And so began our long distance relationship. As soon as Javier landed in Chile, he wrote me a message saying that he missed me. I instantly wrote him back saying I felt the same. And this continued for four months, where not a day went by without an email or a phone call to each other.
The last month I stayed in Mexico, I could think of nothing else but him. I quit my work a few days after Javier left, and hung around for about a month more, going to the beach daily, going to clubs with no real interest for them or the guys I was meeting, and my favorite hobby – running to the internet cafe about three times a day to camera chat with him. I must have been very annoying to my friends as I could hardly talk about anything else. I would sit there for hours discussing one ridiculous plan after another.
“I know he’s young!” I would exclaim, my feet propped up on the wall “But he can move to Canada, can’t he? I mean, why not?”
“Jes, but Mia.. He still has university” Pate tried to reason with me, even though she has been the biggest supporter for my romance so far. Pau was much less enthusiastic about it. My mom and brother were on the negative side of the scale.
When I put my Facebook status as Complicated, my brother commented that the Mexican sun must have melted my brain completely. I used to poke fun at people who showcased their lame relationship statuses to the world, and now I was one of them.
I would skip happily to a phone booth on the side of my ghetto street like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, and dial his number in anticipation. However, the conversation was confusing as I had problems understanding him or even finding anything to talk about. I’d confiscate my roomate’s computer and talk to him from my apartment, making sure to return everything to the way it had been, so she wouldn’t get suspicious. I could only think of him and I must have been ridiculously irritating to listen to, but I couldn’t help it.
He promised that he would come to Canada as soon as he would get a university break. Sound ridiculous? I’ve learned to ignore that voice that reminded me of our age and culture gap. Maybe he would even move to Canada, he told me. Ecstatic I wrote him that it would be the best thing in the world.
Our so-called relationship continued as I arrived to Canada. At times it was hard, as I felt like I was missing out on meeting someone real, but I avoided meeting someone else, because I didn’t want to lose this beautiful romance he and I have created. Other times, I felt like he was distant and was already tired of this ‘complicated relationship’. For those of you who don’t know, Toronto is about twelve hours away from Santiago de Chile. To say this was a looong distance was an understatement. It was four months of anticipation, excitement, torture and yearning.
Finally, he arrived. I have imagined our meeting just as I had imagined seeing Stefan again. Me, running into his arms in some beautiful silky dress as people around us turned around to watch the young couple reunited. Instead I arrived at an empty gate, and sat there staring at the boards, until suddenly I noticed him standing by the bathrooms. Yep, definitely not the Notebook.
He came for three weeks to live with me in a little basement apartment, that my Peruvian friend Karime rented out to us. To say it was little was no understatement: there was a tinsy kitchen right near the miniature living room and the one room that filled me with joy was the bedroom. The bed was the biggest thing in the entire place.
By this point, all of my friends were extremely excited about the arrival of my Chilean boyfriend, as they have seen numerous photos of him and all thought he was gorgeous. To them it seemed like a fairy tale. With some minor mishaps, of course…
At first it was magic. He was here! In my apartment! I could finally touch him without feeling the coldness of the computer screen. I could finally kiss him and have him kiss me back! Here was this cute boy and he was physically with me. I could walk with him in the streets proudly as everyone would turn. We would wander around at night with a bottle of tequila and have sex in the craziest places. We would talk about everything as we did on the computer. We could go dancing together, where all my friends would stare in jealousy!
Or maybe not.
I have built my hopes up from this wonderful vision of Javier to such an extent that it was pretty painful falling down from Cloud number 9. All was perfect for about three days. Should I say perfect? I meant to say good. I was very much drawn to him and it was beyond exciting to have him in the same bed with me every night. We went out with my brother and his friends to the Guvernment nightclub and both my brother and his girlfriend loved him. The girlfriend even went so far as to mention how “ridiculously good looking he was” with wide eyes. I lay in his arms on the couch simply looking into his eyes and feeling happy.
And we had nothing to talk about.
We would walk the streets in half silence, most of it desperately filled by me who could not for the life of me understand why after virtually talking for all this time, he had nothing to say to me in person. I blamed it on jet lag for the first day. He must be tired, I thought. But then the second and the third day proved to be the same. We were fine as we lounged about in bed, but as we stepped outside of the house, a wall of silence came between us and my chattering seemed pointless and meaningless. It was almost as if he had no desire to talk to me.
The third day I had to work as an extra on a commercial and he went to sign up for a Muay Thai class, as he was seriously into martial arts. As we walked, he asked me to pay for something the next time and I blew up. I have been paying for him most of the time now. I understood that he was a young guy who worked in a restaurant for hardly anything to save up money for this trip, but I also wanted to feel like a girl. Besides, he was from a rich family that provided him with money to spend in Canada. Silence fell upon us again and I knew he was angry. We parted on bad terms and I walked the rest of the way, crying. I cried because I still liked him. I cried because he was not what I expected and because I felt so stupid for living in a fantasy.
During the endless set, I started to miss him to the point of sickness. After all, he had been so far away all this time and now he was finally here, within my reach. I ran home just as soon as were wrapped. He waited for me outside, sleeping on the bench just outside of the house. I kissed him on the cheek, grateful he waited for me.
“I brought you some food from set!” I said.
“Hmm.. ok thanks” he grumbled. He ate the food without looking at me and then walked off to bed. I was left speechless. I climbed in with him. He kissed me on the cheek, good night, and turned around.
I lay there immobile, staring angrily at a spot in the room. We have not seen each other for months and this is what I receive? A chaste kiss goodnight?
I tossed and turned, trying to draw his attention, but that did nothing. I then, started to sigh very loudly and finally he turned around.
“Nada” I said angrily. He turned back around and fell right back to sleep.
I was so angry, I couldn’t sleep so I sauntered off into the living room and sat on the couch crying. Soon, he shuffled in the room, a blanket on his wide shoulders.
“Mia, what is wrong?” he asked annoyingly, his voice raspy from tiredness.
“What is wrong?” I asked. “I haven’t seen you for months and this is what you give me, a kiss?”
“Why can’t I give you a kiss?”
“You didn’t even look at me!” I yelled not caring if anyone heard or not. “I feel like I’ve been married to you for years and you’ve only been here for a few days!”
He sighed, exasperated. “I don’t know why you’re so angry. Come back to bed.”
I was reluctant at first, then thinking I may have made a big deal over nothing came back and lay near him. He pressed me against him, hard. Did crying girls really turn him on?
Sex with Javier was average. That is to say that I felt nothing during sex, but I was so attracted to him and couldn’t help but stare at the way he held me and how powerful he seemed at the moment. That is the thing that kept me drawn to him. I wanted him to want me. It was as simple as that and the less he wanted me, the more I inevitably craved his attention.
I am not sure if he enjoyed having regular sex. It seemed that he was out to prove himself or try something new, rather than to have a genuine time with me. He would get turned on watching me exercise. The dresses that seemed to impress him so much in Mexico, had little effect on him now as he couldn’t even pick one that he wanted me to wear for a night out. It’s ok, he would say, shrugging. However, the evening I came out of the room in my short shorts, tied up tank and a pony tail, he instantly grabbed me from behind and started kissing my neck. He pushed me on the table and had cheap porno sex with me. He loved pink underwear, which made me think he had watched too much teen porn and which was made especially evident when I saw it pop up on his computer. Why would he pick me then? I definitely was not a teenager anymore.
He once made me watch porn with him, which just got me uncomfortable and eager to play along. The other time, he tied me up to the bed and tied my eyes with a bra that kept on sliding down my face making it hard to breathe. I then heard clinking from the
refrigerator as he decided to do a Nine and a Half Weeks and seduce me with ice. It was just very cold and uncomfortable, but once again – I played along.
However, we never again had sex outside. I tried to persuade him to take a walk to the Casa Loma with a bottle of tequila, but he no longer had any interest for anything exciting. In fact, for a few days towards the end of his stay, we did not have sex for three days. One night, instead of going to my friends’ house, he wanted to watch The Kite Runner. I fell asleep on his shoulder because the movie must have been three hours long. I could have gone to bed, but I thought that maybe that night we would finally have sex. Without any consideration for me, he did not bother turning off the screen. No, he finished watching the movie until the end, even crying at the sad parts, as I stared at him curiously and then sauntered off to bed, wishing me a good night.
That night was not good.
I screamed at him so much I even scared myself. What was wrong with him that he didn’t want to have sex with me? Why did he even come to Canada? He could stay in Chile and communicate with me virtually. That clearly seemed to work better for him. What did you say? Speak English – I yelled. When he left outside, I wailed so loud it seemed there were no more tears left in me. I used to be fun, I told him. You made me into this crazy girl with the way you’re acting. He slept on the couch.
In the morning I left to my mom’s house and stayed overnight. I came back calm and collected. This was the last time I begged for sex. This was also the last time I changed my plans just to watch a movie with him or even better, watch him sleep.
“Is that a hint?” he asked.
He was all over me like a cat: touching my knees, staring at me, not leaving my side for one second and wanting to get my attention.
The time he didn’t want to go to the pool with me, I went by myself without a complaint, and when as I climbed into the shower to wash off, he climbed in with me.
It is not as if we didn’t have any good times. We did. But most of his stay was defined by me crying. I came home in a cloud of tears and anger every time I visited my mother. He talked about other girls. He didn’t treat me as a woman. He no longer talked about living in Canada; rather he now discussed moving to Australia. He didn’t look at me in the same way he did in Mexico and he never gave me any compliments.
He clearly was in love with the idea of the movie he created in his head. And now, seeing as how the movie turned into real life, he no longer wanted any part of it. Every morning I cried as I looked at his sleeping face: puffed up lips and disheveled blond hair. I didn’t want to lose him. I couldn’t imagine what I would now look forward to. But by the end of his stay, I was tired. He drained me emotionally. I no longer felt beautiful and my eyes didn’t glow. I felt and looked down. And the more I tried to revert to my fun and carefree self, the more desperate I looked.
I went through sadness, to anger, to pure indifference. Leave, I thought. There was nothing left for us to do now. Our last night in the club he asked me if I saw any future for us. I nearly laughed. Future?
No, I told him, you are too young to know what you want and I am too mature to feel like less than a woman. And I would like to date someone who can make me feel that way.
That night we had sex for the very last time.
I walked him in the airport and stood there, not knowing what to say.
“Well” he said awkwardly “Thank you for everything”
That is all he had to say to me. Really.
I kissed him on the lips. “Safe trip” I said and turned around and walked out of the airport.
I had nothing more to say to him either.
We still sometimes write to each other though we have not remained real friends, per ce. I still think of Javier with humor more than anger or any other negative emotion. He was what he was, a dreamy young boy and I was the one who should have been responsible for knowing that. After all, I was six years older.
But at least he turned twenty when he was in Toronto.