She

I doubt I will ever get used to this feeling. I remember not knowing what to do, the first time when I woke up to find her dark head resting on my chest as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Should I move? Should I wake her? Should I just lie there? Soft breaths breaking into the stunned silence of my thoughts. I lay there for quite some time watching her sleep. So peaceful. I envied her. I had only dreamed of such an existence and here it was. Someone completely at peace. With themselves. And with the world. I still don’t remember why I did it. After a long period, my hands reached out and I started gently stroking her head. Softly. Caressing her beautiful chocolate hair. It seemed so natural. So perfect. Just the right thing to do. She let out soft sounds of satisfaction, and then ever so gracefully turned her beautiful long neck to look at me. Her innocent eyes gazed into mine. Lovingly. I knew then. At that very moment, that I could never ever bear to be parted from her. That was over a year ago.
It is ironic though when I think back to our first meeting and events leading to this point. I was introduced to her by my ex. In fact introduced to her the very evening my ex decided to waltz out of my life. Permanently. The break up with my previous girlfriend had been stormy. Probably just as well. A reflection of our perfectly stormy relationship. What can one really expect from the daughter of a SS storm trooper and granddaughter of Joseph Goebbels right hand man? Shocking right? I was just as shocked to hear of her rich ancestry. Yet I had been drawn to her. The proverbial moth. The son shall not suffer for the iniquity of the father, my mother used to say. Who am I to judge? The story of their escape after the collapse of Nazi Germany had fascinated me. As a historian, I was not shocked to hear that they had escaped the harsh retribution that inevitably followed. In fact they had done quite well in America. The former heartless torturers were now living their lives as compassionate doctors. Quite ironic. Helen had been strange herself. Egoistic and a megalomaniac. Quite possibly a sociopath as well. But what a charmer. I had read somewhere that Hitler had been the same- a sociopath and a megalomaniac and yet he could charm anyone. And indeed he had charmed an entire nation into following him. Down the path to hell. Helen had been no different.
We had bonded over stories of past heartbreaks and Indian food. Our first meeting. I had always had a knight in shining armor syndrome or so my friends had pointed out. Helping damsels in distress, till they decided to ride out of my life breaking my heart in the process. I sure did know how to pick them. Being led on with unending texts, and emails was the usual norm. Sometimes I wonder why people can’t just be honest. One actually strung me out for three years before riding off with a tattooed muscle bound overweight potbellied motorcyclist. Well not before doing considerable damage to my bed. That, of course, was easily fixed. The skid marks on my heart ..well that was another thing. I had almost given up on women after that one. Heck all it got me was expensive bills. These I could still manage to pay but the invisible scars on my heart....that I have always found took much much longer to heal. And the price too high in my estimation.
When I met Helen, I finally felt I had found a kindred spirit. Her previous boyfriend had been a jerk. Well aren’t they all, I think now? He had hurt her. Emotionally. Of course he had. Just like all my other exes' prior boyfriends had. As her big blue eyes teared up, I could barely keep myself from reaching out and enveloping her in my arms. How is it that women always know how to do that? I guess it has something to do with the lack of physical strength resulting in evolutionary genetic programming of a much higher level of soft skills and charm. But what do I know? I am just a simple history professor, who loves books, soft romantic movies and ball room dancing. I know what you must be thinking- a complete nerd. True. And if my exes are to be believed the nicest person. EVER! Hah. If I am so nice then why is it that they end up leaving me for the wrong guy. A guy who they know will hurt them? Do women really like to punish themselves, I sometimes wonder. Or is it the thrill of feeling unsafe? Living dangerously, perhaps? The excitement? Thrill? Who knows. But it always starts the same way. Just as it had with Helen.
It had started quite innocently. I had met her through one of those online dating sites, which I had reluctantly joined after tiring of the bar scene. Long deep email conversations and texting had finally led to a meeting at a local Indian place. She worked at the university too. An Art history major working on her degree. What are the odds of that happening? We hit it off instantly. The night had ended in a soft kiss. I remember thinking that maybe all those previous heartbreaks were worth it. Even the one who ran off with the motorcyclist. Although I wished she had not ruined the sheets on her way out. My late grandmother had gifted me those sheets for Christmas. Gram had always been a practical gift giver and had noticed my old sheets were torn. So one Christmas I had found those under the tree. Maybe it was worth it. Helen certainly had made it seem so at the outset. A tall slim curvaceous blonde with clear deep blue eyes. Limpid pools in which I always lost myself. Pure Aryan stock she loved to say. I thought it was a joke. History majors always had a macabre sense of humor. I think it has something to do with working with dead and extinct civilizations. We had wonderful conversations nevertheless. It was nice to finally meet someone I could connect with on an emotional as well as physical plane. At least this one did end up meeting instead of texting endlessly.
Helen was well read and as you already know quite charming. I didn't notice it back then but now I realise that she did not really say much. When she did, she knew exactly what to say. Nodding and bending her head to the left to casually flicking the blonde curls off her face. The most beautiful soft twist of her graceful long neck. Our conversations, now that I dissect them seemed to be mostly about her work. I loved to teach and she loved tapping my brain for ideas. Including a paper she had to turn in for work. After all it was almost free tutoring. Well actually it was paid tutoring. I paid for it and also provided the tutoring. Not a bad deal, right? Free dinners, tickets to balls, jewelry and more. I was happy to pay for them. They seemed to make her happy. Whoever said one cant buy happiness was wrong. Well I thought he was wrong then. Now, I know better. I don’t think she ever bothered to pay any bills. Isn’t it strange that when we autopsy the past, we see things so differently? I won’t lie to you and say that I am not bitter. It is probably my fault. Probably. Only fools are certain after all. But then again I am a fool as I was parted from my money. But the autopsy came much later. That night it was just dinner, charming conversation, a moonlight walk and soft kiss at the end. We called it a night with plans to watch Notting Hill. She loved the movie too or so she had claimed. I doubt it. We never did watch it in the six months that followed. But I had not cared. I was in love. It’s a nice feeling, isn’t it?  Love. The world seems perfect, in spite of the horrors that surround us. I enjoyed every moment of it. Reveled in it. Serotonin excess one of my friends in Biology had claimed it to be. Hah. What did he know. Probably more than me, now I am sure. But the reasons are unimportant now as they were back then. I was in love. In love, inspite of what was to follow.
Then came the confessions about her family. But I did not care. I was in love. We kept meeting and then one night she stayed over. It was too late to go home. My flat is quite small. Just the one single bed. New York is not a cheap place to live in. That was the best I could afford on the meagre salary of an academic. She halfheartedly offered to sleep on my lumpy couch. She wasn’t ready she said. Ever the gentleman, I slept on the couch that night. And every time after when she stopped by. I did not care. I was in love. I did not even care that final evening. She and I had gone out for dinner. I met her friend that night for the first time. I did not really notice her then. I only had eyes for Helen. Then we went back to my place. I had hoped we could watch Notting Hill. I really love that movie. Who wouldn’t? An innocent book store owner meets a fabulous movie star and love inevitably follows. I was a fool to think real life mirrored reel life.
            She walked into my tiny apartment. I started the movie and when I turned, she was standing there. Wearing nothing other than her panties. Hit me, she had screamed. Hard. Where was the sweet history student I had fallen for? I was shocked to say the least. Apparently, she was having her period and that made her excited. I had never hit a woman. Well not since childhood. It turned her on. So I complied. A soft slap. Harder. HARDER. She screamed. I was worried. My neighbor, Mrs. Polansky was an eighty year old woman and suffered from insomnia. I did not want everyone in the building to know. For an eighty year old woman, she certainly could get the word out. And quickly at that.
But I had something else to attend to at the moment. Hit me, she shouted again driving thoughts of  Mrs. Polansky and the consequences out of my head. I complied. Repeatedly. At the end of an interminable hour of spanking, she decided it was time to sleep. Her frustration was clear. This inspite of my "best" efforts. I tried to convince her. She did not agree. My hand disagreed. She pointed at the couch and I understood. I would be spending another sleepless night on the couch. The next day, my doctor, I am happy to report, agreed with me and bandaged my hand. A sprain. Although she did not quite "buy" the story about it being a sport injury. I was not much of a sportsman and my healthy belly was testament to that. Things went south after that. Texts that were intermittently answered and finally went unanswered. Then one fine day, I heard back from her. Could we meet up?, her text asked me. Could we? Of course, we could. I spent the rest of the day in the best of spirits. Some of my co-workers commented on my mood as well. And so we met. At the local coffee shop. I arrived a bit late as it had taken me a few minutes to squeeze into a jacket. She liked it when I wore jackets instead of t-shirts. She was already there. With her friend. The same friend. This was awkward to say the least. I did not care. I assumed we would mend things. And then it came.
My friends call it the "Its not you. It’s me" speech. Usually though, it is they who are delivering the speech. She mentioned her frustration at not being hit that night. We were probably not compatible. Time was another issue. She wasn’t free these days. It was summer. School was out and I know from her scant texts that she spent most of her time out with friends or at her house relaxing. Doing her nails. I was a bit surprised. Apparently I could not be what she needed me to be. Her previous boyfriend had been abusive. Clearly I wasn't abusive enough. I agreed.  Being an asshole was not a character trait of mine. My male friends had warned me that only assholes seem to find love these days. I sat there and watched her walk out. I realized then that this was probably the rarer “Its all you and not me” speech. Although it had started out as the first one. Weird. A hybrid speech, I remember thinking as I tried to sip the coffee.
The coffee had grown cold. I remember sitting there with my head in my hands watching the coffee. The untouched drink still had the pretty fern like pattern made by the barista. A few minutes later, the waitress neatly placed the bill in front of me. She had taken the trouble to highlight the tip amount on the bill. 30%. Clearly my pain was causing her pain too. Helen had left me with a broken heart and a bill. From the bill it was clear she had been there for a while. Sandwiches, milk, coffee, ice cream and more. No wonder the waitress wanted me gone soon. Well at least this one had not ruined the bed nor my sheets. And at least this time I would not have to move. Finding a place in New York is near impossible. Especially on my limited salary. That’s when I noticed her sitting there gazing at me with her beautiful green eyes. Her friend
I had assumed she had left with Helen. But there she sat. The most beautiful green eyes I have ever seen, I remember thinking. I apologized to her. The gentleman that my mother had raised me to be. Clearly my friends were right. I deserved the suffering for being such a fool. If you wear your heart on your sleeve, it is bound to get smashed. I was still in shock but I paid the bill including the suggested tip and left the coffee shop. My wallet thanked me for considerably lightening its burden. Frankly I only had a dime and a few cents left now. She had chosen a fancy French coffee shop. One I usually avoided. Damned woman. I could not even bring myself to curse her. I walked aimlessly through the city unable to pay for the Metro or a bus. Thankfully they have not started charging us for walking. But I am sure they will someday soon. It was quite crowded that day. New York usually is. And even surrounded by these masses I have never felt so alone as I did that day. It is strange this world. We never notice another’s pain or suffering. We are quite content to pass them by and carry on as if nothing has ever happened. Oblivious and clueless. Ignorance truly is bliss. No one seemed to care for me either. So I walked quietly. Alone in that crowd. Or so I thought.
 I did not notice her following me at first. I just had this weird feeling after a while, that I was being followed. Who would follow me, I wonder? A passing fancy I guess or just a stranger walking along behind me. And yet I could not shake that feeling off and so I turned. There she was. Gazing up at me with her beautiful green eyes and hair the colour of dark chocolate. I did not know what to say. I looked at her quizzically. She probably had a place here or somewhere. After a while I gave up and continued to amble along to my place. I reached my building to find the elevator broken. The usual. I walked up the 8 flights of stairs to my dingy little place. A few hours ago, when she had texted me, this same hovel had seemed like a palace. Now, I stood at the door of a 12x 20 feet room that lacked air-conditioning and had a bathroom the size of a small closet. I stood there for a while. Did I really want to be alone? I should probably call one of my friends. It was Friday evening though. I am sure they would be out. Hunting, one of them jokingly called it. I thought of going back to the office. But I doubt it would be different there. Dusty old books and relics. Fun companions. I should have listened to my mother. Become a lawyer instead. At least then I would have been rich. Miserable perhaps but rich nevertheless. I would probably have had a bigger apartment to play those crappy songs in. I doubt the feelings I was experiencing would be different. Nor would those songs. Ah well. Let the healing begin. As I stood there, I realized that she was standing behind me. Silent and still gazing at me with those beautiful green eyes. Did she want to say anything to me? I taxed my brain to remember her name. Kiera. No...Kerry...No Kira. Yes that was it. That’s what Helen had called her when we were introduced us and then promptly ignored her. Kira had not seemed to mind. She seemed quite content back then and even now.
Kira looked at me for the longest time. Her big green eyes were so beautiful. No I didn't need this. I tried to find words to drive her away but none seemed to come to mind. Freud was right. My mother was truly to blame here. Not for my inequities but for my inability to stand up for myself when it came to women. Kira brushed past me and entered my apartment. I wanted to say something. Protest. Shout. Throw profanities at her. Heck just throw her out. Somehow I couldn't bring myself to do that. Instead, I rummaged through my fridge for something for her. A guest must be offered refreshments, my mother had dinned into us. I opened the milk bottle and sniffed. I did not remember when I had purchased this bottle. The milk smelled a bit funny but it had not expired. So I poured her some. She sniffed at it too with her small button nose, took a few small sips and then wolfed it down. She must have been hungry. Helen was not one to share. She always wolfed down most of the pizza or whatever it was that she had made me buy. Clearly Kira had been accorded the same treatment. I felt sorry for Kira. I looked around for more food. There wasn’t any. She did not think much of the banana bread I had baked. I don’t blame her. I wasn’t much of a baker anyways. I poured her some more milk. She looked at me gratefully. I smiled.  My mother had raised me well. Mrs. Polansky always said so. Fat lot of good that did me.
After her meal, Kira curled up on the couch and fell asleep. Surprising. I had expected her to claim the bed like Helen always had. I sat on the chair and watched her for a while. She looked so peaceful. Clearly, the events of the evening had not affected her. Why should it? I wondered what I would do with her. But these thoughts were driven out by the ringing of my cell phone.I fished out my battered old phone and looked at the screen. My mother. God bless her. She never failed to check in with me. And then I was reminded of the things that needed fixing at her house. The bathroom had mold. The roof needed a few shingles replaced. There was a leak in the kitchen sink. The sink waste disposal was on the fritz again. Could I stop by? I promised I would. Although I was pretty useless when it came to fixing things. I would call the same person she could. But maybe she wanted to see me. Atleast there was one woman in my life who was not in a hurry to trample on my heart and run. I did not mention Helen. Nor Kira for that matter. In fact I had forgotten all about Kira during our rather long conversation. When I finally got off the phone, I saw that Kira had settled on the bed. Clearly the lumpy couch had not been to her liking either. Atleast the pattern had not varied. I smirked as I ate some of the lumpy banana bread with water. I wanted to order a pizza but my wallet would not take the strain. I was tired and wanted to sleep. I had half a mind of throwing her out on the street. I hardly knew her. Given my luck with women, who knows what kind of a crazy psycho this one would turn out to be? I had thought the one who ran out on me with the motorcyclist had been the worst. Helen had proved me wrong. Emotional mind games are so much more damaging. Helen had dangled the carrot quite well. Kira could be more trouble. But somehow I was too exhausted to do anything. I decided to deal with this the next morning and went to sleep. On the couch. The lumpiness bothered me far less now. I woke up and found her gone. The draft from the window had woken me up. I had left it open as I did not have an air conditioner. I had gotten into the bad habit of never closing the window now, although initially I had closed it whenever I left the flat. It opened onto the fire escape and I should probably not do so. Not in this neighborhood. Ah well. There was nothing to rob in this flat anyway.
I looked around the flat. Kira was gone too. Ah what was it with women in my life. Forever walking out on me. Well at least the ones not related to me by blood. But even those did not make it easier for me. I should probably stay away from women. I showered and got dressed. There was an ancient book we were supposed to receive today. Written by a woman. I doubt my life would ever be free of them. At least Kira had not made a mess. Probably just needed a place to rest for the night. I opened the door and there she stood. I wondered how long she had stood there. I had not heard her knock. She waited there for me to move. I stepped aside and she walked in to the flat. I poured her some more milk emptying out the contents of the milk bottle. I threw it into the trash. She slurped it up and curled up on the bed. I waited there for a while. Clueless. What could I say? What could I do? Should I ask her to leave? Or just throw her out? I could not make up my mind and so I just left. For work.
Work was a bit crazy. The department chair made his usual spiel. It was well written and I would have appreciated it under other circumstances. I wondered if Kira would be there when I got back. Part of me wished that I had thrown her out before I left. Manners. I remember thinking. Truly they were right. Education ruined us. Well me for sure. My friends had escaped quite unscathed. I picked up some more milk and a few things on the way back. I would have to manage on a shoestring budget for a few weeks till the end of the month. No more fancy French cafes for me. The elevator in the building was still on the fritz. So I climbed lugging my groceries all the way up. I wondered how Mrs. Polansky managed to navigate these stairs. I was quite out of breath by the time I reached my floor. I opened the door after I had caught my breath. Kira was still there. She brushed against me a few times as I emptied my meagre groceries and stored them. Clearly she was happy to see me. I wondered how long that would last. I slept on the couch again. This pattern continued for a few days until that one evening,  I returned  home exhausted and passed out on the bed
             I woke up to find her sleeping next to me. Her head was resting on my chest. She did not mind the hair that a few others had complained of. I wondered what I should do. She looked so peaceful. I heard the clock ticking away on the wall. It was early still. I did not know what to do. She was still a stranger even though she had spent a week in my tiny flat. Her dark head rested on my chest as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Should I move? Should I wake her? Should I just lie there? Soft breaths broke into the stunned silence of my thoughts. I lay there for quite some time watching her sleep. So peaceful. I envied her. I had only dreamed of such an existence and here it was. Someone completely at peace. With themselves. And with the world. I still don’t remember why I did it. After a long period, my hands reached out and I started gently stroking her head. Softly. Caressing her beautiful chocolate hair. It seemed so natural. So perfect. Just the right thing to do. She purred in satisfaction, and then ever so gracefully turned her beautiful long neck to look at me. Her innocent eyes gazed into mine. Lovingly. I knew then. At that very moment, that I could never ever bear to be parted from her.




I reached up and started caressing her head. It seemed the natural thing to do. She purred softly and then turned to gaze up at me with those beautiful green eyes. Then just as gracefully, she placed her head back on my chest and went back to sleep. That was a year ago. I have woken up to that face and to find her resting on my chest every day since. Kira is not very demanding. Maybe I needed someone like her. One of my colleagues from the physics department used to joke- The law of conservation of love he called it. "Love can neither be created nor destroyed, although it can be transformed from one state to another, and one person to another" I laughed as I remembered him. He always thought of himself as a ladies man. Certainly struck out often but that never stopped him. I wonder what he would say when he met Kira. Kira is quite the charmer too. But not a malicious bone in her body. She greets me everyday when I leave and more lovingly when I return. She does disappear from time to time but always shows up. I think my manners and good deeds are paying off. Finally. Kira is truly the most beautiful girl I have ever known.
I stroked her hair for a good half hour this morning. She likes that. I could hear her soft purrs of contentment. Her hair is the softest I have ever felt. Thick and soft. The colour of dark chocolate with streaks of black. She doesn’t say much. I don’t mind. And she loves watching Notting Hill too. It is rather strange I think. She always gives me that look when I put on a different movie. I have learned to interpret most of her gestures. Silence can convey so much. This morning her purrs told me I should not stop caressing her. When I stopped, she turned her graceful neck and looked at me quizzically with those beautiful green eyes. I reached for her head with my hands and she replaced her head on my chest. I love the way the sunlight reflected on her head and made it shine. She is truly beautiful. I sometimes wonder how I got so lucky. My neighbors have taken to her too. Even my landlady who had threatened to evict me when she learned that two were staying in that flat leased to one. Kira is so charming that none can refuse her. I smiled. I really loved her too. And I know she loved me although she never really said much. I could tell from her eyes. And the best part. She always seemed to have time for me. She never texted or called. She just turned up when she wanted to spend time with me and stayed. She never complained. In fact quite the opposite. She was always content. Even in my dingy little flat. I stroked her head again and called out her name softly. She purred contentedly. Life is truly beautiful.
The clock chimed 8 o'clock. Darn, I was late. I would have to rush but I did not care. I patted her softly and she slid off my chest without complaint. I shaved, brushed and showered. I was getting dressed when she came and pressed her body against me. I smiled as I looked at her. I knew from that look that she wanted to play. There wasn't time. I had to get to work. I gave her a wan smile. It would have to wait. She seemed to understand. I poured her some milk. She liked that I watched her drink it. As I left, I saw her stretch out on the bed and start cleaning herself. Cats are such graceful creatures, I thought, as I locked the door behind me.