“But what if you die?” I asked foolishly, trying to make fun of him.
“If I die – then keep my ashes with you, and I will stay with you forever. I promise that. But in case, if my presence would make you feel uncomfortable, then empty my ashes to where we began and I will be gone!” He replied carelessly, but little did I know that he meant each and every word he said.
The pieces of the puzzle started to make sense. I finally knew what I had to do.
I had to go back to the origin - the place where we met for the first time. I took the urn that was in the living room, the same urn that had its ashes and packed it carefully inside the car. There it was, staring at me from the passenger seat as I sat in the driver’s seat, mocking me, challenging me to hit the break.
As I turned my car on, I knew that it was going to be a tough ride. I was right. I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about the first day we met, almost seven years back. I was just done with my college and back home. Since there were no friends or other companions, I decided to go for a trekking expedition by myself. I drove towards the end of the town and where the mountain land would commence. After trekking for almost seven hours, I realized that I was walking in circles. I was lost and couldn’t find even a single ounce of civilization to seek shelter.
It was then when I saw a trekker who was sitting near the fire. I ran towards the fire and was welcomed by Dan.
“I think I’m lost!” I said in a completely helpless way.
“No, you are not!” He smiled at me with his amethyst blue eyes and I knew, I just knew that I wasn’t lost at all. Since it was dark, he offered me food and a place to stay. I knew it was not a safe option, nevertheless, it felt so safe with him. That night, we talked and talked until the sun came back again the next morning. We figured out that we had the same taste in almost everything – from movies to music, and art to sports. It was like talking to your own reflection.
The next morning we decided to hit the road and came back towards the end of the trek. He dropped me near my car and I thanked him for his kind gesture.
“Thank you for everything. I would certainly be lost without you,” I said and thanked him for his full-hearted support.
“Well, in that case, I’m glad that you found me,” he passed me that same enigmatic smile and I couldn’t stop smiling thinking about his lively smile and crystal blue eyes. He could make me smile even in the middle of my darkest thoughts.
I stopped my car at the same place and held the urn closely in my arms. I was on the outskirts of the city and the road divided the huge grasslands into two sides. I held the urn closely to my heart and started to walk towards the place where I met him for the first time. I was visiting that place after almost seven years, but the way from the main highway to the designated place was registered in the back of my mind like an unforgettable childhood memory.
After walking for another half an hour, I finally reached the desolated place. I could see an endless trail of eucalyptus trees in every direction. The meadow blew a strong symphony of the southern winds and touched each and every cell of my being. With the wind, I could also feel Dan’s presence in the atmosphere.
“You can do this,” he would tell me whenever I’d lacked the courage to overcome an adversity like this.
“I know I can. But I don’t want to,” was all I could come up with. There is this thing about letting go. It is never a right time to let go of someone’s memory, especially if that person is so utterly close to you. You can visit the whole damn world and can spend an entire lifetime with someone’s memories in your mind. Letting go sometimes can be the hardest decision, but if taken, can also end up being the wisest one. Letting go of Dan’s memories was surely the toughest decision of my life.
I opened the urn and with the strong gush of wind, I let it go. I let go of his ashes gradually, and as the wind blew it all away, I could strongly feel as if it was Dan who was showing his approval. He wanted me to let go of him too. He wanted to find peace, but the only thing that was keeping him earthbound was me. He was here for me. He has always been here for me.
As his ashes flew towards the horizon, with a strong rush of the wind, they came back again. They filled the empty space in front of my eyes and slowly formed his face. He looked back at me with his perfectly shaped eyes and sharp lips. A tear dropped out of my eyes and I saw him. I knew it would be the last time when I would be looking at him like this. It would be the last goodbye.
Saying goodbye is very important in every relation. We never got a chance to say goodbye, to bid farewell. We didn’t get a proper closure and that was our goodbye. That was our moment.
I touched his face for that one last time and with that single touch, the ashes deformed into an abstract design, forming into nothingness. The strong wind which brought Dan to me took him away as well, forever, with everything that I had of him. My every memory, every kiss, every touch started to fade away. I finally brought myself to the conclusion that Dan was gone. He was my past and I had to move on with my life.
I finally let go of him. I couldn’t feel his presence anymore. I knew that he was gone and that he has found peace. The way it should.
Dan was my one true love, and he will always be the core of my being, no matter where I go or what I do, but he will always hold the key to my heart. He saved me in every possible way that a person can be saved. He brought me back to life and I will always be grateful to him for that. I will always love him forever, knowing that he has found peace. I will surely travel the world, meet new people, laugh out louder, drink more and live my life the way I should. That is exactly what Dan would have wanted. I will do whatever I want to do, whatever I need to do. But meanwhile, in the midst of all those liaisons of heart, of the all the connections between my past and future, of everything that has been done and whatever it is that is about to come, I will live. I’m alive because of Dan. I’m right here because of him, and I will live.
I will just live.
THE END
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THE SECRET KISS
Three senior boys of The John Crisham, a preparatory school for the elite in Manhattan, New York City, were talking animatedly on a cold September afternoon. One handsome dark-brown haired boy, named Nate Hughes by his steel mogul father and gold digger mother, was the center of attention in that bleary afternoon. It was lunch break and he and his friends were in the Velvet Cafe to discuss Nate's summer conquest.
"...And when I finally gave it into her, she squealed like a firework about to explode!" Nate's face lit up as he reached the climax of his story on how less than two weeks ago, he had devirginized the shy Samantha Argof, a bookish yet pretty blonde who often wore pink-framed Dolce & Gabbana glasses. His two friends, Victor Richmond and Mark Galer, each had a smirk plastered on his face.
"Well then," Nate continued, "it looks like I've kept my end of the bargain, so you guys had better pay up." He held one palm out at them and did a come-at-me gesture with his fingers.
Victor shrugged. "Alright, alright. Fair enough." He pulled out an expensive brown leather wallet from the pocket of his trousers and fished out five crisp 100 dollar bills. He held out the money across the marble cafe table, but as Nate began to reach for it, his fingers tightened on the cash.
"Wait," Victor said, "I want the evidence."
Mark, who was in the middle of counting his end of the bargain from his Hermes wallet, looked up and nodded.
"I thought you'd never ask," Nate grinned. He effortlessly whipped out his cell phone and began pressing a few buttons. Within seconds, he was showing a rather graphic photo to them.
It was Samanath Argof, fast asleep and spread-eagled in her birthday suit. The tousled strawberry blonde curls that framed her soft, round face looked like they were pushed back to intentionally reveal her identity. Tiny purple bruises on her small breasts surrounded her large pale pink nipples. Right next to her was a wide awake Nate, dressed in a red robe and grinning, his right arm str
etched out to hold the camera that was used to capture this extremely private moment for all eternity; his left hand was held close to his body and was doing the thumbs up sign.
Victor and Mark handed him a total of one thousand dollars.
"It's always a pleasure doing business with you two gentlemen," Nate said smugly as he tucked the money into his uniform's breast pocket, "I look forward to next summer. Especially now that it's going to be your turn to take on the cherry popping challenge, Victor."
"Alright," Victor said, "who's going to be the lucky lady for me this time? Mark, it's your turn to pick for me, isn't it?"
"Yes," Mark said, his eyes gazing with a secret longing at Victor's perfectly formed matte black fohawk, "it is."
"Okay, so who's it going to be?" Victor leaned back on the polished red velvet backrest of their booth.
Mark thought for a moment. It is clear that most of the girls in Crisham had a sexual longing for Victor, which means it was more of a challenge for him to choose a virgin who wouldn't give it up than it is for Victor to pop her cherry. But he had been up all night thinking about it, and now he had the perfect answer. Sure, he had accepted the sordid fact that Victor was never going to fall for him, yet he still couldn't stand the thought of him in bed with yet another girl. It had to be so big of a challenge that Victor would just give up halfway through his conquest.
"C'mon man, it can't be that hard," Victor said, his hands clasped behind his head.
Mark cleared his throat. "Gina Gavalas," he said.
The mention of the name caused Nate to choke in his French vanilla cappuccino. Victor's eyes widened, but he stayed relaxed.
"That's a death warrant," Nate said reprovingly. But all three of them knew the rules; they've been playing this game since they were freshmen.
"Okay," Victor said, "Challenge accepted."
Mark repressed a sigh. He had hoped that Victor would shake his head and just pay him. He could have at least begged him to pick someone else. But it looked like the subject of his secret unrequited love was more determined than he had expected.
The deal was made, and the three boys shook hands on it.
A single look at sixteen-year old Gina Gavalas would be enough for anyone to agree with the fact that she's hot. Well, to be honest, she wasn't the typical rich Manhattan blonde and blue-eyed girl kind of hot. One can say that she might even be the opposite of that description. Her hair was raven black with a hint of auburn and she wore it in long and naturally soft waves. At first, you would assume that her catlike eyes were pale brown, but if you look closely at them you will notice that they were more of an ethereal amber shade. The color of her smooth skin was warm olive, a sharp contrast to the mostly pale and orange tan tones of the other girls in Crisham. But what makes Gina hot instead of simply pretty was the sinful sensuality of her body. She was the epitome of the hour glass figure: full, perky breasts, a small, firm waist, and delicately curved hips.
In some ways, Gina was like Samantha Argof. She was just as quiet and shy, and she often lurked in the library in between school hours to read old books and write in her tattered moleskin journal. But unlike Samantha Argof, she had a rather intimidating family background. Actually, cross out the "rather." Gina's father was a powerful Greek billionaire who owned one of the largest shipping centers in the Upper East Side of Manhattan. It was an unwritten rule, even among the pampered rich kids of Crisham, to never ever mention the open secret that Stavros Gavalas was strongly connected to the now mysterious Philadelphia Greek Mob in New York City. Toying with the name itself would be the act of a foolish person with a death wish. Eight years ago, a hotshot, but bigheaded junior executive of a prestigious bank took it upon himself one drunken Friday night to brag to his equally drunk friends that he had overheard a private conversation going on between Gavalas and his right-hand man, Dimitri Sanfilippo in The Sandman Lounge. Mister Hotshot had claimed that it had something to do with 50 million dollars' worth of stocks in cocaine, and that Gavalas ordered Sanfilippo to make sure that the trade would go smoothly. Although the junior executive was not able to reveal much to his friends because his knowledge of Greek was limited to the words "50 million dollars" and "cocaine", he was found dead three days later in a dirty alleyway in the Bronx, a part of the state which his friends said he "never went to." But there was no evidence to prove that Gavalas had anything to do with the murder. This case, along with hundreds of other cold cases connected with Gavalas, was slid into a dusty file drawer.
Gina was fond of September, because it meant she could visit the school library once more. She missed hearing the clicking sound of her heels on the old mahogany floor as she walked across the book aisles. She had looked forward all summer to go hunting once more for out-of-print copies of her favorite classics. She especially liked sitting in the old, leather chair by the huge glass window and getting lost in the worlds of mermaids, dragons, and knights in shining armor. It was a Thursday afternoon and she had just finished the last class for the day, which was Trigonometry with Professor Evanovich. As she was halfway through with her five-minute walk to the library to borrow and later on re-read Jane Eyre, she felt her cell phone vibrate against her thigh. She stopped in front of the ladies' toilet, took out her phone, pressed answer and said, "Geia sas, Ingrid."
"Miss Gavalas, I am sorry to disturb you, but your father wants you home right now." It was Ingrid, the Scandinavian woman whom her father had hired to care for her ever since her mother died six years ago.
"Why?" Gina asked. Although she had a copy of Jane Eyre at home, it was the library's quintessential classic edition that made the experience of reading the book exceptional.
"I have not been informed of the reason, child," Ingrid said, "but your car is now at the school gate."
Gina sighed. She changed direction and marched off to the front gates of Crisham High. The moment she got there she caught sight of her bodyguard, Nabil, who was leaning against the lustrous black Cadillac that was always used to fetch her from school and everywhere else, for that matter.
" Geia sas, Nabil," she smiled at him.
"Kali̱spera, Miss Gavalas." He did not smile back. Instead, he opened the backseat door for her and helped her get into the car. As usual, Gina scribbled in her moleskin journal all throughout the ride home to her apartment suite. Writing in a moving vehicle was a skill she had learned to master at the age of ten.
In her journal, she wrote:
Victor Richmond acted strangely today. He tried to talk to me during lunch break at the library, but old Madame Rubin shushed him. I could barely read the words from my book because he was sitting next to me and I think he was glancing at me every now and then while pretending to read an equestrian magazine. LOL! I could barely contain myself when Sherry Peterson and her friends glared at me when they saw us walk out of the library together. Yeah, she's been in love/lust with him ever since the beginning of prep school, but... I sooo did not expect him to escort me all the way back to my History class. Hmm... But he did and that's just... Well, to be honest, he's so cute! I heard he went out with Diana Palmer two summers ago, but I guess they broke up after she moved to Germany...
Gina stopped writing and tucked her moleskin journal back into her schoolbag the moment her car drove into the spacious garage of The Bleu Royale, her home for four years now. She lived in the penthouse suite, which she shared with Ingrid and her father (who most likely has another apartment knowing that he barely sleeps there). She waited for Nabil to park the car for, without Ingrid, she had to let him escort her to the suite.
As soon as she entered the pearly white and gold-gilded double doors of her home, she was greeted by Ingrid. The woman was in her mid-forties, kept her hair perpetually up in a tight halo braid, and always managed to maintain the same stoic facial expression.
"Kali̱spera, Miss Gavalas. I have been informed by your father that you are to prepare for a party that will start at seven o'clock."
"Okay."
"Your dress is in
the bedroom. I shall help you get ready for this event, then Nabil will drive you to the venue," she said all this in a business-like manner, which was typical of her.
"But I've got homework to do."
"Your professors have been informed of your responsibility to attend this event and, therefore, should allow you to submit your homework after the weekend."
She ushered Gina into her bedroom. Inside her walk-in closet, Gina saw a beautiful emerald green strapless long gown and pale gold open-toed Prada pumps.
"Who is Baba spending a fortune for this time, Ingrid?" Gina asked.
"By now you ought to know that I am not provided with that kind of information, Gina."
"Oh. Right," Gina replied before she stepped into her bathroom. She was used to attending some of her father's galas, which were often dedicated to his business partners who flew in from Europe every month or so. Her presence in those parties, she suspected, was not because she was the apple of her father's eye, but because he wanted everyone to perceive him as the kind and loving father to a soft-spoken teenage girl and not as the terrifying tycoon and notorious mobster that he really was.
He must be on his toes tonight, she thought as she began lathering up her Molton Brown Eucalyptus and Temple Tree body wash, otherwise he wouldn't have called for me to be there on such short notice.
A weeknight was an unusual time for Stavro Gavalas to throw an expensive party on the 45th floor of 500 Park Avenue, a luxurious marble expanse reminiscent of the roaring 1920s. Nevertheless, all of the powers that be on the guest list were present, albeit fashionably late. After all, the gala was a suit and tie affair, an opportunity for the insanely rich and powerful to rub shoulders with each other. Gina was standing at a corner in her green Versace gown, fingering the diamond Bvlgari necklace wrapped around her smooth and long neck. For tonight she had her beautiful dark hair swept up into a loose chignon and her eyes made up with smoky eyeshadow to make her look more ladylike and mature. They had just finished having dinner and her father had already introduced her to the guest of honor, who happened to be one of the senators of the state. She had played her part so she was now free to do whatever she wanted until she gets sleepy.
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