Read Online The Letter Opener by Kyo Maclear - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kyo Maclear
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who adore the idea of having a live-in companion, couples who toss their laundry casually into the washing machine and delight in knowing that their clothes tumble dry together, couples who believe that cohabitation represents the pinnacle of love. As much as I love Paolo, as much as it reassures me to be in his company, I cannot imagine being part of such a couple. Ever since I was a child, I’ve needed space to myself. I’ve always enjoyed the melancholy world of single portions, solitary walks and undisturbed nights. I thought he shared this inclination. It was one of the qualities that made him attractive to me.
“I’m here half the time as it is. I just don’t have my stuff here.”
My silence was too long; it angered Paolo. “It’s only stuff, for God’s sake,” he shouted. Miko, startled, jumped off his lap onto the floor.
“It’s not the stuff,” I said. Even though it was the stuff. Having defined myself for so long by my solitude, I greeted the prospect of Paolo moving in with a vague sense of loss, followed by a wave of fear. No matter how hard I tried, I was unable to achieve the offhand attitude some people have toward cohabiting. It did not please me in the least to imagine my personal effects being joined with Paolo’s.
Though I always did a botch job trying to explain it to Paolo, I saw two major drawbacks to living together. The first was the likelihood of physical and mental disruption. There are certain assurances that come with living by yourself. No matter how many times you may come and go, you know that your furniture and belongings will remain a beacon of reliability. If you decide to place your sandals on top of the stereo speaker, for instance, you know they will stay there until you decide tomove them. If you have to go to the washroom in the middle of the night, you know you won’t do so at your own peril, tripping over someone else’s misplaced gym bag or guitar case. When you live with someone, such guarantees of equilibrium go out the window. Suddenly the person may decide to put down a zigzag column of orange traffic pylons.
The second and more significant drawback is that if and when the relationship ends there is more to sift through and separate. In my experience, what gets blended eventually gets divided. Then you’re left with bare hangers, blank shelves and jutting nails where framed pictures hung just the day before.
“Things are good,” I said.
“Okay, okay, I’ll drop it,” he said, in a tone that indicated he intended to do no such thing.
He paused, then added, grinning, “I could section my things off from yours. Get some of that yellow police tape.”
“Very funny.” I punched him lightly on the arm. “Listen. I’ll promise you Tuesday, Thursday and Friday nights from now until eternity.”
“That’s just it. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a relationship that was a little less programmed?”
While Paolo had revealed himself to be a coupler, a nester, I took it for granted that Andrei was a loner, that he was predisposed to keeping his own company most of the time, and that we shared this tendency. I once tried to determine what he did when he was not at work or with me. (Did he have lovers in Canada? Would he tell me if he did?) When I asked what he did to amuse himself on his days off, he shrugged and said:
“I read. I exercise. But mostly, I practise.”
“What do you practise?”
“I must learn to speak better, so I practise English. I am only a mediocre draughtsman, so I practise drawing. In the evenings sometimes Igo to a café near my house and I practise chess because my playing is only so-so. It allows me to meet my fellow expatriates.”
When he said this his eyes brightened. “There is an older Pole I know who is a grand master. He used to play with Khalifman in St. Petersburg, and one of my true desires is to beat him just once. Last time he won he teased me. He reached over the board and pulled my bangs to one side and said:
“I’m here half the time as it is. I just don’t have my stuff here.”
My silence was too long; it angered Paolo. “It’s only stuff, for God’s sake,” he shouted. Miko, startled, jumped off his lap onto the floor.
“It’s not the stuff,” I said. Even though it was the stuff. Having defined myself for so long by my solitude, I greeted the prospect of Paolo moving in with a vague sense of loss, followed by a wave of fear. No matter how hard I tried, I was unable to achieve the offhand attitude some people have toward cohabiting. It did not please me in the least to imagine my personal effects being joined with Paolo’s.
Though I always did a botch job trying to explain it to Paolo, I saw two major drawbacks to living together. The first was the likelihood of physical and mental disruption. There are certain assurances that come with living by yourself. No matter how many times you may come and go, you know that your furniture and belongings will remain a beacon of reliability. If you decide to place your sandals on top of the stereo speaker, for instance, you know they will stay there until you decide tomove them. If you have to go to the washroom in the middle of the night, you know you won’t do so at your own peril, tripping over someone else’s misplaced gym bag or guitar case. When you live with someone, such guarantees of equilibrium go out the window. Suddenly the person may decide to put down a zigzag column of orange traffic pylons.
The second and more significant drawback is that if and when the relationship ends there is more to sift through and separate. In my experience, what gets blended eventually gets divided. Then you’re left with bare hangers, blank shelves and jutting nails where framed pictures hung just the day before.
“Things are good,” I said.
“Okay, okay, I’ll drop it,” he said, in a tone that indicated he intended to do no such thing.
He paused, then added, grinning, “I could section my things off from yours. Get some of that yellow police tape.”
“Very funny.” I punched him lightly on the arm. “Listen. I’ll promise you Tuesday, Thursday and Friday nights from now until eternity.”
“That’s just it. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a relationship that was a little less programmed?”
While Paolo had revealed himself to be a coupler, a nester, I took it for granted that Andrei was a loner, that he was predisposed to keeping his own company most of the time, and that we shared this tendency. I once tried to determine what he did when he was not at work or with me. (Did he have lovers in Canada? Would he tell me if he did?) When I asked what he did to amuse himself on his days off, he shrugged and said:
“I read. I exercise. But mostly, I practise.”
“What do you practise?”
“I must learn to speak better, so I practise English. I am only a mediocre draughtsman, so I practise drawing. In the evenings sometimes Igo to a café near my house and I practise chess because my playing is only so-so. It allows me to meet my fellow expatriates.”
When he said this his eyes brightened. “There is an older Pole I know who is a grand master. He used to play with Khalifman in St. Petersburg, and one of my true desires is to beat him just once. Last time he won he teased me. He reached over the board and pulled my bangs to one side and said:
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