Jerusalem Stone

by Susan Sofayov

  “What happened to him?”

  I looked down at the sidewalk. What could I say? The police told us it was raining and foggy when the pickup truck crossed the center line, hitting Jack head on. Only later did I learn the driver’s autopsy showed he had had a massive heart attack. Jack was only three miles from the airport and the rental car return. There were no witnesses. The car flipped over an embankment and landed upside down. Jack dangled from the driver’s seat by the seatbelt.

  “Car accident.”

  I was grateful that Avi didn’t say anything stupid like most people do. The first question I usually get is “Was he drinking?” No, he wasn’t. “Was he speeding?” The police said there was no evidence of speeding. I hated these people because they always wanted to blame Jack for the accident. But I knew it wasn’t his fault.

  “I can’t imagine the pain you must feel losing someone that close.” He squeezed my hand. The look in his eyes reflected the sincerity behind his words.

  We reached the beach and spread out the mat. He gestured for me to sit down and then pulled the wine from the bag, clasped the bottom, and placed it against his forearm. “Mademoiselle,” he said, extending his arm forward, giving me a better view of the label.

  I nodded. He reached back into the bag, pulled out the waiter-style corkscrew, and flipped open the little knife, cutting away the capsule with the precision of a surgeon.

  He popped the cork like a magician pulling a rabbit from his hat. Then he poured a tiny bit into the cup and said something in French. When he extended it to me, he said something else in French and did a charade-like motion that indicated he wanted me to smell it.

  “Lovely,” I replied, using a tone that I hoped would sound snobby, to continue the game he was playing. “I detect undertones of raspberry and oak.”

  “And the taste, mademoiselle?” he asked, switching back to English.

  I swirled the red liquid around the flimsy plastic before taking a sip. “Perfection.”

  He filled my cup, bowed, and then plopped down beside me. “Good thing it’s ‘perfection,’ because it’s all we have.” He filled his cup and gently bumped it against mine. “L’chaim and to my beautiful date. Thank you for having dinner with me.”

  “As if you gave me the option to say no.”

  “True, so true.” He turned sideways, stretched out, and bent his elbow up so he could prop his head on his right hand, just like he did in the afternoon, holding the wine in his left.

  I remained sitting. His face hovered next to my hip. So close...his jawline strong and masculine. I reached out and ran my index finger from his ear to his chin. He closed his eyes and softly moaned.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I couldn’t resist.”

  “I’m not complaining.”

  The waves lapped the beach, rhythmic and sensual. The moon shone full and bright. Manhattan, Pittsburgh, and my real life didn’t exist in that moment.

  The only thing that mattered was that this beautiful man promised to kiss me, and I planned on holding him to it.

  “Was that a threat or a promise you made this afternoon?”

  His blue eyes froze me in my spot. He set the cup in the sand. “What do you want it to be?”

  I didn’t flinch and let myself enjoy being locked in his gaze. “A promise,” I whispered.

  “I never, ever break promises,” he replied slowly and seductively, taking the glass from my hand and placing it next to his.

  I leaned over and stroked his cheek. He pulled me down next to him and engulfed me in his arms. It wasn’t a kiss. A kiss is just the meeting of lips. This was a merger. Every part of me melted into him. For a moment, I imagined myself locked in his embrace forever. His tongue belonged in my mouth and mine belonged in his.

  Then I jerked away.

  Chapter 3

  “What’s wrong?” His face registered confusion.

  I couldn’t speak. What could I say? Your kiss was too powerful. Your lips felt too perfect. My body screamed for more than a kiss. But my brother is dead. I have no right to feel anything close to happiness while he lies in the ground.

  “Am I that bad of a kisser?” He clasped his fingers around mine. “Maybe I need more practice?”

  I shook my head and scrunched my eyelids together, trying to fight back the tears. When I opened them, the tears won, streaming down my cheeks.

  “Julie, what’s wrong?”

  He looked so handsome, backlit by the moonlight. I reached out and stroked his face, not caring that the tears wouldn’t stop. “The kiss was wonderful, and that’s the problem.”

  He scrambled to sit up then pulled me up. “Something is happening here that I don’t get. Can you fill me in on what I’m missing?”

  “I didn’t come to Thailand to be happy. I came to be alone and figure out where my life is going, and how I’m going to make it in the world without my brother. You see, it should have been me that died, not him. He was the good one. He deserved a long beautiful life.” I stroked Avi’s face again. “He radiated joy, like you. The Earth was a better place when he was on it. I offer nothing to the world compared to what he had to give.”

  “Stop it,” he said, wrapping me in his arms. “You are so wrong.”

  I placed my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Every day we took that sound for granted, but that continuous thumping was the song of life. Jack’s song ended--fair or not fair, it didn’t matter. But it rendered my heart beat a constant reminder of his absence.

  The sound I heard in Avi’s chest reminded me of everything Jack was going to miss. Here I was sitting in the soft sand of an exquisite tropical beach, drinking wine and kissing this sweet, handsome stranger, while my brother remained cold in his coffin. The tears turned to sobs and wouldn’t stop.

  “Let it out. It’s okay.” Avi repeated the words over and over while stroking my hair. He held me until the pain tapered from stabbing to a dull ache.

  Finally, I pulled away. “I’m so sorry. This is so embarrassing.” I looked around for something to wipe my nose with--nothing. “I’m sorry I ruined your night. I think I better leave.” I dried my wet cheeks with the back of my hand and slowly rose from the mat, not wanting to meet his gaze.

  In the moment it took to move from sitting to standing, another wave of pure sorrow threatened to activate my tear glands. It had nothing to do with losing my brother and everything to do with never seeing Avi again. “Thank you for the wine and dinner. It was lovely. I’m sorry I screwed everything up.”

  “Wait a minute. Where do think you’re going? I have a half of a bottle of wine here and two bags of gummy bears. Do you really think you can just cry and walk away? You need to sit back down on this mat and help me eat these.” He dangled the gummy bear bags from both hands.

  I felt the corners of my mouth lift, and relief inched over me. He continued swinging the bags, looking utterly adorable. “You don’t really want to share those with a crazy person,” I replied, wiping at my still-leaking eyes.

  “No, I don’t. I want to share them with you. Please, sit down.” He dropped one of the bags and reached for my hand. His expression was sincere. “Julie, don’t leave.”

  Chapter 4

  I sat back down. For the next hour, he kept his distance, no more kissing or touching. But he made me laugh until my side hurt, first by pretending to be a mad scientist “clinically” comparing the benefits of gummy bears over gummy worms. Then he launched into stories about the crazy antics of him and his friends during his time at Carnegie Mellon.

  I wanted to touch his happiness. I wanted to kiss it, but most of all I wanted to be part of it. Unable to restrain myself, I leaned in and placed my lips against his. He pulled back, reluctance clouded his eyes. I stroked his cheek, smiled, and watched the cloud lift. He wrapped me in his arms, finishing what we started. There were no fireworks or weak knees, just an overwhelming feeling of being home.

  He ran his fingers through my hair and then traced my mouth with his index finger. �
�So beautiful.”

  When the gummy bears were gone and the wine bottle empty, he picked up the mat. We walked, hand in hand, back to my hostel, passing bars packed with tourists hell bent on having as much fun as possible in seven-to-ten-day vacation. Patong Beach delivered on outrageous entertainment. The music blaring from the bars, restaurants, and dance clubs intermingled into one giant montage of sound.

  Inside these pickup joints, girls danced on bars and around poles while older men ogled.

  “I like the sound of the ocean. This chaos,” he swung his hand in an arc over his forehead, “isn’t good for anyone.”

  “If you don’t like this chaos, why have you stayed here for a month? Why don’t you pack up and trek to someplace else? I thought backpackers liked to keep moving?”

  “I hate to tell you this, but I’m not a backpacker.”

  I looked at him, the tan and the dreadlocks. “I thought...” I said, reaching for a lock.

  “You thought backpacker because of the hair and the tan.”

  “And the ripped cargo shorts and your encyclopedic knowledge of Southeast Asia.”

  “I’m a teacher. It’s summer vacation. The rabbi who runs the Chabad House is one of my best friends from childhood. I came here to hang out with him.”

  “Sorry, I judged you all wrong.”

  He shrugged. “The dreadlocks came into existence because I have this horrible curly hair. If I don’t get a haircut every two-weeks I look like an electrocuted mad scientist. This is just easier.”

  I squeezed his hand. “And sexy as hell.” I wasn’t sure, it was dark, but I thought that comment made him blush.

  “What was your brother’s name?”

  “Jack. He was four minutes older than me, and he never let me forget it.”

  “How long ago did it happen?”

  “It will be two years in September, but it still hurts like it was yesterday. He was more than my brother and my twin, he was my best friend.”

  “Why did you say, it should have been me? Do you think he’d be happy hearing you say that?”

  Like most people who’d never lost anyone close, Avi didn’t get it. They said stupid things, like, “He would want you to be happy.” “He wouldn’t want you sitting at home, crying.” As if Jack was going to come back and lecture me on how to live without him. I think, if he could come back, he’d say something like, “Dying sucks.” “I’m so pissed.” “Who won the Master’s golf tournament last year?” Maybe he’d be angry if he found me happy instead of crying. Maybe he’d say, “I’m dead, at least pretend to miss me--cry a little.” Or maybe he would say, “If it had been you, Jules, I would never let you go.”

  You couldn’t say all those things to people. They had good intentions. Usually, I just nodded. But, for some reason, I felt like telling Avi the truth. “I think he would be so pissed off at being dead. He wouldn’t care about my happiness.”

  “Maybe he’s happy where he is. Maybe his mission was completed, and he’s in a better place.”

  We walked in silence for a few minutes, fingers still intertwined. “That’s just a fantasy we tell ourselves to make dealing with loss bearable. He’s just dead. That’s all there is.”

  “I don’t agree with that.”

  I was about to reply when I tripped over a broken piece of sidewalk and fell forward, hitting the ground on my hands and knees. Avi dropped down beside me. “Are you okay? Can you get up? Does anything hurt?”

  I shook my head and began laughing, harder and harder. When he pulled me to my feet, I threw my arms around him and kept laughing.

  “What’s so funny? I don’t get it? Are you okay?”

  It took a minute, but I gathered myself enough to speak. “This evening has been the best and worst date ever. I made a complete ass out of myself, not once, but twice. I screwed up a kiss, that started out more beautiful than any I’d ever imagined, by crying my eyes out. Then I inadvertently led us into this ultra-depressing life-after-death conversation and fell on my face.” I shook my head then laid it on his shoulder. “Why are you still standing here with me?”

  He wrapped one arm around my waist and pulled me close. For a moment, I felt high off his scent. We stood close enough that our breath intermingled, chest to chest. His heart beat in chorus with mine. With his other hand, he clasped a lock of my hair and let it slide through his fingers, never moving his gaze from mine. “Bashert. It was just meant to be.”

  The hostel was only a few feet in front of us. It was time to say goodnight, and, I supposed, it would also be goodbye.

  “Well, I guess this is my stop.” I looked down at my feet.

  “Will you be at the beach tomorrow?” he asked, moving a step away from me.

  “Yeah, at three-thirty, in my new spot, away from the coconut tree.”

  He smiled. “Curiosity question, what do you do in the morning?”

  “I try to get in a run before it gets too hot. Some days, I go to the Chabad House to check my email and catch up on the news.” I motioned with my head toward the hostel. “There’s a TV inside, occasionally there’s something on in English. I watch television while the owner’s little boy, Lek sits beside me, playing with his Game Boy. He likes the fact that I usually have something laden with sugar for breakfast and share it with him. But, most mornings, I sit over there.” I pointed to a bench under another heliotrope tree. “And read. Nothing exciting.”

  “You’re a runner. I’m a swimmer. I try to hit the beach every morning before the masses and get in an hour-long swim.”

  “That would kill me,” I said.

  “The run would kill me.” He stepped closer. “It’s time to say goodnight. Thank you for a wonderful evening.”

  I smirked.

  “I’m completely serious.” He reached for me, nuzzled my neck, and kissed it in the soft spot under my ear.

  This time my knees melted.

  “Goodnight, Julie.” His goodnight kiss was soft and lingering, more sweet than passionate. His hand wandered down my back, stopping just below the waist of my shorts. He hesitated for a moment before running it even lower.

  I broke the kiss, said goodnight, and walked into the hostel.

  ***

  Inside my room, I ran my finger up the side of my neck, stopping at the spot where his lips rested only a few moments before, wishing they were still there. The little single bed against the far wall grabbed my attention. I wondered if two people could fit. Stop it. You don’t even know this guy, and you're imagining being in bed with him. Are you nuts?

  ***

  A tropical rain threatened to cancel my morning run. I stepped outside, inhaled the scent of jasmine that permeated the air before sticking my hand out, letting the water splash my palm--warm. I turned around, bounded up to my room, and pulled Jack’s old baseball cap from my backpack. There was no reason not to run. The hat would keep the rain out of my eyes.

  It turned out that tropical rain made perfect running conditions. The streets were empty, so I didn’t have to weave my way through meandering hungover tourists. Rather than suffocating in the ninety-percent humidity, the rain cooled my body. As I ran, I replayed the day before in my head, vacillating between being angry at myself for violating my reason for being in Thailand and being angry that I screwed up the date. My trip to Thailand was supposed to be an opportunity to think about my life and accept my new reality without Jack. A time for me to think and avoid unsolicited opinions dished out by friends and acquaintances in my old neighborhood, who had no business dishing out advice. But, most of all, running to Thailand was the best way to escape the lifeless orbs that used to be my father’s eyes.

  But somehow, all these thoughts kept being pushed aside by the memory of Avi’s kiss. If only I had held my emotions in check, maybe he would have asked to see me again. Halfway through the run, I began thinking like a teenager, mentally plotting ways to run into him at the Chabad House or possibly on the beach, during his morning swim. But, what would I say to him? He wouldn’t try t
o dodge me. He’d say hello and make a few minutes of small talk before remembering that he needed to be somewhere else, leaving me no opportunity to apologize for being an ass, which would sound lame anyway.

  The rain stopped when I was a block away from the hostel. I slowed down, enjoying the last few meters before settling into a cool-down walk. I loved the sensation of my lungs expanding and the sense of accomplishment that accompanied it. Hands on my waist, I paced in front of my building, dropping my gaze to the ground, letting my thoughts float, not focusing on anything external. My heart rate was still up when I lifted my head and blinked hard, spotting Avi sitting on my reading bench. His legs were stretched out in front of him, arms behind his head, and his eyes closed. I walked toward him. “Hi.”

  He opened his eyes and smiled when he saw me. “Hi, I dozed off.”

  His hair, shorts, and faded “The Clash” T-shirt were soaked. “Why are you sitting in the rain? How long have you been sitting here?”

  “I’m not sure, maybe a half hour or a little more. I finished my swim and came straight over, and I like rain. We don’t get much in Israel and, when we do, it’s cold.”

  My heart continued pounding against my chest, seemingly uninterested in returning to normal. Instead of cooling down, I wanted to jump up and down.

  “This morning I realized there were a lot of important questions I forgot to ask you last night, so I thought we could go get some coffee, and I could ask them.” He pushed a few dripping dreadlocks behind his ears.

  My body was still soaked with a mixture of sweat and rain. The brim of the baseball cap dripped water in front of my face. “Could you give me fifteen minutes to shower?”

  “Sure.”

  “Follow me,” I said, and his eyes widened.

  “You’re inviting me into the shower?”

  I grabbed his hand and pulled him from the bench. “No, you can wait in the lobby and start drying off.” I didn’t tell him that his suggestion sounded much better than mine. I playfully pushed him down onto the sofa in front of the TV. “Wait here.”