Chapter 6
Complementary Colors
After the shift, we rushed home. Normally we’d argue on the way about who got to shower first, but this time I lunged for the answering machine while David slipped into the shower without a word.
The red light was blinking – five new messages.
Back then, answering machines – called “electronic secretaries” – were rare in private homes.
David and I had brought ours back from a summer student rotation at Bellevue Hospital in New York.
As odd as it sounds today, owning one definitely boosted our social standing, especially with girls.
Of course, it had its downsides too: mothers leaving nagging messages, and no excuse for ignoring them.
The first message was, of course, from David’s mom, complaining as usual that she hadn’t heard from him in two days, while his older brother called twice a day. The second was from my mother, inviting me to dinner, as always.
The next three messages were blank – arriving about a minute apart, all left the night before in a burst. I replayed them over and over, straining to hear something. Nothing. The more I listened, the more frustrated I felt.
“Your mom really misses you,” I told David as he came out of the shower wrapped in an army towel which he’d swiped from his brother.
“Forget it – she calls all the time, leaves messages everywhere. What can you do? A mom’s a mom. And your mom didn’t call? Huh?” he shot back.
“Of course she did,” I rushed to confirm.
“And…?” he pressed, dangling the question.
“I have no idea,” I admitted with a sigh.
“Three calls, no words.”
“Let me try – I’ve got sharper hearing than you.” David fiddled with the machine, playing the tapes again, but nada. He couldn’t pick up a thing either.
“You can erase them. If she really wants, she’ll call again,” I said, resigning myself to a dose of reality.
The phone rang, cutting me off. My breath caught. I asked David to answer, afraid my voice would betray me.
“Hello?” he said, paused, then repeated, “Hello?” When silence answered again, he hung up.
“Probably just a heavy breather,” I smiled.
“Didn’t hear a thing,” he replied – just as the phone rang again.
“Wait! Let me answer!” I yelled, summoning every ounce of courage.
“Michael, is that you?” Lily’s voice rang like a siren song.
“Yes. Was that you before?”
“Yes, but you didn’t answer, so I hung up,” she said, embarrassed.
“And yesterday?” I pressed, like some veteran detective.
“I wasn’t ready for an answering machine, and I don’t leave messages for people I don’t know,” she said briskly.
“Can we meet? I want to give you the gift,” I pushed ahead, aiming straight for the goal.
“Just tell me where and when.”
“Fine. But get this straight – I’m coming only to pick up the gift. That’s it. I’m not staying.”
“If that’s what you want. I promise not to push,” I said, my hand trembling as I set the receiver down. David and I lived in Bavli, a neighborhood in Tel-Aviv – and it turned out Lily’s parents did too. We arranged to meet at my place in fifteen minutes. I told David he had two minutes to vanish.
“What happened, war broke out?” he shouted.
“No, she’s on her way!” I yelled back, already dashing into the shower.
“Whoa! She’s on her way!!! Okay, I’m getting dressed and gone – give me five.
” David caught on instantly, as always, and played along.
I stripped off the hospital clothes – and the exhaustion with them – and jumped into the shower.
Of course, we’d forgotten to turn on the boiler, and David had used up what little hot water there was.
But even the freezing spray didn’t matter in those magical moments of anticipation.
In five minutes, I was out, in fresh clothes I’d brought from Finland – a striped blue-and-green shirt, and new jeans. I wanted to look my best.
“Perfect on you,” David said before slipping out, sticking to our deal that he’d clear out. About fifteen minutes later, I stepped onto the balcony and scanned the street. No Lily. Then the doorbell rang.
“It’s open!” I shouted, as usual, hurrying to the door.
“What are you out of breath for? Where’d you run from?” Lily stood there, breathtaking as always.
“From the balcony … yeah, really far,” I grinned. Lily looked radiant. Her outfit, her colors, the faint trace of perfume – all of it drew me in. I held back.
“Want to sit? Maybe rest a little?” she asked.
“Actually, yeah. It was a rough night,” I admitted.
“Believe me, I know those nights in the ward,” she said.
For a second, I pictured her in a hospital bed, monitors beeping in the background. I shook the image from my head.
“So … yeah … I bought us something. One for you, one for me.” I stammered, stretching out the word “us.” I pointed to two boxes on the table beside us.
“You what? Now I’m curious … which one’s mine?” she teased, a mischievous smile on her lips.
I left the choice to her.
“I’m taking the green one. Blue suits you better today,” she said, just as I’d expected.
“So what’s this ‘for us’ business?” she asked, inspecting the box.
“My sister suggested a gift in two parts. She said if – when – the two parts come back together, it’s bashert.”
“What…?” she frowned.
“Fate. A match made in heaven. Yiddish,” I explained, half-joking, half-serious.” Slowly, she peeled off the tape and lifted the wrapping in one piece. She still had no clue what was inside. The Finnish writing offered no hints, no pictures. Just before she opened it, she stopped.
“Just this week I broke up with Ralf – and now here I am, running to you. It doesn’t feel right. This isn’t me.” She stood up and started toward the door, the gift still sealed.
“Wait – don’t go. Just open it, please…” I called after her, almost pleading.
She paused.
“Guess?” I tried.
She lifted the box to her nose, sniffing as if scent might reveal its secret.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, gazing at the square glass candlestick inside. Transparent green glass, one piece, four little legs. A stunning piece of handmade work. She held it gently, peering through it toward the sunset glowing through my window.
“Open yours. Let’s see the other color,” she asked, just before leaving.
I tried to mimic her careful moves, but being too keyed up, I tore the wrapping and even the box. I pulled out the candlestick and set it in her hands. She held both – one in each hand – studying them as if searching for something.
“This one’s the female, yours is the male,” she finally said.
“How can you tell?” I asked, baffled.
“I can’t explain. I just know.”
“Look through them at the sun. You’ll see – each has a different hue. Yours is bluish, mine green.”
“No way – they’re almost identical. Handmade, sure, but still…” I objected, confused.
I did as she said. And she was right – the light through each candlestick was different. I searched for another explanation, something physical, a prism effect maybe, but found none.
“You said they were different even before you looked west at the sunset,” I said in wonder.
“I can’t explain. They’re so alike, yet so different. Maybe one day you’ll understand – when you have the tools.” Was I hearing the voice of the future? My heart raced. I looked at her. Lily dropped her eyes.
“Can I kiss you on the cheek?” I asked.
“I should be the one kissing you,” she replied.
“Then both of us – me because I asked, you as thanks.” I leaned in and kissed her cheek, lingering a bit longer than a casual kiss.
She didn’t pull away. Then I offered her my cheek.
She lifted slightly and kissed me back, her lips resting just a moment longer than necessary.
When she pulled away, I held her gaze. She broke it first. I felt something forming between us.
Something different. The way she said she had to go made it clear this wasn’t the end.
That’s why I didn’t argue. Standing at the door, she promised to call by the end of the week.
I wasn’t surprised. I felt a little more confident that something real might happen between us – but I was still buzzing with nerves.
We both knew something had begun. Neither of us had a clue what it was, or where it might lead.