Breakfast Buddies, page 8
“Yes?”
“I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while, but I had to think it over,” I began quietly. The fact that it took me more than four years to even approach him seemed funny now. “It is really important to me, so I’d appreciate it if we could talk about it privately. Can it remain between us?”
“Sure, go ahead,” he replied, looking somewhat serious.
I leaned forward a little and pulled a small white envelope out of my bag.
“I have been doing some creative writing recently,” I said with a sigh, an overstatement, perhaps. Yet I did not want to tell him how much effort it took me to write what I had written. It had been a long and confusing journey, but a journey worth taking—a journey that created meaning.
“Is that so?” he asked with genuine curiosity, staring at the envelope. I had not yet pushed it toward him, but Jürgen must have figured out the envelope was intended for him.
“Yeah.” I nodded and bit my lower lip. For just one split second, one tiny part of me thought: Was it right to actually do what I intended to? The moment passed quickly. “This is a special present I’ve prepared for you. It’s my first story, and I wanted to give it to you before I depart—”
“Oh!” His eyebrows jumped. Perhaps, this was not what he had expected.
“—but you have to promise me two things—you won’t open and read it until I leave,” I stated, hoping that would work out well. “And you will read it through to the very end.”
“How intriguing.” He laughed merrily, and I almost blushed. The idea of giving him this gift felt awkward, even though I had grown a lot since our last encounter.
“Will you promise?”
“Very well! I will do as you say.”
I sighed with a bit of relief and pushed the envelope toward him, watching it disappear into his bag.
“Thank you very much, buddy. That is an honor!” he said, naively unaware of how dramatic that simple gesture had been for me.
I looked at his beautiful face. No, he had not changed, after all. The same pretty, curly hair, the same kind, laughing eyes, the same musical voice—and even the same fashion choices—all those sporty outfits, as I remembered. Ah, it was pure joy to see him again, even for what, perhaps, would be the last time.
“Thank you, Jürgen. I love you so much, my dear, dear friend,” I said quietly and raised my eyes to him, “and I am very glad that I met you! You cannot imagine how much you helped me to grow—grow as a person—even though you might not be well aware of it.”
He laughed again, dismissing my words as flattery, but I knew the true meaning of those words. I sat there, in an old coffee shop, memories swirling around me. My love for that man was no longer what it used to be, of course. Yet I was glad that it had not become an obsession, but rather the foundation of my deep respect for him. What was more important was it had become a key to my understanding myself a little better—and respecting myself too. Now I had come to terms with my emotions and feelings. Now I had enough courage to express them. Now I did not have to fear what my distant relatives would think of me. I learned that accepting myself the way I was born was not easy, even though for many it could seem that way. And I also learned how lucky I was to go through this journey.
“You won’t believe what I am going to tell you now,” I started with a big smile.
“What?”
I hesitated for a second. The world was hanging in the balance.
“Well, back when we studied together at the academy, I had an enormous crush on this wonderful young man…”
The evening descended slowly on that tiny town somewhere in the Belgian countryside. I was finally free.
The white envelope was gone, and the story was told. My heart was at peace. It was like an entire mountain had fallen off my chest. After all those years, I was finally not ashamed of myself. On the contrary, I felt proud of what I had achieved. As I left Belgium, I knew the chapter was closed, and I could now move on. This would be my last diary entry.
“Take care, Jürgen! Take care, Izzie!” I waved at them as the train was getting ready for departure. The couple waved back at me. I exhaled and went back to my seat, sincerely hoping they would have a long and happy relationship—my friend deserved nothing less. I sat in an armchair and closed my eyes. No one was there with me yet, so I could enjoy the comfortable solitude of an empty compartment. In less than a minute, the engine came to life with a gentle thud and began to accelerate. Eventually, that small yet very important Belgian town disappeared out of my sight, as the train took me somewhere else—to a new station in the journey of life. The corners of my lips turned up slightly. As the train gained speed, a rather unremarkable battered notebook with a brown leather cover flew out its window.
Acknowledgements
I thank Jade, Sonya, and Daminika for their endless kindness and love that has supported me all the way through my effort of writing this story. May their lives be full of happiness and love.
Finally, many thanks to Andrew Lapidus and BJ Toth, wonderful editors and beautiful human beings. I sincerely wish them all the best in their personal and professional endeavors.
About Ildar Daminov
Ildar Daminov is a Tatar Kazakhstani social scientist and a modern-day nomad who resides in and travels across Europe. In his free time, he writes short stories in English and Russian and does a podcast on North Korea. If you like this story, you can contact him via his email or on Facebook.
ildar.daminov95@gmail.com
www.facebook.com/ildar.daminov.1
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Breakfast Buddies (epub), Breakfast Buddies
