Genesis
The holy silence of the street was still disturbed by stragglers hurrying home before Yom Kippur’s seizure of the roads. Valentin walked up to the apartment building’s back entrance and punched in the practiced code. The lobby’s reflective marble surfaces and cool, insulated air momentarily calmed him. With Natalie still a ways off, the elevator ride to Jonathan’s felt like going backstage. Apartment 4’s door swung open before he could knock. Jonathan—wearing a conspiratorial smile—wordlessly embraced him and held the tender hug far longer than Valentin was comfortable with. This and other similar moments, Jonathan claimed, were mere humor to test Valentin’s acceptance of homosexuality.
“Jonathan, come on…”
“Shhh, it’s okay, my Russian prince,” he whispered while caressing the back of Valentin’s head, “It’s gonna be great. Come!”
Jonathan broke the hug with defusing laughter and led him by the hand into the emptied apartment. Valentin’s nerves began their work at destabilizing his composure. He instinctively looked for Jonathan’s mother as they walked across the living room.
“Nobody home?”
“They’re spending Yom Kippur at my grandparents’.” Jonathan flicked on the light in the living room.
“So, hottie, how’re you feeling? The cologne smells good on you.”
“Dude, I’m fucking stressed. I dunno. She’s gonna be here in what, like, ten minutes now?”
“I told you not to worry, didn’t I? She’s coming with Shir—a lil’ friend of hers. We’re all gonna chill for a bit, and then I’ll make sure you two have some alone time. You’ll figure it out.” Jonathan winked in conclusion.
“Man, you don’t have to. Let’s just—let’s just see how it goes; don’t force it.”
He kept being surprised by Jonathan’s self-appointed role as a particularly aggressive wingman and chalked it up to his trademark humor. Despite surface-level apprehension and resistance to Jonathan’s methods, which Valentin felt preserved some pride while being steered so easily, he found himself compelled, and even truly convinced by the nudging toward the girl chosen for him. He still could not be sure whether the first Facebook photos of her he’d been shown a year ago on Jonathan’s computer made him agree by simple attraction, rather than Jonathan’s persuasive charisma, and the assurance that they’d surely, surely get along. In that album he’d seen a smart-looking girl in thick black frames on a fair, delicate face, with golden hair cascading over the front of her black shirt, and a camera hanging from her neck. Something about the reserved, nerdy look, coupled with obvious blonde beauty, made him think that they’d get along, as Jonathan claimed.
“What? Months?”
“Yeah, months! Alright, alright, maybe I encouraged her a bit. Y’know, a little mention here, a throwaway compliment there. I kept her aware things aren’t too great with your ex, making her regret not locking you last time. ‘Sides, you’re single now, and you want her too. Easy!”
“Dude, seriously? Oh my god, what’ve you been telling her?” Aside from Valentin’s fluster, and the distaste over Jonathan’s work behind the scenes—the disrespect it meant—he could not deny how it excited him to have been longed for by the girl he’d thought had already rejected him. He’d been briefly infatuated with her, even dared to kiss her in an overflow of what he assumed was mutual magnetism. She was now back in the frame, and, if Jonathan was to be trusted, apparently eager to get him.
He stood in front of Jonathan’s open closet, looking in the mirror, examining himself one last time. He couldn’t remember exactly how long ago he’d broken up with Lily, who’d been his first fiery girlfriend—one met organically, not through crude matchmaking—a concept he deemed distasteful despite his cooperation. Has it really only been a month? The drawn-out, three-day breakup seemed like it happened further back in the past, for how else could he feel prepared for new emotions and excitement? Truth be told, wasn’t it Jonathan who decided for him that it was time for a new girl, and to stop moping around? The word bachelor kept being used with disdain, as if it were dirty, or somehow derogatory. Could Jonathan’s Natalie truly be a girl he could love? What is compatibility if not instinct upon sight, which is later confirmed by several fun conversations, and finally sealed with a kiss? That it had happened more than a year ago, back when Jonathan made his first attempt at matching them, mattered little. Something physical had happened. Valentin did figure he’d come on too strong back then, which was probably why nothing came of it. Was it the kiss that made her retreat? Whatever it was that turned Natalie away back then, she seemed to have initiated—or at least agreed to—the initiation of a second chance. Valentin walked away from the mirror, thinking of asking Jonathan for more details.
He could hear a door open, the sounds of greetings and laughter. After a few seconds of indecision, he walked out into the living room. He noticed her first. Instant recognition. He then noted how Jonathan seemed to glow, social butterfly that he was, as he tormented shy Shir with touchy hugs. The scripted meaning of the moment dictated that Valentin keep his eyes on Natalie alone. She was there for him, after all.
“Hi, Valentin!” Natalie spoke, her face radiant and outshining any awkward memories of their last meeting. She approached and pulled him into a quick, familiar hug. In a semblance of sense memory, Valentin’s skin tingled at the touch of this girl he’d kissed but scarcely known. Still, something about her had changed. She seemed to radiate confidence and unabashed desire, while last year she’d been hampered by shyness, which, in the deflating aftermath of their initial kiss, went as far as to give Valentin the idea that he’d completely misread what he thought of as their chemistry.
They sat down in the living room while Jonathan assigned Shir as his helper in bringing out snacks and drinks. Before any small talk could commence, Jonathan surged ahead as chief icebreaker—as he always did:
“Alright, let’s save the how-are-yous. We all know that the main event here’s the fact that Valentin is finally single, and that there’s unfinished business with Natalie. So yalla, Shir, come, I wanna show you something in my room,” and with a drink in his hand, Jonathan pulled at her while maintaining a knowing leer at Valentin and Natalie, “they have some catching up to do.” The door to Jonathan’s room slammed shut and jostled them out of their embarrassed silence with a chuckle.
“I guess. I mean, I love him too, but—”
“Do you wanna sit closer?” She placed her hand by her side, where she wanted Valentin to be. The gesture made him notice the baby pink of her nails and drew his eyes toward her sky-blue shorts—the thighs they hugged. Without hesitation, he rose from his spot on the opposing couch and sat down beside her, feeling warmer. Eye contact felt manageable at the previous distance, but now he felt his sight linger lower, not daring to savor the pleasing color of her eyes. Natalie, on the other hand, seemed to have no such issue as her demeanor flowered in Valentin’s proximity, her entire body shifting in his direction. He struggled to recall the confidence with which he spoke to her on their single, failed date—if one could call it that—from which no relationship blossomed.
“It feels kinda surreal to see you again, honestly. I didn’t really expect we’d see each other after—”
Her hand was suddenly on his knee, the color of her nails standing out beautifully against the blue of his jeans.
“I know, I’m sorry about that. I was a bit confused, and it was happening so quickly. I think I got scared. It all felt so… I don’t know. But I promise it didn’t have anything to do with you. Okay, maybe the kiss was a bit much…” Natalie retrieved her hand a bit too quickly, as if unsure of how bold she wanted to be.
“God, I knew it! I’m so, so sorry. I don’t even know why I did it that way. I don’t know. And I didn’t take it personally. I figured it just wasn’t the right time, and yeah.”
“It’s okay. It’s not your fault. I wanted to be honest.”
By the time he became aware of the magnetism that spread once again between them, Valentin was overwhelmed. It was a feeling he’d only ever felt with Lily, the overriding compulsion to lean in, a ceasing of all speech and thought. It all seemed to be happening again, and far quicker—no need for an hour and a half of talking, or a slow buildup over a summer. He looked at Natalie in a new way, and as if seized by instinct and the confidence he felt she allowed him, he took her hand into his.
“Well, I’m glad we’re here now.”
His fingers caressed the smooth surface of her nails as the touch sent fire in both directions.
“Do you feel like trying again?” her voice husky.
“You mean, talking again?”
And unlike the first time, it were her lips that surged forward in an overflow of tension to crash soft against his. No time for talk, it seemed.
Once the initial shock of the reunion of lips receded, Valentin could taste the determination in her. How her mouth locked onto his, how boldly her inexperienced tongue sought to prove eagerness as it met his. The rich sensation—spark electric—allowed a single strand of thought to shoot through Valentin’s mind; there is nothing to prove. Thought faded as he leaned closer, reached out to hold her cheek as he slowed and gentled the kiss against her surging passion. He briefly opened his eyes before drinking deeper, and, expecting mutually understanding eye contact, some exchange of we’re both here, he saw instead how Natalie’s glittering lids were closed three-quarters with the remaining white of her eyes allowing him to see how they rolled back in the pure, ecstatic bliss—of a moment long yearned for. He, embarrassed at his failure to give in to the moment, let go of vision to drink deeper, hoping to tap into the same reservoir of built-up passion. Before too long, a shuffle of footsteps broke them out of their respective spells. Natalie ducked into his neck while he turned to the sound of the steps, where Shir rushed to and from the kitchen with a hand in front of her face, as if to curtain the new couple from her interruption. Once the two were alone again, Valentin realized how tightly Natalie clung to him, her arms around his neck. In abounding boldness, she closed the distance he was not even aware remained between them and sat in his lap before continuing the inaugural kiss. Feeling awash with her unrestrained hunger, Valentin dared to slide his hand up her stomach, up to her—
Jonathan, as if waiting in the wings, loudly stepped out and concluded the moment that could end only by external intervention, his tone impatient, even prickly:
“You still at it over here? Do we wanna go walk around together, or will we leave you two to keep smooching endlessly?”
Natalie scrambled off Valentin’s lap as both struggled to find their breath and the voice they left somewhere in the other’s mouth. Valentin found his first.
“Yeah, of course! Yeah, let’s—um, let’s get ready and go.”
“What time is it?” Natalie asked as she consulted her phone, unable and unwilling to suppress a smile, as she straightened her hair.
“It’s time, young lady, for you to stop embarrassing Shir with whatever you’re up to and go downstairs!”
Traffic was dominated by chains and pedals, rather than motors. Pedestrians marched onto the asphalt of the roads to take dominion over it for the next twenty-four hours. Jonathan led the way with Shir by his side, while Natalie and Valentin followed, holding hands. The late-summer air hung fragrant and intoxicating. A cacophony of bicycles and families hummed all around. Natalie’s hand, or maybe Valentin’s, was sweating lightly—a fast balm, surely—as they walked wordlessly, each in a cloud of their own, through a tangle of streets. Two of Valentin’s classmates recognized him from afar and approached.
“Hey, hey, hey! Valentin, we were just about to go looking for you! Oh, who’s this?” they asked, not looking at Jonathan, or Shir, but at Natalie, who was leaning into him.
“Hey,” he answered, already imperceptibly turning into the man he’d be for the next seven years. By the web he thought of no longer—by unrequited wings that bore him to the defining moment—Adam superseded Valentin. It was Adam’s composure that melted—her first man—shaping his mouth into a smile at the thought of the first words he was to speak:
“This is Natalie—she’s my girlfriend.”
Alexei Raymond loves literature, rabbits, and cuberdons. He offers whatever he can of his tangled consciousness, and how it’s been shaped by life and love in the Middle East. He chases visions of unspeakable loveliness from a world lost. Find pieces of him in a variety of lovely publications.
