A story without title

And she has been wondering for nights how to get this new life that is approaching her silently. She cried that night and looked at the little puppy, asked him to get into the couch. She held him tightly and cried; the puppy gave her kisses. She cried after reading that sweet text message she got from him. She did not cry because she was glad, no. She cried because of a deep sorrow inside her wide mind and heart together. And she asked herself how she could figure out what to do. She just kept crying, with the puppy in her arms and started thinking about the rice she needed to buy to cook tomorrow, but she forgot. She forgot to buy rice. Sometimes, she was happy, careless, she did not care about anything; she would just wake up, take her shower, or not, because the shower reminds her of getting cleaned and it mechanically reminds her of what happened couple years ago. But she has thought for fifteen minutes that he should not have said what he said. And then she realized how the French term Virgin is so complicated, because it can be used in many forms, and it was exactly what happened. She was holding the house phone between her head and neck and looking at the computer, on the screen, there was some lines about zodiac, and she asked him what was his sign, he did not really care about answering, so she said, “I guess you told me you were a Virgo”, she said it in French, and Virgo in French is the same word used for Virgin, and he said, “Yes, I am still a virgin”, and then she kept her lips together for a little while, until he was kind of embarrassed and started claiming that he was going to say something but that he forgot what it was. That hurt her scratched, wounded, bloody, fragile, deeply decapitated, sensitive feelings. She knows, she knows that he did not mean to hurt her. He would never do. At least, that is the image she is trying to keep of him, so that in the future when they will not be together anymore, she will think of him and will have that pure image of a caring man, a man on which she could count if she needed. But she did not need to be felt sorry for, nor she needed to be seen as a poor girl, and certainly not as a girl who made a mistake when she was young. This is how he felt about her, he was sorry for what happened to her, and tried to help, maybe to get mercy from god, I do not really know. She could barely speak, she could barely move an eyelash, she was almost dead, lying on that couch, and holding her Ipod, with a sad music on her headphones. She was not sleeping, she was looking for death. And death was approaching, she could feel it, but she did not die, how could she? Without a suicide, without an authorization from the one above all, how could she? That was completely impossible. She just realized it was almost four AM and that she needed to sleep because the next day she needed to go to the bank,
I have to admit that maybe I am making myself purposely irresponsible for what happened. It just looks like I have been looking for that reason to make me feel not not guilty but at least less guilty. But when I think about that day, when I think about the details, I realize that I am somehow innocent.
She finally decided it was time for bed, after spending three hours on the phone with the man, she was a lover for, a friend and confident, but what was he for her? She spent three hours on the phone just talking about stupid things, and not talking about them, because that was too sensitive, they will never be able to communicate without barriers, because she is ashamed, and he is afraid, afraid of hurting her. How about turning off the phone, running to America and forgetting everything? How about ignoring him forever, how about not answering his phone calls. Well, she tried for months, and could not, she tried many times and could not, not because of love, because she does not believe in that thing, but because of something she could not know. She does not believe in love, and it hurts her, to not be able to love, to not be able to feel the way she used to feel before. The only thing that still happens is that she still falls in love with everyone that seems to interest her, and that is not love. But she is in a deep need of love that she would try to feel it at every moment she could even though it could last for couple minutes or seconds. She was looking at her hands with the red nail polish typing on this computer and then stopping for seconds and then typing again. She is feeling cold, even though it is the summer season, and that is where she stopped writing, she just put that pen, put the ink little bottle over the paper so it won’t fly away if there will be a wind later, she stopped, stood up from the chair and turned her long light blue dress to walk away, she hated that color but was wearing it because it reminded her of him. She never liked him, he was too different, and he was too careless at certain moments of the day. And her profound need of love made her run away again. To find another, victim if you like to put it that way.

When she woke up in the morning that summer Thursday she just did her ritual, usual actions. She cleaned, got that chicken out of the fridge, waited for it till it melted and cooked it. She then sat to write few words and sentences and stopped. Listening to the same song as yesterday, she was thinking about traveling. She wrote a little piece of paper and glued it on the fridge. The paper said, “Hey, I just felt bored and decided to take the train, don’t ask where because I have no idea yet”, and she was gone. She was gone into a deep nap where she had that dream of traveling by herself again, taking a train somewhere she did not know, just anywhere, any place, any other place that could hold her pieces and cover her with warmness and faith. She did not go anywhere of course, she was right there, sitting of the couch, in front of this machine with which she spends the most of her time; writing, without any benefit. It seems that her story does not have an end. She needs to kill that character, she needs an exciting end but how could she find an end to a story that is hers, that belongs to her, that is a baby she made. But she was happy that Thursday morning, she was happy until she spoke to that person on the phone. She was happy, she cleaned some shirts that could not be cleaned in the washing machine to not be damaged, she cleaned the dishes and took that chicken to cut it, so she can then cook it. But she got the phone call, and had to put away her I pod with that loud happy music. And now she is back, she gets easily upset, she easily feels down.

During the night of that Thursday she was just walking around the rooms in the house, without knowing what to do. At a moment, she thought of him and wondered how come he did not call today, then she took the phone and called him. He answered and said that he was having dinner with some friends and that he will be back home soon. He added this, “Once home, I’ll hmmm, I’ll call you”. Usually, they both knew that he would not call but he would give her a missed call, but of course now it would be a shame to say this in front of his friends. She turned off the lights, cleaned her teary eyes and sat on the couch, and put the laptop on her legs and started writing. She thought about suicide, not once, not twice, more than this, especially that Thursday, she thought about suicide starting the morning. Suicide would help her to not be anymore, and that is exactly what she wants, she tried many times, using other methods, but she could not achieve what she had dreamed of. She could not sleep that night, not because of the nap she took on the afternoon, but because of too much thinking. While writing, she stopped for a second and then turned to see her cell phone that was not ringing. She looked at it, and turned it off. She turned it off and continued writing. She turned it off so when he calls, he will find it off, and maybe he will wonder why and get a little scared, she just decided to turn off her phone for no reason actually. The clock on the computer was indicating 1:18 AM, and at that exact little moment she thought about putting that laptop away, standing up, going straight to the kitchen and baking a cake for tomorrow’s breakfast. She did not do it, instead, she was carelessly observing that main gate camera and thinking about how much she hate being by herself in this house with nobody to waste time with, no one with her to be occupied with to forget to think. She thinks because there is nothing else to do, if she had something interesting to do, she would be doing it and therefore, she would not think. Unfortunately, she was here, by herself, in a murky living room that has as an only source of lighting the main gate camera screen. She was right there thinking. She could not stop thinking, when she was crying earlier, she just wanted to call someone, she needed to talk to someone, and in a second or two, she had an image of all those she could call but no one was right in this situation. Suppose she called one of those people she thought of, what would she say to this person, how could she explain the reason she was crying for, there is almost no reason that could be explained. All the reasons, needed to be kept and she had to hide them.

She disappeared for a whole week; a whole week in which she was having fun somehow and automatically, she did not write a word. She was having fun going out to the department store next door and driving her modest crappy car. She did not write at all; not even a word, until a week later at someone’s house. So she got ready, brought her laptop and started writing about him. She met him again, after couple months. They met in the same coffee shop where they met the first time, randomly. She was really beautiful that day because she was more than happy. When they saw each other, they hugged each other so intensely and then he kissed her so tenderly on the neck. Then they sat and were looking at each other, kissing each other’s cheek, fingers, and hands. It was an unforgettable moment, so beautiful that it made her insomniac for a whole night. It looked like they had just fell in love at that moment. She was just thinking about him; how handsome, how gorgeous, how tender, how the so right man he was. He liked her, he even told her that she was looking so good. Anyhow, she knew she was loosing her mind and soul with this man. She knew this relationship was so weird and weird. She knew he was the one, the only guy since decades that she could not forget. She knew him almost for six months but they had serious communication problems. The second day she saw him, she was shocked. She was dazed because he started telling a truth about him. She wanted to cry, she was about to cry but could not verse not even one tear. She discovered couple truths about his life and who he was. So he was a doctor, or a dentist, she was not sure. She did not really care about his occupation. But she felt weird, she felt so small, she felt so tinny compared to who he was. And during the same night, after having the tramway tour and the pizza, she went back home. During the ride she was trying to occupy her thinking by talking about stupid things with the friends but then once at home. She decided to write about it, and she thought it would help her get over it if she writes about her feelings. But regrettably, it did not work. It simply made her think twice. All of a sudden, she had this feeling to stop writing, and calling him, and she did. She stopped writing.

It became a habit to not write as often as before. Well, mainly because she was happy, and when she is happy she does not write that much. Except that Thursday afternoon when she was bored. After baking the peach pie, she went to the room, turned on her laptop and started writing. She wanted to write about him, because that way she would know him better. Writing about him was not easy but she gave it a try.

He was tall and handsome and she would look at his angelic face for hours without getting enough of it. His skin was really white, his hair black just like good ink and his eyes as well. He was normal but he had this thing that made him look different that the others. She was describing him and at the same time listening to a Moroccan old song. His hands were big and could hold hers in a protective way. He does not smoke, but had few cigarettes from time to time. She had admitted to herself that he looked really interesting with that cigarette between his fingers. But smoking kills and she did not want him to die for the moment. The Moroccan song was about a man named Hommane. This man wanted to get married and he asked his mother to look for the perfect girl and he promised to give as much money as needed. While writing about this man who took her soul, she could hear from the opened window the screaming and crying of a little girl as well as the sound of the contact between an object and human skin. The little girl was certainly being punished.
All of a sudden, and after couple days of good and awful moments, she just decided to break up with everyone. She did not write for weeks because of many reasons. First, because she was happy and then when she was not happy she was tired and could not write. What pushed her to write exactly that Tuesday before school starts is when she saw her ex boyfriend talking to a cute girl, she was sure she was not in love with him anymore, but she was just about to go crazy. She stopped writing for some seconds, decided to get a cigarette and then decided to not smoke. She was thinking about the non existence of love.

He left. He went back to France, silently. All she had from him was a text message very ordinary saying that he will leave soon. When she read it, she was getting ready to leave the house and told herself that she will call him later. After hours, when she called, both his phones were turned off. Whenever someone in front of her was talking, she was traveling with her little mind to this city where they met the first time. While Jack was talking, she just thought about that exact moment when her lover was climbing those stairs in front of her, wearing a jacket and accompanied with a friend. She laughed when her cousin and her saw the attitude he has. He sat next to the table where she was sitting, and then she could not see his face, except, when she turned couple of times to see him and acted like she was looking at her cousin. He ordered tea. He looked very hesitant and doubtful. While leaving the café, she laughed inside and told herself how destiny is weird and funny because destiny was responsible for making her meet that handsome man and not being able to talk to him. But destiny acted differently than Malak thought of. Destiny played an unexpected game, right before leaving, his friend called her cousin and asked for her phone number, she gave it to him and once in the taxi, the guy called and asked Malak’s cousin to give the phone to Malak because the handsome guy wanted to talk to her. Malak talked to the strange man and met with him the next day, she kissed him the next day, he touched her that same day, they kissed in the dark, and they first kissed under a beautiful violet sky with little diamond stars all over. She was never as happy as that day. The next weekend, she slept next to him. They did not make love, because she was committed to not do this unless it is with her husband. They just slept like two babies or two angels. They could not sleep, they laughed, they talked, they listened to music, they talked and talked, she cried in his arms, without him noticing that she cried. She was happy. He was happier. He left, and actually she tried to convince herself that it was okay and that she knew it was going to happen. She did not cry, she does not cry usually about such things. But she kept thinking about it for a long long period. She thought about him driving his car, running away, leaving every sad moment in Morocco, and going to France, to start a new life. After all, it was just a little relationship that did not work and that was all. She thought about him admiring Morocco from the ship, and thinking about her, her laughter, her smile, her eyes, her name, her feelings, her speeches in English and every little thing, every little detail related to her. But then she realized it was definitely not what was happening because he is not the kind of person who cares about such things. He has his own way to love her and that was the main reason they broke up.
Life was already getting hard without him, although, it was already that way, even when they were together. She did not love him the way he wanted to be loved and nor did he love her the way she wanted to be loved in. Whenever she felt bad and sad and was about to cry about him, she would think about awful moments with him, such as that day, when they were sitting in the café. She took his phone and was about to open a message in French that’s started with something like, “I miss you to death and would like to be in your arms again”. She also thought about the day when he came to see her and was hiding his phone and claiming that he has no text messages to hide. She thought about all the lies he said, all the stupid things he lied about. He lied about his last name, about his occupation, maybe his age also, his family, his life in general. He was strange and weird.
She needed a moment for herself. A long moment, to get her broken parts together and to try to fix what was missed up due to this relationship based on dishonesty. She decided to forget and go on with it. Actually, she would not forget but learn to live with it as she learned to live with other failures. Prior to this last message, about three or four days ago, she called him once and he hanged up on her and sent a text message saying that it was useless to call or send text messages because it was over. She was very upset when she read that. She was so upset that she decided to never text him again, ever.