Chapter 41
Tristan asked if I could meet him at Georgetown after my shift. This felt like an escalation, more illicit than going to his apartment or messing around in his car. It was a date.
I didn’t get off work until after nine. On the train: A homeless man groaned in the back of the car. The woman in front of me was crushed between two giant Marshalls bags like an episode of Hoarders.
from: [email protected]
Hi there, my name is Anwar. I’m with the Shaheen farm messaging to thank you for supporting our family in these times of great difficulty.
If you have any issues, please contact me.
We have processed your payment and you can expect your olives after our harvest season in the fall. Please tell your friends about us!
Sincerely,
Anwar Shaheen
I’d forgotten about the tree. Israel and Hamas had agreed to a ceasefire last week.
People were celebrating, cradling a trepid hope.
My relief upon hearing the news was stained with suspicion, but what more could you expect than a primal distrust?
Either way, I hadn’t expected to speak to a real person about it. I messaged him back.
from: catherineelise202@
Hi Anwar! I’m excited to support your family’s farm. From the pictures on the website, it looks stunning. I will definitely tell my friends!
Best,
Cat
He messaged back almost immediately even though it must’ve been extremely early where he was.
from: [email protected]
to: catherineelise202@
I’ve never met anyone with the name “Cat,” like the animal? I will also send you some Nablus soap. It’s good if you have eczema or other skin problems.
Sincerely,
Anwar
from: [email protected]
to: catherineelise202@
It’s short for Catherine lol. I look forward to the soap! I actually have eczema on my elbow.
Maybe he didn’t need to know about my eczema.
I got off the train at Foggy Bottom, hopping on the bus to Georgetown’s campus.
As it circled a small man-made park in the middle of an intersection, I saw more homeless men draped across benches like historical landmarks.
Georgetown’s shops, restaurants beamed in the distance: a procession of lights, a watery Van Gogh twinkle.
When I reached campus, I texted Tristan.
The streets were dark, empty, and ancient.
A minute later, he walked through the gates in a black coat.
Even though I had literally blown him in front of the restaurant barely two weeks ago, it was awkward when we hugged, like we didn’t know where to put our arms. I got makeup on his jacket, which we both ignored.
Our brazen betrayal seemed to baffle us even as we barreled ahead with it.
Clearing his throat, he said, “Wanna grab a drink or…?”
We walked toward M Street. Holiday wreaths with red velvet ribbons hung on black lanterns like festive lollipops even though it was almost February. Everything was closed. Tristan said, “DC, the city that loves to sleep.”
After roaming the cobblestoned streets, we stumbled upon a deserted corner café. It was lamplit and sleepy, gold garland taped along the marble counter, round tables too small to comfortably eat or drink from, inoffensive jazz humming for no one.
Even though it was past ten, Tristan ordered a coffee. He took his black, which mystified me, watching with amusement as I drowned mine in creamer, turning it a milky brown. We stared through the window at the deep-blue street.
“How’d your meeting with Janine go?” he asked.
I was a little surprised he remembered. “She has this cat that jumps down from furniture when you least expect it.”
He said, unhappily, “Yeah, I’ve met that cat.
” He raised his mug to his mouth but then set it down without taking a sip.
“It’s funny. When I told my friend I was meeting up with somebody, he assumed it was Nia.
When I said it wasn’t he was so confused.
He couldn’t recover from it, just kept harping on the logistics. ”
“Like in The Sims when there’s a glitch and they keep walking into the wall. Also why would you tell your friend?”
“It just kind of slipped out. He doesn’t know the details.”
I feigned innocence. “What details?”
He playfully knocked his knee into mine, then hooked a hand under my thigh, squeezing it. The small gesture set my skin on fire.
We floated toward the Potomac after finishing our coffees.
The edges of my real life blurred, leaving in its place a dreamlike approximation.
It was only in this state that I could forget about Jay’s proposition, offering myself entirely to the present.
It started snowing as we crossed the canal bridge.
My and Tristan’s coat sleeves brushed each other with rote familiarity.
By the time we reached the waterfront, flurries whirled above us like Dorothy’s house in the tornado.
As we stood at the edge of the satiny black river, everything seemed possible: that I could be here with Tristan without undermining my relationship with Jay, that I could write the story I needed.
Tristan’s breath made a cloud in front of him when he spoke. “Do you like not living in a state?”
“What?”
“DC. It’s not a state.” He said it like I didn’t learn this in first grade. “I didn’t realize how big of an issue it was until I moved here. California is huge and politically powerful. DC is the seat of power but basically has none of its own. It’s weird.”
“Yeah. That part of living here is trash.”
“The license plates confused me at first too. I was like, why the fuck are they still hung up on the Boston Tea Party?”
I laughed. “I don’t think people know we literally don’t have a senator; our House representative can’t even vote on anything.”
“That’s so fucked. Why not just become a state?”
“What the fuck you think we’ve been trying to do! One thing that is cool is the history here. There was a real-life slave escape on this river. We did a play about it in elementary school. I played one of the slaves, obviously.”
Tristan said, “We did a play about Wounded Knee in fifth grade. Jay and I played Lakotas. We had to fall over and pretend to die when we were shot, but we’d always start giggling.”
After an uncertain pause we both broke out laughing.
“I wonder what the plays kids will have to act out about this moment will be like.”
Tristan toyed with his coat zipper. “I’m sure those’ll be fucked-up too.”
I hesitated. “Do you want kids?”
“Yeah. You?”
“I don’t know.”
He cocked his head. “Marriage?”
“Definitely not. You?”
“Definitely yes.” We smiled at each other as though every discovery about our incompatibility was somehow amusing, a game. The more of a fling this was, the fewer hard decisions we’d have to make about the future.
Snow had fallen in his hair, and he looked like an angel. Shoulders hunched up to his ears, he said, “It’s cold as shit. Let’s go inside.”
We headed back the way we came, passing a steepled church between two campus buildings.
Tristan slid me a conspiratorial glance.
He gripped the curved black handle, the door opening with a tug.
I was relieved to be inside; my cheeks stung, my lashes wet and spotted with snow.
As much as I hated attending service as a kid, I had a soft spot for sacred spaces, for the breathtaking beauty of stained glass, the bright, guttural sound of church bells.
After getting sober, for months my dad went to church every Sunday.
He’d drag me with him at my mom’s behest (though she never went herself), and I’d fall asleep with my head in his lap.
He never woke me. I came to understand it wasn’t religious fervor that brought him there but a need for a place to put himself.
Tristan and I climbed into the pews, whispering so our voices wouldn’t carry.
The lingering taste of coffee, the surprise of snowfall, the trespassing, all gave the night an exaggerated romantic edge.
I knew I’d try to write about it later but would fail to capture the warm-blue aura of how it all felt.
Tristan was distracted when we sat, looking at his phone. I asked him if something was wrong.
“Sorry, I’m just looking at this email.” He let out a long, agitated sigh.
“My church was supposed to host several Afghan refugees this week, but the administration paused the program. Now we have to scramble to put them in a hotel and we don’t have the money.
And that’s the ones whose flights weren’t canceled.
These are American allies, by the way.” His voice grew fervent.
“They’ll be killed if they can’t get out. It’s just, it’s fucked-up.”
I shook my head, mouth tight. “Can you imagine being an interpreter helping Americans during the war only to watch your flight be canceled?”
“No one has to imagine it, it’s happening. It’s happened here, to Americans.”
“But people can’t imagine stuff until it happens to them. Oh my God, did you hear about the woman in South Africa who has a silicone device stuck in her vagina now because they shut down USAID? There aren’t any doctors to take it out because they’ve been put on leave.”
Tristan laughed humorlessly, dropping his head into his lap. Sitting back up, “Let’s talk about something else.”
I was relieved. I didn’t want to be the one to say, let’s stay under this spell we cast over the night, let’s drown ourselves in this warm-blue feeling. “What made you want to study philosophy?”
He paused. “No one thinks it’s relevant anymore, but I think it’s more important than ever.
It’s not questioning everything to be annoying, it defamiliarizes the familiar so you can actually see it clearly.
Like, so much shit in politics, life, whatever, is inertia, not reason.
But there’s no room for inertia in philosophy.
Questions by nature are a movement toward something else. ”