Happiness

[Translated from Persian]

I set the alarm for 9. I had said 11, you said "Isn't that late? Shouldn't you be at an immigration office?" I said 10:30. When the alarm went off, I silenced it and slept until 9:15. I got up and got ready, left at 9:30. I was hesitant to get coffee around the corner. I thought I'll come to you and you'll make me an espresso, then I thought let me get it, you’ll be more disheveled than to make me coffee. On my way to the cafe, I kept telling myself, you idiot, you die to see her for half an hour more, why didn't you wake up at 9? I don't answer and order the coffee. As usual, it's crowded and by the time I get out it's 9:45. As I start driving, I notice the gas needle is pointing to empty. Yesterday's laziness is now biting me. It will probably make it to the city, but definitely not back. I go to the gas station and start pumping. Faster! I think half a tank will be enough, I'll go sooner. Obsession doesn't allow it. I fill it up. I close the gas tank door in a rush and start driving. Google says I'll be there at 10:33. Not bad if I don't hit traffic.

I drive all the way at 80 and above. The Google needle, however, doesn't budge. 10:33. At 10, I send you a text to wake you up. I call at 10:15. You don't answer the first or second call. Anxiety. Have you changed your mind? If you don't wake up. If.. if.. You answer on the third if. I say I'll be there in ten minutes. You say why didn't you call sooner. I did, you didn't wake up. I'm going to get ready. Google is still 10:33. Now it's past 10:20 and I've taken the exit. There are a few red lights and a myriad of stop signs left. I stop and go every other one. I arrive. 10:31.

I text that I'm here. I get busy packing my things. The FedEx truck approaches from the front and parks on the right side of the street across from me. My heart starts pounding with possibility. Is it...? I've never been so happy to see a truck. The driver gets out, takes out the box. It's the right size. He takes it and puts it in front of the door and comes back. I feel like it went to the next house. I read the numbers out of the corner of my eye. Two. Four. Six. Butterflies in my stomach. I quickly pack everything up, when I look up the truck is gone and you are standing there with your beautiful hair and sleepy eyes staring at me.

I take your hand and pull you to the upstairs door. The box. We go inside. You excitedly open the box and take out the gramophone and put it on the table next to the wall. I hand you Leonard Cohen's "Songs of Love and Hate" and you put it on:

“You thought that it could never happen
To all the people that you became,
Your body lost in legend, the beast so very tame.
But here, right here,
Between the birthmark and the stain,
Between the ocean and your open vein,
Between the snowman and the rain,
Once again, once again,
Love calls you by your name.

Shouldering your loneliness
Like a gun that you will not learn to aim,
You stumble into this movie house,
Then you climb, you climb into the frame.
Yes, and here, right here
Between the moonlight and the lane,
Between the tunnel and the train,
Between the victim and his stain,
Once again, once again,
Love calls you by your name.”

We listen in silence. You contemplate. After the first song, you break the silence: "Do you want some coffee?"

I remember all the other events that led to this moment. That you were supposed to go to Los Angeles on Friday, so I sent the package to arrive on Thursday. That for a year I had doubts about whether I wanted to get the damn green-card, so I delayed every step of it so much that my fingerprinting was today at 1pm in San Francisco. That you were free in the morning and had an internship in the afternoon. To the clock, coffee, gas. To Bernie Sanders. To happiness, which means seeing your eyes, between 10:31 and 10:50am on December 8th, 2016.

behdad
19 December 2016
English translation: 2024
Menlo Park
[CC BY]