Brief Chronicle of Another Stupid Heartbreak

by Adi Alsaid

Iris chuckled. “What?”

  “It’s just that I’m one of those people that starts making comments about the weather when they feel a little awkward. Which I do right now. Not because of you crying, necessarily. It’s not you at all. It’s more my inability to handle social situations far outside my normal comfort level. Which this kind of is. So if I start talking about how it’s as sweaty as a lower back after walking around with a backpack on all day, that’s why.” I snapped my fingers a couple of times and bit my lip. “Damn it, I did it. I warned you.”

  Iris laughed. “Thanks.”

  “Thanks? For the rant?”

  “For trying to make me feel better. I’ve been doing such a good job holding it in all day. Then I sat here and saw some stupid guy wearing a T-shirt with the California flag on it and I just...” She crumpled a tear-soaked napkin in her fist and scrunched her mouth to the side. “Lost it.”

  I looked across the street toward the park. Guys in pedicabs were offering rides to the severely disinterested sunset picnic crowd. A group of middle-schoolers stood in a circle, kicking a soccer ball back and forth at each other. On the other side of the circle, people streamed in and out of the office buildings, a whole swarm of them entering the Whole Foods. “Do you want to talk about it?” I fiddled with my bag’s cloth strap, running my fingernail across the little bumps. “Off the record?”

  Iris seemed to consider it for a while. The tears had stopped flowing, and she’d rubbed away all the makeup streaks. Fully composed, she scooted back so she could lean against the step behind us. “I’m okay. It’s just that... Well, Cal and I are...” She took a deep breath. “We’re gonna split up.”

  I put on what I believed was an appropriately sympathetic face, angling my eyebrows just right. The sun was reflecting off the Columbus Circle shopping mall, making us both squint. “Wait. Did you just say ‘gonna’? As in, future tense?”

  Iris sighed, and then she ran her hand through her hair and fluffed it out, flipping her curls over to her other shoulder. “It’s weird and complicated. But yeah, future tense.”

  “I know I’m the one being the supportive listener here, and I’m totally open to letting you decide whatever you want to talk about and nothing more than that, but I’m gonna really need you to elaborate on that.”

  Cal had texted Iris the day after their breakup, saying he wanted to meet up and talk. Unlike some people, Iris had agreed and shown up, willing to hear out the person she still loved.

  “Then he asked me what day it was, and what day I was planning on leaving for California. Both of which he knew the answer to, which tipped me off that he was thinking something weird. He gets these out-there ideas and you can just tell by looking at him that his mind is whirring.”

  “I love it and hate it when they do that. The whole world is a possibility when they get that look, the most romantic sentiment you can imagine is on the tip of their tongues, but also your worst nightmare.”

  “Exactly!” Iris said. She laughed and wiped at the corner of her eye. “I thought he was just going to rehash the argument we’d had during our breakup about long distance not being all that bad.”

  I nodded, and was about to say how I knew all about that argument, but managed to shut my idiot mouth up. “So, what did he say?”

  “He said that we had eight weeks before I left, and why the hell would we waste those being heartbroken?” Iris crumpled the napkin I’d given her, then tossed it in her lap, shaking her head. “Then he went on this superlong speech about how I was right, how there was a point in time when we thought we were in the greatest romance of our lives, but we were teenagers fooling ourselves. That love is more complicated than how it feels at first.” Iris stopped as some taxis got into a honking match with each other. Someone on the street yelled at them to shut up and drive. “Then that smart-ass shrugged his shoulders and said our love always had an expiration date, whether it was the end of high school, our death, or something in between. But he believed the time hadn’t arrived yet.”

  Iris grabbed a new napkin from the stack in my hand, twisting it into a rope. That little piece of paper was so tightly wound I’m sure it could have supported something of real heft. Like two people drifting apart from each other. “So much for me not feeling comfortable opening up, right?”

  I laughed. “So, did he have, like, a pitch, or what?”

  “He said we should wait. That we could still break up, but on August 4 when I go to California. He said we should do exactly what every song and book and movie relentlessly tells us to—soak up every ounce of love that we still have between us. He said we shouldn’t take what we have for granted, at least while we can.”

  “Damn. So you said yes.” Iris was teasing me with this stuff. A column could have written itself in the time it took for her to tell me this story. Writing about love wasn’t the only way my words come pouring out of me. But there are certain topics that I don’t choose whether I’m going to write about them or not. This was one of them, and not writing about Iris and Cal was starting to hurt me, at least spiritually.

  “Of course I said yes.” Iris sighed. “I hadn’t been happy about breaking up, it was just a mature move I was trying to make. My love for Cal hadn’t gone anywhere, it was still sitting right there alongside the heartache.” Another burst of car honks, which I guess were there with us the whole time and I just noticed them occasionally. The air had cooled ever so slightly, so that sitting outside with Iris felt surprisingly comfortable. “I hadn’t even had time to really process the heartache, you know. And here he was spouting poetry at me and the promise that I could have more joy, which is what I really wanted. The worst part is that now I can really feel it coming. Now I know it’s there waiting for me.”

  She looked at me briefly, as if I was the embodiment of that future heartache.

  “Yeah,” I said. “It does that.”

  10

  BACK TO COLUMBUS CIRCLE

  It was not yet twilight, but that Manhattan-specific presunset brought on by the shadows of buildings, that canopy of steel and glass. Iris adjusted herself, crossing her legs in front of her. I mimicked her position, my heart quietly pounding with excitement. Glancing inside my bag, I noticed my notebook resting on top of Iris’s shirt. God, I wanted to pull it out and write down all that she was telling me. My thoughts were swirling with questions and ruminations, words, those magnificent bastards. They were on the verge of returning, I could feel it.

  “Sorry about talking for so long,” Iris said. “You didn’t sign up to be my therapist. I shouldn’t have unloaded on you like that.”

  “It’s okay, I love hearing about other people’s lives. Remember?”

  Iris gave me a tight-lipped smile, then looked away.

  Subtle, Lu.

  We both looked around us at the New Yorkers continuing on with their lives. Suits, briefcases, retail polo shirts, bike messengers with their tattoo-and-gauged-earring uniforms, the worn clothes of homeless people, the glamour of the rich, the more appealing glamour of those who fashioned stylish outfits from less, women in hijabs, tourists in socks and sandals. People watching in New York always leads to clichéd reflections about the lives of strangers, and surprise, surprise, at this point I had a particularly hackneyed thought about their love lives, a superficial curiosity to know the state of their romantic relationships, a fleeting desire to know more about them.

  I glanced at Iris, wondering what I would have said if Leo had come up with a proposal like Cal’s. “I should probably give you your shirt back.” I reached in and pulled it out, smoothing out the wrinkles.

  “Thanks.” She set it on her lap.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, thanks. Just imagining how many people’s social media accounts I ended up on.”

  “Oh, you’re definitely on mine.”

  Iris laughed. “Great, good to know. You probably don’t have a lot of fo
llowers though, right?”

  “Nah, just a couple hundred thousand. Most of them people you admire.”

  “Cool, cool.” She chuckled. “So, this is a totally normal way to hang out with someone for the first time.”

  “Technically it’s our second hangout, which I think is a perfectly acceptable time to break down in tears. Life is short, right? Kiss on the first date, weep on the second. That’s a saying.”

  “Absolutely.” Iris smiled at me, looked across the street at the park. “So, your turn to cry, then?”

  “Sure, just show me a viral video of a human being decent to another human and I’ll instantly turn into a slobbering mess of tears and feelings.”

  A few quiet moments passed, and I started to wonder if I could try for an interview again, though I didn’t want to press it so soon. “So, Lu. Tell me about yourself. You return wallets. You write things. You cry at people being nice to each other online. What else?”

  “I think that’s the whole list. Oh, I also won a spelling bee in fifth grade, but didn’t accept the prize for political reasons.”

  “Wow. What were those?”

  “It was a Halloween-themed spelling bee and the prize was a bunch of peanut-butter cups.”

  “So?”

  “So, screw peanut butter.”

  Iris did the thing that everyone does when I say something to the effect of “peanut butter is a scourge upon this earth.” She dropped her jaw and widened her eyes as if I’d just attempted to kill her mother. I nodded confidently to show I wasn’t going to retract my statement.

  After a few moments Iris ruffled her hair. “I guess it’s good that you revealed yourself to be a sociopath now instead of later.” She chuckled. “What about that writing gig you have? How long have you been doing it?”

  I told her that it’d been about a year, then explained that I hadn’t really set out to write about relationships until Hafsah pointed out that her favorite part of my writing was my musings on teenage love.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket, probably my mom wondering when I was coming home. Just for the comfort of it, I grabbed my notebook from out of my bag. I opened it up and flipped through the few pages I’d filled out since my breakup. Eavesdropped snippets of dialogue, an ill-fated attempt at a poem about heartbreak and Leo’s eyes, some crappy doodles. “So, have you thought about me maybe interviewing you? With this new info I’m even more interested in writing about you.”

  Iris took a deep breath. “No, not really. I’ve been bummed out all day so hadn’t thought about it much, sorry.”

  “No worries.”

  I thought about what I could say to convince her, but the only thing going through my mind was just a video loop of me reaching my hand out hungrily and saying, “Give it to me!” That probably wouldn’t sway her. I stretched my legs out, my eyes following a gorgeous Latino man walking his dog and grooving out to some music on his headphones.

  “I guess I don’t really know why you’re interested in us,” Iris said. “I’m sure there’s plenty of other people in our position. Couldn’t you just write about yourself?”

  I watched as a group of tourists scampered across the road, trying to avoid getting hit by angry cabbies yelling out their windows. She’d shifted positions again, now sitting at the edge of the step, her arms down at her sides, elbows locked.

  “The thing is, I haven’t really been able to write since my breakup. Nothing comes out. But...” I paused so I wouldn’t accidentally mention my initial eavesdropping. “Since we met the other night, I’ve had the specific urge to write about you. I don’t understand why or how, but I don’t really understand much about inspiration anyway. I’m sorry if that sounds creepy.”

  “No, it’s not creepy. It’s just I don’t think we’re that interesting.”

  She bit her bottom lip, avoiding eye contact with me. In her body language, I could see my article fading away before my eyes. I could picture too all of the repercussions unfurling like flowers shedding themselves of their petals. The emails that would flow in, one after the other. Hafsah terminating my contract, the foundation informing me that I no longer qualified for my scholarship, NYU asking for the first payment of the semester.

  “‘We are brought up in ethic to believe that others, any others, all others are by definition more interesting than ourselves,’” I said, quoting Joan Didion. “I think that’s how it goes anyway. Maybe you’re underestimating yourself.”

  Iris flicked away something that had landed on her dress, then kept brushing the same spot over and over again. “I mean, that’s a nice sentiment, but whether or not we’re interesting isn’t really my main objection.”

  “What is?”

  “I just don’t want to dwell. You saw me a second ago, weeping in public.”

  “Yeah, the video’s getting a ton of views already,” I said, trying to win her over with some levity.

  “I’ve got the summer left with Cal, after which I’ll be consumed by heartbreak for a bit. I don’t want to sully these next few weeks by overthinking our relationship, our decision to break up.” Her voice nearly broke on the last sentence, and I wondered if I was being a bit of an asshole. I could have told her about the scholarship at that point, tried to convince her a little longer. But then I saw the sadness threatening to break through again and I just couldn’t do it.

  I could see her wanting to flee from the conversation the same way I want to flee...well...most conversations. Maybe changing the topic was a selfless thing to do then, or maybe just the obvious right thing to do. “Alright,” I said. “You guys definitely are interesting enough to write about. Especially now that you have this new arrangement. But I did once write a whole column about the love lives of potatoes, so maybe I’m not the best judge of what’s interesting.”

  Iris visibly relaxed, a throaty laugh emanating from deep within her lungs. Relief. “Really? And they ran it?”

  “Hell no. I compared those little bumpy wart things they have to STDs. My editor thought it was a joke.”

  A breeze blew past, the first satisfying one of the day. “God, that felt good,” Iris said, just as I was thinking it. She closed her eyes to the cool air, and for a moment I could see what a great match she and Cal made. The way he acted with me on the bench, of course he’d end up with a girl that closed her eyes to the breeze. It was either obvious hipster inclinations, or me reading a bit too much into two people I didn’t know at all. “You wanna take a walk somewhere?” Iris asked.

  Out of habit, I reached into my pocket to check my phone. As I’d suspected, my mom had texted. But I could read the tone of her message, which was still merely inquisitive, and not yet laced with passive-aggressiveness, and she was still a few texts away from full-on aggression. There was also a message from Pete, telling me that he was going to be at the Barnes and Noble at Union Square if I wanted to hang out.

  “Sure,” I said, putting my phone away. “I’ve got some time before my mom freaks out about my absence.” I stood up, brushing my butt off.

  We headed into the park, where the early evening athletes were out in hordes. Joggers stretched against light posts, and cyclists weaved around pedestrians, calling out “on your left” as they passed by. One of those peanut carts was parked at the entrance, the honey-roasted smell wafting over to us. All around the park, people were having the kind of day that made me realize I didn’t come to Central Park often enough. Picnics and Frisbees and canoodling on blankets, sneaking sips from wineglasses.

  “This is nice,” I said, because neither one of us had said anything in a while.

  “Yeah. I’m gonna miss this place when I’m gone.”

  “What made you pick California for college?”

  “Mostly the school. I’m going to Pepperdine, and just seeing the pictures of the campus I knew I had to go. It’s right on the water, which just fills me with this overwhelming sense of in
ner peace. They also have a decent international business program, which is what I told my parents the choice was about. But it’s been my dream for a couple of years. I can’t believe I get to finally go soon.”

  “Do you not like living in New York?”

  We turned off West Drive down one of the smaller jogging paths. Iris crossed her arms in front of her chest as she walked. “It’s not that. I love the city. But I don’t want to spend my whole life here. I want to try a change of pace for a while. Something calmer. I don’t want to just live in one place and not know what other cities have to offer.”

  “I have no idea what people want with calm lives,” I said, stepping out of the way of a couple jogging in matching spandex. “I love chilling every now and then, yeah. But a calm life freaks me out. Too much time alone with my thoughts is literally the most terrifying thing I can imagine. Like, if you were a filmmaker, and wanted to scare the hell out of me, make a ninety-minute movie where it’s nothing but a blank screen.”

  “Really? I love sitting with just my thoughts for a while.” We turned within view of The Pond, which was glinting in the sun. I reached into my bag and grabbed my scratched-up pair of five-dollar sunglasses. “It’s a bit of a trip, sure,” Iris went on, “but in kind of an incredible way. I can time travel into memories or fantasies, I can picture a million different parallel universes, keep myself entertained for hours with nothing but a bunch of tiny bursts of electricity happening in my brain.”

  “God, that sounds like the worst.”

  Iris laughed, a full throaty sound, immensely pleasing because it wasn’t one of those polite chuckles which is the usual response people give to my jokes. “I mean, aside from the abject horror of consciousness, it’s pretty amazing.”

  We wandered through the park as the sun slowly set, as if it had a choice on when to give way to night. Iris talked a little more about California, and how she was legitimately excited about studying international business and trying to learn Mandarin. I was curious about how Cal felt when she talked like this around him, since I remembered what it felt like when Leo got psyched about going upstate for school, even when we were still planning on staying together. But I was having fun just shooting the shit with her and so I tried to forget about anything that had to do with her relationship.