A love like the waves (short story)

      When I met Katharine, it was perhaps the least memorable or spectacular moment of my life. It was back when we were still in college, back in the days we were all always busy yet still found time to go to the bar frequently, as if we had factored Happy Hour into our weekly schedule. Actually, I had. Made things less stressful that way.

      It was at one of these many Happy Hours in my first year that we met. At the time I was studying business (as if that was ever a good idea), and she was studying psychology like half of the student base. The bar was this pub on campus run by the Student council that was alright during Happy Hour but for some reason tried to be a club every Saturday night. The lighting in the bar was never consistent. It was either uncomfortably bright or too dark. The dimmers didn't work apparently. It was definitely not anyone's first choice, but it was close and the pitchers were like 50% cheaper than anywhere else during Happy Hour, so it won our poor student hearts.

      When I met Katharine, it was one of the bright nights, which is the worse of the two to meet someone. In that light, you could see every little detail on their face – and they yours – and this never boded well for me. It was her first Happy Hour. She had been dragged there by a mutual friend of ours, who introduced us as she made her rounds from table to table. We exchanged the standard pleasantries and then they took their leave, and I promptly forgot about Katharine. Now don't get me wrong, Katharine was – is – attractive, but when you're in college, there's no lack of attractive people. They're freaking everywhere, so getting hung up on someone because they're attractive is a great way to fall in love with the whole student base. So I moved on, and that was it. Like I said, nothing spectacular.

      And yet somehow five years later we found ourselves standing across each other at the altar, promising each other our own ever afters. It was never what I had expected. I expected an explosion when I met my future wish, and instead I got a remarkably unspectacular experience. I'd thought I'd know right away, but instead I was really only sure about it the night of our honeymoon. Before then, I thought something could go wrong.

      We had been married three years and together for six when I met Carolina. It was at a coworker's party at his new apartment downtown. Katharine was feeling tired and didn't really know him so she stayed home. I promised not to stay out too late, suspecting the party to be a bust like the majority that he tried to host. But I was wrong. It had a good turn out, about twenty people in total, and more alcohol than we could have ever needed. I gathered all of this the moment I walked in, being able to see the alcohol stash from the entryway. I had only been there five minutes when Harvey – my coworker and our gracious host – introduced me to his younger sister, Carolina.

      When my eyes met her cobalt eyes, I felt my whole world explode and my body burst into nervous but passionate flames, like a writer hopelessly devoted to writing but afraid to share it. In that moment, something in me clicked, as if her gaze had reached into me and pressed a button marked “self-destruct”. It was incredible. It was spectacular. The most spectacular thing I had ever experienced.

      “Hey Josh, this here's my younger sister, Carolina.” Harvey had said, his arm slung over my shoulder, his free hand motioning to the cobalt-eyed beauty with a soft face and short dark brown hair. “Carolina, this is my coworker Josh.”

      There was a moment of pause, when we just stood there as if we were porcelain dolls unable to move. Then she broke the scene and stretched her hand out to me. “Nice to meet you, Josh. Harvey's told me about you.”

      “Oh yeah?” I shook her hand and tried to keep my cool as if the feeling of her smooth skin wasn't like having bombs dropped on top of me. “Good things, I hope?”

      “If they were bad, do you think I'd bother inviting you?” He replied with a laugh, promptly getting distracted and wandering off saying, “enjoy yourself! Get a drink or something!”

      “Who's Carolina?” Katharine asked me in an unaccusing tone. It had been eight months since the party. We were at our apartment having our usual Saturday morning tea.

      “Carolina? Harvey's sister. Why?” I replied. I hadn't mentioned her once, have never kept a journal or diary or whatever, and I knew she didn't go through my phone.

      “I had trouble sleeping last night. But you seemed to sleep fine, and you muttered her name a few times.” I knew she wasn't accusing me of anything, that she was just curious and making conversation, but I felt guilty nonetheless. “What were you dreaming about?”

      “I don't remember. Honestly, the name probably got into my head from that song I've been listening to recently. You know, the one where they say 'Carolina, Carolina' in it. You know how dreams are.” I answered and she accepted it, not knowing that I had only started listening to the song because of Carolina.

      “You know what sucks about you?” Carolina said as we walked along the river. “You're kind of a shithead, but you're such a gentleman about it. If you just left your wife, we can finally get on with our lives. Come on, Josh. I'm sick of waiting. I want you all to myself.” She stopped and pressed herself against me. “And I know you want me to. I can feel it every time I do this.” Her hand slid down and I pulled out of reach. “what's wrong?”

      “This will be the last time we meet.” I told her. “That's why I wanted to see you tonight.”

“What? You're kidding. I know you're a bit of a coward, but seriously, you love me not your wife.” She replied, ready to fight with me to the very end. “I'm the one you felt the click with. I'm the special one, and if you choose her over me you'll always regret it, always want me instead. You know this as well as I do, so why bother denying it?”

      “I used to want this more than anything. I thought this was how love worked, that it just happened to you, that it was spectacular and explosive.” I confessed. “Katharine and I have never been spectacular, or explosive for that matter. We have never been a great tidal wave that engulfs everything. Our love has never been like that. No, our love is like the waves that constantly wash up on shore. It's constant and dependable, able to carve out rock in the way instead of crashing over it and being dragged back out to sea.” I turned to face her. “I'm sorry, but I want my love to be ordinary like sunlight, not rare and magnificent as an eclipse.”

-Zero

What it could be (poem)

“That's just how the world is,”

some say with tones of defeat,

a suggestion to accept the world as is,

as if it can't change.

When they see an untended garden,

or an old worn down building,

do they see it as impossible to improve,

as some eternal unchanging mess?

What inspires them?

Is it a fear of failure?

Or hopelessness about the future?

Or an unwillingness to accept their wrongdoings?

But just as a sapling becomes a tree in time,

the world will change by nature,

regardless of those who say otherwise,

shaped by those who saw what it could be.

The heroes of the stories we tell

are those who dare to see the world

not only as it is, but for what it could be,

and choose to fight to change it.

-Zero

Made of Stone (poem)

I've sometimes wished I was made of stone,

into a statue nobody cares about,

a human figure with no sense or mind,

impervious to the events of the world.

Wouldn't it be nice to shut it all off?

To no longer be able to think of climate change,

of the threat of war and corruption,

of those who die due to other's carelessness?

There are those who pretend to be made of stone,

those who can pretend it isn't happening,

choosing to ignore and deny the problems of the world,

instead of facing the truth and helping.

There's something tragic about being made of stone,

something that borders on being inhuman.

It means being unchanging, solid,

but we were made to be fluid, to change.

Stone is uncaring, unfeeling,

but we were born into care and feeling.

Stone exists solely alone,

but we exist solely together.

Being made of stone requires giving up ourselves

to try to become something we can never be,

all out of fear, sorrow, or worse,

to live in a world of delusion.

I've sometimes wished I was made of stone,

just to be numb to the world,

but I'd rather be flesh and bone,

to feel and to act.

-Zero

Days of Exuberance (poem)

Those days are gone now,

those days of exuberance,

of reciting William Blake at parties,

of a fourfold vision of singing Jerusalem,

of dancing to Dschinghis Khan's “Moskau”.

Of discussing philosophy at the bar,

of losing ourselves to excess,

of distinguishing our lives through dance -

before dancing and after -

laughing at our finitude.

Those days are gone,

its members have been scattered,

plane tickets bought,

apartments left empty,

but the dancing is far from over.

-Zero