In Progress - Chapter 1: Tatiana

Chapter 1: Tatiana



“Where were you last night?”

“Stayed home. Went to bed early.” Truth, but only part truth. Real truth would be last night I was the same as I am every night; I was a ghost, still dwelling on events of a decade long dead to choices of how to spend it. Not quite in my present, unable to reach my past, and with a future decorated by much of the same. Elena knows this. She looks at me, her brown eyes pained with sympathy and tries to make me confess it. I won’t. “I was tired. Woke up too early. Went to bed too late. Been there before and I’ll be there again.”

“Tatiana’s dead, Derek, you know that.”

I keep silent while I think about how to react. Anger? Not the best choice, but it’s the one I always choose. “Here we go again. Tatiana’s dead. Tatiana’s dead. You know that Derek. You know, you always say I’m the one living in the past, dwelling on your sister, wondering where she went. But you’re the one who keeps bringing her up. Maybe I’m not the one with the problem. Sometimes I swear you arrange these oh-so-sweet Starbucks meetings just to have someone to bring her up to.” I lift up in my seat to leave and realize that I’ve pushed her too far when she shoves me back down into my seat.

“Yes, here we go again. Next you’ll be saying that I invite you to coffee just to have you abuse me. To punish me . . “

I reach across and put my hand over her mouth. “Lena, you don’t need me or anybody else to abuse you. You do that enough yourself. Tatty’s disappearance is not your fault. And yeah, it’s not my fault and yeah I guess she’s probably dead. But . . . “ It’s as if my mind has hit a cement block and all of the thoughts were knocked out of my head. My hand slips from Lena’s mouth and drops to the table.

“Derek?”

“Uh . . shit, I lost what my point was. Forgot what I was saying completely.”

“You said Tatty was probably dead.”

“Did I? Yeah, I spose so.” My voice feels thick and the fluid level in my head seems dangerously high.

Elena puts her hand on top of mine gently. “And I think you were going to say, but we both still miss her. We both still wait to hear her footsteps in the next room. We both still love her. Isn’t that enough?”

She waits for me to answer and when I don’t right away, she squeezes my hand.

“Enough for what?”

“For us to be friends. For us to get along and stop fighting. For us to talk about something else?”

I look past Elena at the rest of the shop. Drama, always so much drama, I feel like my life has become a prime time soap opera. Surrounding us are ordinary people, lost in their own lives. Not staring at us at all. That woman over there with the red hair and the new coffee stain on her sweater she doesn’t know about yet. We don’t even exist to her.

“You want to talk about something else Elena?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“How come you always talk in threes?”

“Threes?”

“It’s like you’re old man Doolittle from My Fair Lady. ‘I’m willing to tell you, I’m waiting to tell you, I’m wanting to tell you.’”

“I don’t!”

As always when she’s a little startled or surprised, Lena’s voice sounds a bit British. Even though she and Tatiana are both of Russian descent, they were born and grew up here in the States. I always wonder where the British comes in. It peppers Tatty’s dialogue too.

“You do.” I try to sound a bit British myself, but Lena doesn’t seem to notice. “’I’m willing to tell you, I’m waiting to tell you, I’m . .’”

“I dooo not!” Elena reaches a finger into her latte and flicks some foam at me. “Besides you have the order wrong, it’s ‘I’m willing to tell you, I’m wanting to tell you, I’m waiting to tell you.””

I begin to open my mouth for a smart comeback, something like “Well you would know, since you’re the one who talks like that.” But I realize we’re still talking about her. Tatiana is still just as here with us as she was when we sat down at this table. My Fair Lady was Tatiana’s favorite movie. We’ve both heard that line because Tatty begged us to watch the movie with her. Over and over. And I think, there’s no escaping it Derek, my boy. There is nothing else for the two of you to talk about. So do your time, pretend to be ok, talk about something else and get the Hell out of here.

“So how’s your work?” I notice a hint of surprise to Elena’s expression like she’s aware a change has happened and doesn’t know how to respond. I’m hoping she will get lost in talking about all the kiddies – she teaches preschool – and she’ll give me a few minutes of personal silence. It works and I nod and smile appreciatively while she fills the space between us with tales of little Davey’s bravery and Dominick’s hidden talents. I listen to Elena’s monologue and watch the red-haired woman wipe ineffectively at her newly discovered stain, but all the while I'm with Tatiana. She’s right next to me and I’m almost afraid to breathe, just in case her scent won’t really be there.

The door to the coffee house abruptly opens a little too wide; letting a little too much bright sunlight into the room. The shop’s clientele, still low on their caffeine intake for the day, cry out in protest. Tatiana is gone. Elena stops talking. I reluctantly direct my attention to what it is that is being a doorstop: a girl. . . as pale and bright as the sunlight she is letting in the room. She stands there, leaning against the door as if she is unable to hold herself upright without it. Except for their snarls about the brightness, everyone else seems to have returned to what they were thinking a minute ago. No one but me seems to notice her.

“Don’t get up. Stay in your chair.” I chant to myself even as I find myself standing next to her.

“Are you ok?” I ask the girl, stooping slightly to look into her eyes, which are a very pale blue.

At my voice, her gaze which had been staring blankly in front of her, focuses on me. “Home. I’ve got to get home. I haven’t been home.” She gasps loudly. “I just can’t seem to catch my breath.”

“Maybe you need to see a doctor.”

“No!” She clutches her clothing a little tighter to herself, not knowing that the overall effect is to make her look more fragile and in need of medical attention. “I just need to get home.”

“Ok, I was leaving anyway. I’ll walk you home. Just let me go say goodbye to somebody.”

Elena sniffs and looks disparaging at the girl at the door. “I thought you weren’t seeing anybody.”

Actually it is Elena who seems not to be “seeing” accurately, she didn’t seem to even notice the girl until I pointed her out.

“I’m not “seeing” anybody. I don’t even know the girl. She just needs someone to walk her home.”

“At 10 am in the morning?” Elena’s voice oozes with sarcasm.

“She hasn’t been home yet. I think maybe she took some drugs or got hurt or something. I think maybe she should see a doctor, but she just wants to go home.”

Elena looks at me with sudden comprehension. She has heard Tatiana call me “Dudley Do-right” before too. “I get it. Always the rescuer. Maybe you’d stay with me if I began crying hysterically.”

She squints her eyes and for a moment I believe she means to do it. Right here and right now. But after a moment, Elena leans back and widens her eyes to their natural state once more. “Never mind dear. I can wait. But do yourself a favor. Remember what happens to girls that are in trouble.”

Tatty was a “girl in trouble.” We both knew it, but we just never could find out what the trouble was; and then she was gone. I know Elena is still just baiting me; trying to make me stay in the coffee shop. But like an undersized catch whose mouth is too scarred from being thrown back too many times, I refuse to bite.