Inside a coal is a diamond, something precious and rare. Could there be some beauty left in my heart deep within the hard shell in my chest? Maybe. Maybe a glimpse of hope shines from my core, trying to break through the way the diamond does.
I watch as the moon dips into the horizon, giving room for the sun to peek into the sky, bringing with it warmth and brightness. Max does the same. Knowing I’ll see him each night brings in a sense of comfort.
I close my eyes with the light of the sun peering through. In a few hours I’ll feel his warmth near me again.
I head out for a run with a few hours of sleep. I’m used to sleeping less hours than the normal person. Sleep is a waste of time that allows the subconscious mind to entertain you with hidden thoughts. I prefer to be in control of my mind, not my mind controlling me. Running puts me at ease—the cold brushing me with its wind, moving around people, and focusing on my breath. It’s what helped me cope when things started getting out of control with John.
I shake my head and focus on each step pounding the ground. I try to breathe out my tension. Get lost in your run, Sam. I loop around the center of the city and head back home. Wasting time thinking about him is useless.
“Hey,” Max says as I open my door.
“Hey,” I try to smile. Instead I purse my lips.
“Come on.” He shakes his head and gestures for me to walk out of my apartment. I lock up and follow him down the stairs.
I never did get an answer from the moon before falling asleep. I was hoping she would become my confidant.
I walk close to Max without touching. His warm energy swirls between us. I don’t know what it is about him, but something calls to me. Once I accepted that he would continue to come see me, once I accepted he was the good my world was missing, I saw him in a different light. I want to breathe it in. Do I deserve that? I’ve always believed that my darkness belonged in the shadows. What happened to the woman who understood the segregation there was between those who lived with hope and those who understood the harsh reality of life?
“Don’t think,” Max whispers.
I analyze him in his gray North Face coat, his blue eyes shining from beneath his beanie, and his expression relaxed. I’m out with a man for the first time in years. In my fucked up mind, I want to ruin this, but I hate disappointing people. And although I’m no longer a people pleaser, purposely letting Max down is something even I can’t get myself to do. Am I feeding into his fantasy? Maybe.
We walk the city before entering one of the historic brown cafés. Dim lighting and wood furniture, the place is cozy.
“Even in the dimness a place can be warm and inviting,” Max says.
“But not every dim corner is open to visitors.”
“Our connection is too great for you to ignore. Admit it.” Max encourages me.
“Connections lead to dependency.”
“Connections lead to understanding. You can be independent and still connect with someone. The choice is yours to create balance or tip it over completely.”
“Balance,” I murmur and roll my eyes.
“Balance,” he echoes.
We sit at a table in silence. I’ve had plenty of visits from Max, but this feels different. Our conversations are always peculiar and far from casual. We look at each other, words locked up in our throats.
Max finally speaks when the waiter comes to our table, ordering a beer for himself and looking at me expectantly. I stick to water.
I’m so used to being on my own that normal human conversation escapes me.
“Where did you grow up?” Max eases into it with a smile.
“In sunny South Florida,” I say with sarcasm.
“You make it sound like torture. What’s to hate about palm trees and beaches?”
“It’s what the palm trees and beaches hide that makes it unappealing.”
“What part of South Florida?” He wisely gears the conversation.
“West Palm Beach. Maybe you’ve never heard of it. People always assume Florida consists only of South Beach.”
“I’m familiar with the name.”
I nod lost in thoughts. Home is such a faraway place.
“Why Amsterdam?”
“It was the first city I saw listed at the airport.”
“Such an opposite of where you come from.”
“I welcomed that.”
“It’s cold and dreary.”
“Maybe in weather, but don’t let masks fool you. Just because someone seems content and gorgeous doesn’t mean they don’t have secrets of darkness. The sun may shine in some places, but they’re still haunted.”
“Sam,” Max draws out my name and reaches for my hand.
“Don’t pity those who have lived through filth. We know more of the world than those blinded by the sun.”
“Not everyone is blind to reality because they haven’t experienced all the ugliness life can give. Besides, an eclipse can be just as blinding as the sun.”
“Do you always speak in symbolism?”
“Look who’s asking.”
“I just say what’s on my mind. You seem to have to counteract it with meaning.”
“I counteract what I believe can be counteracted.”
“How do you speak such perfect English?”
“Everyone in Germany speaks English. Well, for the most part. Besides that, I went to an American school.”
“What part of Germany are you from?”
“Frankfurt.”
I nod silently and drink my water. Although superficial facts, they form intricate ties to Max. I can imagine the short strings interlocking with each piece of information he reveals. A web forming like some kind of high-tech design quickly fusing together, the only way to undo it is with a virus that will destroy the data on the hard drive. The inner workings of my mind can sometimes be mathematical, carefully calculated to react. Observing the connections makes me understand that when it comes to Max, I’m already invested.
Small talk isn’t my thing. Max must notice this because he’s steered clear, but I can tell he wants to ask questions. He’s already said he wants to know me, so questions are roaming around his mind. The curiosity of what led me here on the forefront.
“Do you have any secrets?” I ask him.
“Everyone has secrets. What kind?”
“Any kind? Just secrets. Things no one knows but your soul.”
“I’ve got a thing or two.”
“I have a few. I hate them. They sneak up on me when I think I’ve forgotten, just to taunt me.” Max sits straighter in his chair, more attentive. I don’t know why I just told him that. Maybe because his hope has affected me.
“Let them go and free yourself.”
“Easier said than done.”
“My grandfather was a Nazi and my grandmother was a Jew. I don’t know how that happened, but the biggest thing they taught me was how powerful the act of forgiveness is. She won him over, softening his heart. He kept her safe and she kept him alive by bringing forth meaning into his life. She never once resented him for standing next to her enemies, and he never once hated her for being of the race his leaders condemned.”
“That’s different,” I argued.
“Experiences are different, but emotions are the same. It’s all how you handle them and yourself. Anger, resentment, hatred fill us all with the same vile, but if you choose to see things in another light, from another place, those emotions are defeated. They saw with eyes of compassion. Love is powerful, but only if you allow it. They allowed it.”
“How do you forgive someone who’s dead?”
“The same way you forgive someone who’s alive. Forgiveness happens within you not them.”
“You speak all this philosophical talk.”
“It’s the secrets of the universe. Have you ever read Paulo Coelho?”
“No.”
“Read him.” A soft command.
We finish lunch and Max pays, refusing to split the bill. From another m
an it may have seemed pretentious, but from Max it was cool and casual. He simply said he had it covered, and I could buy him dessert if I wanted.
So dessert I’ll buy him. On the way out, I see the mobile stall and walk towards it. This became a comfort food when I first moved to this city. I mean, who doesn’t love fried dough covered in powder sugar? Even in my darkest of moments, I sought something that would comfort me.
“Oliebollen?” I ask him.
He smiles and slowly shakes his head. “You’re quick.”
“I love these.” I take a bite of the warm dough and relax. Something about being near Max makes me feel different. It’s a continuous observation lately.
“Let’s go.” Max guides us through the city like a native, jumping on the tram to our stop.
“How long have you split your time between here and Germany?”
“Two years. I have many clients here, so a lot of my business is in this city.”
We hop off the tram and I follow Max into a long corridor along a brick building. I’ve never been here before, but I watch as the corridor opens into a small garden with picnic tables.
“What is this place?”
“Zon’s Hofje, one of the secret gardens of the city.” Max’s face turns mystic.
“Zon.” I think of the word thoughtfully.
“Yeah,” Max whispers. The irony in the name isn’t lost on me. I’ve been here three years, and although I’m a hermit in the city of passion and taboo, I’ve picked up a Dutch word or two. Zon, sun. Max is the sun. It’s like I’m entering him, metaphorically. Sitting in his light for a while.
We sit at a picnic table and just stare. Each of us in our own mind, and I’m grateful Max has left space between us when it comes to fusing more connections together. I look around the garden, getting accustomed to a part of me that is wandering her city for the first time instead of hiding within it.
“If I confess my truths to you, would you want me anyway?” I break the silence, wanting to know if Max will understand a soul like mine.
“My feelings go beyond your past and your actions. It’s deeper. Different. I’d want you even when I can’t have you.”
“What are your secrets?”
He looks at me carefully. “When I was a young boy I used to wish my parents would get divorced. I thought I would get more out of it if they weren’t together. You know, get the best of both worlds. When I thought back to that when I was older I felt like such an ass. My parents are happy and it was a shit thing to wish that upon their happiness.”
“I’m sure lots of kids wish that.”
“You’re the first person I’ve told that to. I always felt ashamed about it.”
“It’s not too bad.”
Max’s kind heart has no room for nasty things like mine does. Maybe he’s proving to me there still are some good people out there in the world.
“What about you?”
Despite knowing he would ask, my heart races and I freeze. He knows I have secrets. That much he’s put together, but what they are is unknown.
I take a deep breath and start with one that isn’t directly mine. “My grandfather used to abuse my mom when she was little, sexually. I found out when I was older. Since that day, I’ve hated him. He was always presented as the kindest person in the world, the most humble. A catholic and all that shit.”
“I’m sorry.” Max seems pensive.
“No one’s fault but his.”
I stare off to anything that will wipe away these thoughts. Every time this sneaks into my mind, the anger that boils within me is strong enough to defeat the fiercest dragon. It’s the feeling of being lied to, and misled, that aggravates me. It’s the knowing that someone you trusted and loved could be such a monster. Because what he did, that’s what monsters who live under beds do. Maybe that’s where the term came from.
“My dad always told me, ‘Trust no one.’ I never understood why he would say something like that. Maybe he knew about my mom. When he realized he could do nothing more to get my mom to receive love, he left her. Trust no one, that’s what I learned from my father.”
“It’s not about not trusting. You learn in life who are the people you can open up to and trust. Everything is a lesson we need to learn in order to move forward. Some are ugly. That was for your mom, and as a domino effect, it hit you.”
“I hate him for leading me to believe he was a man I admired when in reality he was a sick bastard.” I’m suddenly the young woman who found this information out for the first time, dealing with grief of losing a mother and an image of a family I adored. I can’t shut up. What I have never spoken aloud, I’m saying today to a man I barely know yet has the ability to see deeper than anyone else.
“I lost myself after that. I can’t remember who she was, but the anger and resentment poisoned me, leading me to careless actions and even more careless people. I cracked and what spilled from my fractured body was filthy. I married a man who promised me the world. I should have known better from my recent discoveries about how people can easily camouflage into what they’re not to hide the truth. But I was alone and he strung his words perfectly together.”
My body contracts at the thoughts. Max softly reaches for my hand and squeezes it.
“Everyone encounters different experiences and deals with them in their own way.”
“Max, you’re too good. You shouldn’t waste your time with me.”
“I choose how I spend my time. You’re just as good as I am. You don’t get it. You don’t see it because you don’t want to, but we, you and me, were meant to meet.”
“You talk of destiny as if it’s a real thing.”
“Because it is.”
“You live in your fantasy world, Max.”
“You always say the same thing. What happens to me is true in my world, whether someone else sees it or not. Finish your story.”
So abrupt.
“Another day. You already know more than I planned on telling you.”
“Doesn’t work that way. If I spill my secrets, so do you. There’s no holding back.”
“You’re secrets are child’s play in comparison to mine.”
His blue eyes stare at me. He reaches out to hold my face gently and says, “I don’t care what your past holds. I want to help you release it so you can free yourself of the weights you drag with you. What led you here?”
“I needed to leave the States.”
“Why?” he presses on in a whisper.
“It was too much to stay there.”
“Are you hiding from someone?”
“You can’t hide from ghosts.”
Max scrunches his eyebrows.
“I killed a man.” The words rush out of me, barely a whisper. If he wants the truth, he’ll get it.
Without releasing my face, he asks, “Why?” I shake my head in response, moving his hands with me.
“We may all have a past, but do you really need to know about mine?”
“Yes, simply for the reason that I want to know everything about you. Every scar, every fear, every joy. I want to be the one who shares that with you.”
“We barely know each other. How can you want something like that? Especially after what I just said.” He seems unfazed by my confession.
“Conversations are small talk, pleasantries and what not. I know your heart and your soul. I recognized you immediately. Something inside me pushing me towards you, instructing me to go to you. The pull we have, it’s more than this mortal world.”
“Why don’t I feel that way?”
“Because you resist any kind of feeling that will attach you to someone.”
“You’re insane.”
“Maybe. Be insane with me and believe in more than the glass you encase yourself in. Tell me what happened.”
“I killed my husband. One day I snapped. I was tired of being treated the way he did. I was tired of being tossed around like some useless thing. He attacked me one night, the usual, taking what he wanted when
he wanted. I lost it, seeing nothing but my lifeless mother and the years of torture she put herself through. I stumbled around the kitchen, trying to get away from him, and when he leaped towards me, I stabbed him with the knife I was using to prepare dinner.” I explain the rest. How I was released and ended up here. “One way ticket to freedom, except phantoms can haunt you from wherever.”
“You’re haunting yourself. You don’t forgive yourself for carrying blood on your hands. You did what you needed in order to survive.” He kisses my forehead and hugs me. “I’m lucky, you know.”
Silence.
“I’m lucky to have met you. I’m lucky I found you in the streets of Amsterdam. If you weren’t dancing, maybe I would’ve missed seeing you that night.”
“You’re not lucky to have met me. I’m ruined, for you or anyone else.”
“Stop.” His jaw twitches. “We have darkness in life so we can see the light. One cannot be without the other. What you call your darkness makes a way to show you the light in your life. You are light, shining brightly.”
My body goes limp. I don’t care about light and darkness. I don’t care about what he’s saying. I just want to go back to when my emotions were well hidden and no one could see deeper than what I offered. Max walked in tearing apart my façade and demolishing my quiet life. Maybe a part of me is glad he did, but another part of me doesn’t know how to return back to the person who believed in fairytales and people.
I look up at the ceiling, unmoving. I ponder about the afternoon, listening now to the snow falling outside as the wind howls like a wolf crying out to the moon in agony.
A blizzard was set to hit, so Bale told me to stay home. The District was closing for safety reasons. Although I argued with him that someone was bound to go in, he strictly prohibited it. Bale will put my safety before any business.
Now I lay in bed with Max sleeping next to me. He also used the blizzard as an excuse to stay. I could tell he wanted to talk more, but instead chose to make the rest of the evening more relaxed. He showed no sign of judgment when I confessed my secrets. He held on tight, comforting me, and instead, expressing how lucky he was. Luck. Another charm of his fantasy world.
Red Lights, Black Hearts Page 7
