Lacrimo Crystallinus

So long. I could stare at Bao forever, watching the easy peace and gentle sweetness on her features as she slept. My arm is around her as always, but it feels as though I am far away from her. How much longer will I have this? I wonder, wishing to cherish every moment, but unable to think of anything pleasant. Even her beauty is more a torture than a pleasure. She is warm and safe here, more than what could be said of her former living arrangement, but she has faced equally difficult hardships here without the support of her friends or family and without anyone but my absent self and my sister. Is she really happy?

She sighs in her sleep, turning into my chest with a concerned expression.

Where some long-term couples complain of the restrictions and limitations of their spouse, I find it comfortable and secure. Knowing that there is something constant in my life is more like a safety net than a cage, and it reminds me that there is something to keep struggling for. At least some part of my life will be the same at the end of the day. Perhaps it is because my life is chaotic, but I am grateful for the unchanging nature of the love I share with Bao.

Coming home finally feels like I envisioned it should. I look forward to returning to be with my family, rather than dreading it, or worse, having no opinion on it. Bao’s role in my life has made me rethink much of my bachelor’s views. And, it’s a little scary for me, but I am beginning to feel my age a bit more consciously. She makes me feel wizened and… dare I say, old?

Does she know that she has changed me so much?

I bury my face in her hair, closing my eyes. I only wish to sleep—to forget the horrible agreement I made. The one I made to ensure that we live comfortably, that my reputation does not become one of ill repute. The one that could tear her away from me forever. I want to forget.

But that won’t change anything.

***************************************************************

My mind is whirling. I can’t think straight, but the cold air helps. My breath twirls into the air, disappearing like pale smoke. Pull yourself together, I scold myself, digging my hands into shallow pockets. As I stand on the porch for a moment, I notice soft footprints leading through the snow, almost obscured by the new snowfall. They are Bao’s. I pass the gate and step into the street, going the opposite way.

Every youth or idealist seems to think that love is so simple—one would do anything for their loved one, that they are the most important thing in their life, that they can’t live without them, clichés like that. But those of us who have experienced love know better. Love, like any other emotion, is transient. It comes and goes, and for some, it’s unattainable. We must foster the emotion, look to things beyond the physical, beyond passion to continue the relationship. Each time we fall out of love, it feels like the world is tearing apart. Each time we fall in love again, it’s like the word has been reinvented, stripped of its past meaning and every memory that came with it.

In the case of Bao, everything else—everyone else—pales in comparison. And yet, she is never what I sought, everything I claimed to find incompatible with myself.

Several people pass by me on the street. It is busier now, and I am nearing some of the wider streets, closer to the center of the city. Many people glance at me twice or three times, and I realize that I have forgotten my sunglasses. Digging in my various pockets, I am not even upset to find that they aren’t on me. Better that people see me and all the problems I have, rather than think me a God, I think to myself bitterly. I shiver, expelling a silent whoosh of breath into the chilly air, which curls up toward the sky in a little wisp.

I turn onto a narrow street that widens up into a small park, isolated from everything else. I sit down on one of the benches, letting myself think. For the first time in the past couple days, I am not overwhelmed with some kind of emotion. I feel… drained. At least Katherine’s other clientele has kept her too busy to focus on her blackmail. Any involvement with her would only increase my edginess. As I think of how I have been acting, I feel a stab of guilt. The only person at the receiving end of my frustration is the one I never wanted to hurt—Bao. I feel myself flushing with shame despite that there is no one around.

Where were we going before Katherine intervened? I withdraw my hands from my pockets and stare at the box of crushed black velvet. I turn it over and over in my hands, long since having memorized its feel from the sticker placed on its bottom to the ridges of the hinges on one end. Although it is some kind of idle comfort to touch the box, move it from hand to hand, caressing it with my fingertips, I couldn’t open it. If I did, I would be assaulted with emotions that I’m not ready to deal with. First is the doubt that has no real basis anymore, the strange gnawing paranoia that this marriage, too, will fail. Such was proven by Katherine’s actions, I think acrimoniously, half-reprimanding myself for almost overlooking that. Second is that I probably will never give this ring to her. I just have it and keep staring at the box, hoping halfheartedly that I’ll have the courage to do what I want to do.

But I don’t.

The reminder makes me sick with myself. Out of self-loathing and a desire to punish myself, I open the box and stare at the ring sitting inside. It sparkles beautifully in the muted sunlight, with several twinkling gemstones surrounding the diamond focal point. Each stone is small enough not to take away from the diamond and collectively, the stones aren’t large enough to make the ring gaudy. It’s a gorgeous ring, but it’s still an empty promise. Before I can do too much damage to myself, I snap the box shut and tuck it away.

If only I had the courage to face my fame, myself, and my past.

If only.

***********************************************************

“Would you like some hot cocoa?” Bao asks from the kitchen, her face poking out from around the corner. I glance up at her from the laptop on my knees. She is wearing a pink knit hat with snowflakes on it, her cheeks a matching pink thanks to the warmth of the kitchen.

“Sure.” She nods, disappearing again. She has been so careful around me since that incident, even though I apologized and admitted that yes, something was wrong. Although I’m grateful for the privacy of my own thoughts without interrogation, her caution bothers me. She eventually returns with two penguin mugs in hand, handing one off to me as she sits on the couch. The smell of gingerbread and other baked goods drifts in from the kitchen. We drink the hot cocoa in silence, and I set the laptop aside, my email only half typed. It doesn’t matter right now.

“How much more do you plan to make?” I ask, gesturing to the kitchen. She smiles.

“As much as I can.” Even though I don’t ask, she knows me well enough to explain, “When was the last time you had Christmas treats?”

“It’s been a while,” I admit as her warm hands find mine under the kotatsu. “Do you want to make more?”

“I have one more batch to roll and cut for baking,” she says, strangely massaging my hands with her slim fingers. I smile, and catch her hands to do the same for her. She smiles, a dreamy expression crossing her face.

“Do you mind if I help? It will go faster with two people, won’t it?”

“Oh, um, of course,” she says, surprised but happy. She leads me to the kitchen and we begin to roll out the dough. As I’m rolling it out, she snickers a bit and I ask why she’s laughing. She points at the dough. “One side is a meter thick and the other is like a sliver.” I frown, inspecting my work. Sure enough, it’s really unevenly rolled. I go over it a few times to smooth it out, but the dough cascades over the cutting board and onto the table. She laughs openly now, cutting of the renegade edges and tossing them back into the bowl.

“Well it looked easy…” I mumble, looking for one of the cookie cutters. She hands it to me, watching me with amused eyes.

“Doesn’t it always?” she says as I press the gingerbread man shape into the dough. As I pull it away, it sticks to the bottom of the cookie cutter and I pop the shape out with a finger. It lands on the cookie sheet. “That was good. Now only twelve more to go.” I try not to look too determined, but from her expression, it’s obvious that I’m taking this way too seriously. I cut another shape and she stops me after I remove it from the cookie cutter. “Try to get as many cookies as you can from this rolled out dough. It’s easier than going over this same process a thousand times.”

I nod and keep going with the cookies. I finish a tray by myself and feel somewhat accomplished until I look over at the clock and notice how long it took me to do. She smiles and replaces the tray in the oven with mine. Then she sets out a cool set of gingerbread men and begins to frost little faces and buttons on them. I watch her intently, watch each arc of frosting and each dab that becomes like a little flower. It’s like art.

After a while, all of them are frosted and done, and I really haven’t helped all that much, but I realize something: I’ll miss these little things, the little pleasures. She holds me and I smile wanly, wanting the moment to last, but knowing that it won’t. Then I think of something.

“I want to do something today,” I say, holding her tight and letting her go. “Take your coat and some boots… and some jeans.”

“Okay,” she says confusedly, pulling on her winter coat, gloves, and fuzzy boots. “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” I say, pulling on my own coat and gloves.

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When we return home, we strip off our coats and snowy boots, and climb into a hot bath that is pleasantly fragrant. She smiles contently, leaning gently on my shoulder in the warm water. I lean down, tilt her chin up, and kiss her. She dissolves into my arms almost as if swooning, and I feel her press against me. Wrapped in her embrace, I half-hesitate rising. Instead, however, she pulls the plug in the bathtub and we dry off, but do not dress. I lead her to bed and we collapse there together, a tangle of naked limbs.

She smiles cheerfully and begins to playfully wrestle with me, flipping me over so that she is above. Her hair falls like a thousand dark tendrils down her shoulders. I smile, too, crushing her to me and she wriggles halfheartedly to be free. The two of us laugh and she kisses me softly.

And she opens herself to me, completely. So trusting, so warm… and familiar. It is just like the first time, but it is also just like I’d never been with her before. Her warm brown eyes twinkle in the candlelight as she watches me, her soft lips releasing only breaths, kisses, or approval, and she is still just as beautiful.

We share a kiss. It feels like the beginning again.