Status: Renovation in process
I Left My Heart in Moscow but My Love Waits in Pittsburgh
Absolve
Scrubbing away any makeup that hadn't been washed away by the well-deserved, hot shower, Svetlana's hair hung in wet, clumpy waves around my shoulders, leaving wet spots on the oversized sweater. Any trace of the guilty homewrecker, the Cover Girl, and the tempting seductress had been removed. All that was left was Svetlana, in a Peterborough Petes sweatshirt that still smelled of Jordan and thick woolen socks.
“Sveta.”
His voice cut through the emptiness like a knife.
Not believing her ears, the brunette turned around.
There he was.
“You're here,” was all she could say. It was all she could think, “I thought- I wasn't sure if I had imagined seeing you out there or not.”
“You were so amazing out there.” He stood awkwardly in the door, no sly smile, no playful glint in his eyes. Just Jordan with his hands jammed into his pockets and his blonde hair freshly shorn.
“All in a day's work,” She tried to joke, but there was so much that they both wanted to say but just didn't know how to. All she could think was how handsome he looked in his suit and his short hair, "You cut your hair."
"Yeah," He chuckled, running a hand over the cropped locks. Remembering how she ran her fingers through his "hockey hair," when he picked her up from Flower's- the last time he saw her. Remembering how it felt like her touch burned him. Remembering how he almost immediately wanted to shave his head. Jordan felt suddenly quite foolish, almost childlike.
He was never good with words.
But neither was she.
He was a hockey player. He didn't need words to communicate his point.
She was a ballerina. She didn't need words to communicate her point.
"I'm sorry. There I said it. I know it doesn't mean much, but-"
“I'm sorry too,” Jordan paused, “I-”
“What are you sorry for?” Svetlana interrupted. Words seemed to tumble out of her mouth faster than she could think of them. “I should have told you about Evgeni the minute I met you. I should have told you about my past. I should have been honest with you. I was scared you'd- you'd leave me. And in a sense you kind of did but I should have known better.”
“I'm sorry for caring so much for you were before you met me and less concerned with who you are and, more importantly, who I am since I've met you. You make me glad that I'm alive.”
You make me glad that I'm alive. Svetlana looked up at Jordan. She remembered what her mother said, "You should be with the person that makes you glad that you're alive." All she could think was how it would take precisely four steps to close the empty space between them.
It took two.
“I'm sorry,” she rolled onto the tips of her toes and pressed her lips against his. Do you remember how she said that nothing compares to the rush of being onstage? She was wrong. Because in that moment, bare faced and in socks, she never felt more of an adrenaline rush than with her arms around Jordan's neck, his hands on the small of her back, and their lips locked. The visceral sensation of his lips parting hers, the heat of his body warming her own, time seemed to stop and everything fell away. The world could have been ending but none of that would have mattered. It felt like they were standing there for hours, limbs tangled and bodies molded against each other.
He held her against him, convinced there was no other place that he would ever want to be.
She stayed wrapped in his arms, convinced there was no other place she would ever want to be.
“Do you know what the priest says in confession? After you unload all your lousy sins?” He asked. Svetlana shook her head, “I absolve you. Or at least in Latin, and maybe he's bored and maybe he mumbles, but we know what he means and we believe it. You get a whole bunch of grace, and you get to start over. It's a good system if you think about it.”
She looked up at him, “Could you do that for me?”
His eyes soft, he kissed her forehead, “I absolve you,” He kissed the tip of her nose, “I absolve you,” He kissed her lips, “I absolve you.”
Ego te absolvo
I absolve you.
“Sveta.”
His voice cut through the emptiness like a knife.
Not believing her ears, the brunette turned around.
There he was.
“You're here,” was all she could say. It was all she could think, “I thought- I wasn't sure if I had imagined seeing you out there or not.”
“You were so amazing out there.” He stood awkwardly in the door, no sly smile, no playful glint in his eyes. Just Jordan with his hands jammed into his pockets and his blonde hair freshly shorn.
“All in a day's work,” She tried to joke, but there was so much that they both wanted to say but just didn't know how to. All she could think was how handsome he looked in his suit and his short hair, "You cut your hair."
"Yeah," He chuckled, running a hand over the cropped locks. Remembering how she ran her fingers through his "hockey hair," when he picked her up from Flower's- the last time he saw her. Remembering how it felt like her touch burned him. Remembering how he almost immediately wanted to shave his head. Jordan felt suddenly quite foolish, almost childlike.
He was never good with words.
But neither was she.
He was a hockey player. He didn't need words to communicate his point.
She was a ballerina. She didn't need words to communicate her point.
"I'm sorry. There I said it. I know it doesn't mean much, but-"
“I'm sorry too,” Jordan paused, “I-”
“What are you sorry for?” Svetlana interrupted. Words seemed to tumble out of her mouth faster than she could think of them. “I should have told you about Evgeni the minute I met you. I should have told you about my past. I should have been honest with you. I was scared you'd- you'd leave me. And in a sense you kind of did but I should have known better.”
“I'm sorry for caring so much for you were before you met me and less concerned with who you are and, more importantly, who I am since I've met you. You make me glad that I'm alive.”
You make me glad that I'm alive. Svetlana looked up at Jordan. She remembered what her mother said, "You should be with the person that makes you glad that you're alive." All she could think was how it would take precisely four steps to close the empty space between them.
It took two.
“I'm sorry,” she rolled onto the tips of her toes and pressed her lips against his. Do you remember how she said that nothing compares to the rush of being onstage? She was wrong. Because in that moment, bare faced and in socks, she never felt more of an adrenaline rush than with her arms around Jordan's neck, his hands on the small of her back, and their lips locked. The visceral sensation of his lips parting hers, the heat of his body warming her own, time seemed to stop and everything fell away. The world could have been ending but none of that would have mattered. It felt like they were standing there for hours, limbs tangled and bodies molded against each other.
He held her against him, convinced there was no other place that he would ever want to be.
She stayed wrapped in his arms, convinced there was no other place she would ever want to be.
“Do you know what the priest says in confession? After you unload all your lousy sins?” He asked. Svetlana shook her head, “I absolve you. Or at least in Latin, and maybe he's bored and maybe he mumbles, but we know what he means and we believe it. You get a whole bunch of grace, and you get to start over. It's a good system if you think about it.”
She looked up at him, “Could you do that for me?”
His eyes soft, he kissed her forehead, “I absolve you,” He kissed the tip of her nose, “I absolve you,” He kissed her lips, “I absolve you.”
Ego te absolvo
I absolve you.