by Paul Hina
mean?"
"Well, my understanding is that—and I think it derives from Sappho—but it means, at least according to my reading, an addiction to falling in love."
"Really?"
"That's what I've always taken it to mean. It's like an insatiable desire for desire."
"But I thought Imeros was dedicated to Melissa?"
"Right."
"But if you were writing about an addiction to falling in love then that sounds to me as if you were writing about more than one woman."
Jacob opens the door to his office for her. He follows her in, making sure to shut the door behind him.
"I guess it depends on how you understand the meaning, and in what context you're using it," he says.
"Well, in what context—may I ask—were you using it?"
He starts to say something, but stops, looks at her, wondering whether or not he should be disclosing information about his personal life in this way. But she is looking at him with those intensely interested eyes. He can tell that she really cares about this. He can see that she loves Imeros, and has all kinds of stories bouncing around in her head, trying to match her fantasies to a real world picture.
It is her obvious sincerity that compels him to respond.
"After Melissa was gone, I... Well, first let me say that our relationship only lasted a couple of months. So, when it was over I was left in this kind of static mode. I felt like I was still in the process of falling in love with her, and I knew that I'd always be in a state of suspended animation when it came to her. Since our relationship ended so prematurely, I knew that I could never love anyone the way that I loved her. No other relationship could sustain that high level of emotion. Most romantic relationships have an opportunity to go bad, or fade into something less strong than those early throes of love. In other words, eventually the falling in love meets the firm ground of reality, and love—healthy love at least—becomes something more emotionally contained, more conventional. It's something like the difference between walking and flying."
"So, would you say you felt addicted to those feelings you had for Melissa?"
"Addicted in the sense that I never wanted it to go away. I honestly never thought I'd love anyone again. I knew that no love could ever maintain the elevation I owned with Melissa. It was like our relationship, in my memory, would forever be frozen in amber. I felt that I'd never escape the feeling that I was forever falling for her, the feeling of free falling without end."
"And you still won't tell me why the relationship ended?"
"I'm still not sure that it won't affect how you feel about the poems. I'd hate to think I damaged your relationship to the work."
"Well, then can I make an incredibly insensitive observation?"
"Sure."
"I think, from the tone of the collection, and just from the way you talk about her now, there isn't the usual baggage left when a relationship has gone sour. There is no attaching of blame when you talk about her. So, I guess I've started to believe that something happened to her."
"Joelle—"
"Did something happen to her, Jacob?"
He's never heard her say his name, and, since she is a student, it takes him by surprise, and it suddenly flips a switch in his head that changes the mode of their relationship. She suddenly feels more like a peer than a student.
"Did someone tell you something?"
"No one told me anything. Did something happen?"
"..."
"Oh, God. I'm sorry," she says, and he can tell that she doesn't want it to be true. She places her hand to her mouth, and tears start welling up in her eyes. He didn't even have to tell her that Melissa had died. He tried to answer, but he didn't know quite how to put it, and, either from his expression or his absence of a denial, she simply knew the answer to the question. And the emotional mood in the room has shifted so quickly it's dizzying.
"Joelle. It was a long time ago."
"This is terrible. Just terrible."
She was really crying now, and he can tell that she is embarrassed by her outburst—her inability to take control of herself. But he doesn't quite know what to do. He isn't sure how far to go to comfort her.
He slides his desk chair closer to her, reaches his arm out to her shoulder, and, when he touches her, the feel of her skin is almost too much to bear: too soft, too smooth, too enticing. He wants to grab her, embrace her, but he holds steady.
But as soon as she feels his hand, he can see the shock register on her face. And when he slides his hand from her shoulder down her arm, she can no longer control herself. She falls into his arms and just allows herself to cry. And for the first time since they met, they're fully embracing what has always been buzzing between them. Finally, their two separate bodies have been swallowed up into a single form, and there is a soft recognition that this surrender was right and good.
But it wasn't just the rightness of the embrace that they were feeling. It felt downright necessary. And he held her now without reservation, and his concern about her sadness was quickly supplanted by his desire to just feel the warm weight of her against his chest, to feel this full with her.
But they were not full enough.
The desire that had been building these past few weeks was about to burst. The long deficit of fruition has made them too hungry. And once she catches her breath, she backs away long enough to look at him with the sadness, the ecstasy, and the sincerity of a perfect moment. He could see then that she loved him, and he knew that there were words balanced on her tongue—dangerous words. He knew he should say something, anything to stop her from releasing words that can't be pulled back. But staring into her eyes this way, falling so fully into the clarity of this current, he knew he'd regret not accepting the immersion.
"I'm stuck on you, Jacob," she says. "I can't help it. You're all I've thought about since we met. I can't understand it. I was happy before. I really was. But now... Now all I know is that I want to be with you. All the time. I just need to be with you."
"Joelle, I...," and then he loses the words. All measure of articulation is garbled by the shape of her lips, the space in between the lips where kisses are made, and he knows he should stop this before...
There is a knock at the door.
"Oh, God," he whispers, and slides his chair away from her. "Yes?" he says at the door.
David opens the door and sees Joelle sitting there with tear stains marking her face, and he can tell that he's just interrupted something. "Sorry. I didn't realize you were having a meeting."
"It's alright."
"I'll come back later."
"No. No. We were just wrapping things up anyway. Were you wanting to have lunch?"
"Yeah. If you're free," David says.
"Sure. I'll come to your office as soon as were done."
"Sounds good," David says, and then walks out, leaving the door open. Now, Jacob and Joelle are sitting alone, in the open, swimming in the burden of their silence.
"We'll have to talk about this some other—"
"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have...," she says, and he can tell that she is on the verge of breaking down again.
"No, please, Joelle. Don't apologize. You think I haven't been feeling all of this too," he says, and she looks up at him with hope full in her eyes, and the silence in the room feels suddenly more secure. A smile starts to grow on her face, and, though he tries to suppress it, he feels one bending on him as well. "But I'm not sure that we should react to all of this so impulsively."
"Right. You're right."
"We'll talk later?"
"Right. When?"
"After class tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow?" she asks, disappointed.
"I know, but I have to process all this. It's happening so quickly, and I need to figure out what all this means."
"Right. OK. Tomorrow," she says, and rises to leave the office, but not without one last, long look at him. "Bye."
"Bye," he says.
He sits at his desk,
head bent toward the ceiling, stunned by the shock of the emotions he feels, left vibrating from a jolt of electricity he hasn't felt in years.
He stands, walks over to the window, and looks out to watch her leave. And when he sees her walk from the building, he watches her turn and look up at him. She places her hand above her eyes as a visor against the sun, sees him standing there. She knew he'd be looking out for her, and he knew she'd be looking up to him.
"Don't ever say I didn't warn you."
"God, David. You couldn't knock?"
"Sorry. The door was open."
"Still. You scared me."
"Why? Afraid you might get caught in a compromising position?"
"Don't be ridiculous."
"I don't know. You looked pretty close to compromising something a minute ago," David says as he inches inside Jacob's office.
"Nothing happened."
"You sure about that?"
"Nothing inappropriate happened, if that's what you're insinuating."
"That's what I'm insinuating."
"I'm not obliged to share details of my personal life with you."
"Who else are you going to talk to?"
"No one, but I don't feel that I need to talk to anyone at all. Besides, there's nothing to talk about."
"Whatever you say."
"I thought we were going to lunch."
"I'm waiting for you."
"Then let's go," Jacob says, walking by David.
"She's a beautiful girl," David says, only slightly louder than a whisper, as they move down the long hallway of academic offices in the English Department.
"I know."
"Too beautiful, really."
"What's that mean?"
"If she were a temptress, it would be difficult to deny her."
"Temptress? Really?"
"What? You
