when I told myself
still monumentally fucked up, Mona, you idiot.

Another week in paradise. The same exciting routine. New shows to perform, new festivals to take part in and to enjoy, new people to meet, new interesting and foolish discussions — yet, nothing was different. I was restless. My demons left me alone as long as I avoided Jony, and Alin seemed to adapt to my moody behavior. One night, I was annoyed and snapped at him over nothing, but quickly apologized. I was trying to offer him at least one perfect, drama-free week.

“No need, babe. It’s a full moon out. It’s not your fault.” Alin was great at excusing my behavior, and attempted to gently nudge me toward cheerfulness. Once, he told me, “It’s cloudy. We need to buy you some ice cream; otherwise, you get depressed.”

He was serious and silly at the same time when he discovered new things about my moods. But he was always completely there for me; always with me. I fell back into the routine of our life together, convincing myself – trying to – that everything would be fine. I was able to leave Alexandru in the past, and I tried to avoid Jony as much I could. Jony would come with a new girl every night, but show up at breakfast alone – it wasn’t easy to avoid him in the mornings. We were all eating breakfast one morning when he once again came into the room, hangover and alone. Geta confronted him and told him to slow down. “Do you have a record to break or something, Jony?”

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be, Geta?” he answered with no emotion in his voice.

Then she started in on him about his drinking, although hangover and in the morning was probably not the best time. He looked at her over his mug of coffee and said with an icy look, “You are really nice when I’m drunk.” That was the last time Geta tried to interfere.

About a week after we had been back, Alin got a call from his mother. His father was sick; his mother thought it best if he came for a visit right away. He asked me if I wanted to come with him, but I was reluctant to meet his family, especially during a stressful time. Being Alin, he said he understood. He threw some stuff in an overnight bag and I rushed him to the train station to grab the next train. While we were waiting, he whispered into my ear, “You were right about Ema. I lied myself for a long time about how I felt. But now I realized I finally let her go.”

I didn’t know if his confession was triggered by his father’s sickness or something else. But I knew he meant it. He was finally free. I should have been happy – he admitted I was right, and let go of his emotional baggage. But knowing he was free to be wholly with me filled me with dread instead. I knew myself, and was afraid of what I would do now that Alin was ready to completely commit. I kissed him goodbye and waved as his train departed.

Too late Alin. Too late
. I thought while my hand fell to my side and I reluctantly turned to return to the beach, to my fate.