Clouds. Soaring above them, I feel as if I’m plunging into a dense fog, an impenetrable grayness. Grayness—the thing I’ve always feared, though I’m not entirely sure why... Or maybe I am. Of course, I’m lying to myself. I know exactly why.
The plane began its gradual descent. The pressure shifted, and my ears clogged up again. Another city, another country, another chance to change something in my life. Yet another fear of mine—fear of running out of time.
Running out of time to paint a fresh, blank canvas. Though... I’ve never actually finished painting a single one, have I? Not because I couldn’t, no. The problem always lies in the outcome. Always in the result.
I’m a perfectionist, and that’s probably a flaw. It frustrates me when something I’ve poured my heart into, something I’ve crafted with my own hands, doesn’t turn out to be the best. I’ll admit, I’ve always thought of myself as something more, genuinely believing in my own “exceptionality.”
“I’m not like everyone else, and everyone else isn’t like me.”
Probably one of the dumbest thoughts that’s ever crossed my mind.
I closed my eyes. The plane continued its descent.
— Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to London Heathrow Airport. Local time is 11:45, and the temperature is 20 degrees Celsius. For your safety and comfort, please remain seated with your seat belt fastened....
As always, the announcement was devoid of any emotion. Airport name, time, temperature... The rituals of landing and takeoff, automatic routines, and an underestimation of our own time.
We’re all constantly rushing somewhere... We run, we’re late, always late. Time slips through our fingers like sand, even faster when we try to grasp too much of it. Time... When will people truly learn to value it? Every minute of our lives is unique. Every morning, day, evening, night, sunrise, and sunset, every rain and snowfall... Every encounter, every fleeting moment. A film reel with no identical frame, even if the storyline seems overdone at first glance.
To value. We must learn to value our time. Because, in truth, we don’t have much of it—think about that. Say you live to seventy... You’ll spend twenty-five of those years asleep, ten in school, fifteen to twenty just working through repetitive tasks. Another ten years wasted on trivial things: scrolling online, watching TV... And just like that, your life passes by. Eighty percent of what we do is on autopilot: sleeping, eating, commuting to school or work along the same old route, brushing our teeth... Almost all of life slips by unconsciously, on autopilot. Do you really want to squander the pitiful twenty percent that’s left?
— Please check around your seat for any personal belongings you may have brought on board with you and please use caution when opening the overhead bins...
Check your belongings, retrieve them carefully, and if you need assistance, remain seated until other passengers have disembarked. Of course, one of our crew members will be happy to help... — I heard the English as if it were my native tongue, Ukrainian. — Thank you for joining us on this journey. We hope to see you on board again in the near future. Have a great day.
London greeted me with a light mist. I breezed through border control and picked up my luggage fairly quickly.
Good thing Heathrow isn’t Colombo Bandaranaike, but that’s a story for another time...
— Vlad, you’re finally home... — A short, redheaded girl with a bob haircut approached me, and I instantly recognized her as Olya.
— Says the Moldovan who studied in Kyiv to a Ukrainian in London... — I hugged her. — Where are your blonde streaks? Dyed your hair again?
— You know my heart feels safest in the same city as my cardiologist, — Olya smiled. — As for my hair… As long as I’ve got it, I’ll keep dyeing it. It’ll hold up for another ten years, though five would be plenty for me...
— Always the optimist... — I lifted her hand to my lips, kissed it lightly, and led her by the hand toward the exit.
— How was Germany? — she finally asked.
— Same as everywhere else, — I smiled. — Rearrange the pieces all you want, the sum stays the same. Whether in Ukraine, Germany, or here, AIDS is still waiting for me, sooner or later.
— And you’re calling me pessimistic? — Olya laughed brightly, then whispered in my ear as we got into a taxi. — I missed you...
— I missed you too, Olya... — I said as we settled into the car, a shiver running through me. We were almost there. — Finally, I’m home.
— Says the Ukrainian who studied in Korea and Germany and now lives in England, — the girl nestled closer to the guy. — Finally, you’re home... — she added more quietly.
— Let’s drink to our health tonight, — I opened the car door and offered her my hand.
— Only if it’s pills, and strictly dosed... — Olya took my hand and stepped out of the car. — Do you have all your meds? Should we call our pharmacist? Did they prescribe anything new?
— Let’s tackle problems as they come.
We took the elevator up to the seventh floor.
The lock on apartment number thirteen clicked, welcoming its owners inside.
A lucky loser—that’s definitely me... — I thought as I walked deeper into our cozy little flat on the outskirts of London. — Always the richest of the poor, the healthiest of the sick, and so on.
The trip to Germany got me thinking. If they once predicted I’d have nearly twenty years, now... The P-24 antigen test showed that AIDS isn’t far off. And my CD4 count has dropped below four hundred. Though, maybe that’s for the best. Dying before Olya, in a way, feels like a blessing. We both used to think she’d be the one to leave me first, since the heart is the most vital organ...
But what am I even saying... Both our hearts are sick, just in different ways. No miracle can save me now. The key is not to talk about it. To anyone, especially not to her.
Illness changes people.
Two bedrooms and a living room-studio combined with a kitchen—by British standards, very modest accommodations. But for a Ukrainian and a Moldovan, aged twenty-one and nineteen, it’s a decent apartment in one of the most expensive cities in the world. I think London ranks third in that regard right now.
I didn’t even notice my phone buzzing incessantly until Olya pointed it out.
— Are you going to answer? — Olya gestured toward the phone.
— I’ll call back later, — I picked up the phone and declined the call.
— Do they even know the prognosis?
— They don’t need to, — I rubbed my cheek against her hand on my shoulder. — Why worry them? It’s enough that they know about the HIV. As for me living just a few more years...
— Why just a few years? You’ll live longer. People with your condition live ten, even fifteen years... — she said, a hint of concern in her voice.
— Not everyone with HIV lives that long. AIDS can come sooner, — I sighed and looked away.
— Is there something I don’t know? — Olya’s chameleon-like eyes turned grayer; she was worried.
— You know more than anyone, — I smiled.
— Tell me, how was Germany, really? — Olya decided to change the subject.
— Nothing special, — I shrugged. — The plane ride was more interesting.
— As usual, checking out the flight attendants? — she grinned.
— No, — I paused for a moment. — Almost the whole time, I was looking at a girl sitting across the aisle from me.
— For the entire hour and a half? — Olya’s chameleon eyes widened in surprise. — What was she doing that was so fascinating?
— Nothing special, really, — I suddenly realized how oddly fixated I’d been on her.
Her eyes were like mine, — I thought. — She looked tired of life. Could she be sick too?
— Why didn’t you introduce yourself? — Olya smiled again.
— Like I said, nothing special... — I sighed. — I was just bored on the plane. Should I have gone up and introduced myself right away? Besides, it would’ve been awkward talking across the aisle.
— Still, you thought about introducing yourself, — my friend stated matter-of-factly. — She must’ve been pretty.
— What are you getting at? — I frowned slightly. — I’m sick, and I’m not looking to start any relationships.
— Funny... — Olya gave me a sly look. — I don’t remember you ever being this curious about a stranger before.
— What makes you think I meant that kind of relationship? — I laughed suddenly but quickly grew serious. — It’s just that her eyes told me she’s like us. We could’ve been friends.
— Let me get this straight, — Olya put on a serious face. — You saw a cute girl on the plane, stared at her the whole flight, were too scared to introduce yourself because you didn’t want to drag her into your life and your battle with HIV, even though her eyes told you that you could’ve been friends. Did I miss anything?
— Nope, — I said, unsure of where she was going with this.
— Then... Imagine this scenario, — Olya bit her lip playfully. — I’m on a plane, I see a cute guy, stare at him the whole flight, am too scared to introduce myself because I don’t want to drag him into my life and my struggle with acute heart failure, even though his eyes tell me we could’ve connected.
— The way you say it makes it sound like you’ve fallen for someone, — I commented, frowning. — But...
— So, would it surprise you if I were that intensely curious about a random guy?
— Don’t talk nonsense, — I hugged Olya. — I don’t believe in love at all, let alone love at first sight, especially with some young girl... Love doesn’t exist. There’s family ties, beneficial connections, friendship, passion, but not love.
— But when I said she was probably pretty, you didn’t deny it, — Olya kept smiling. — Describe her.
— Fine... But only so you’ll stop pestering me, — I closed my eyes and pictured myself back on the plane.
There I am, sitting and looking at that girl.
— She’s about eighteen, maybe younger, but she seemed to be traveling alone, so probably eighteen. Light hair, a bob cut, thin lips, a small, straight nose. Her expression—distant. And long eyelashes, oddly striking. She’s slender, probably doesn’t weigh much... Though she’s tall, around five foot seven or eight, just a few inches shorter than me.
— What about her clothes? — Olya asked for clarification.
— Right, — I snapped my eyes open. — There was a patch on her jacket with a red camellia in a cross, and above it, a blue sky with a book instead of the sun... How did I not recognize our university emblem right away!
— As if you’re ever there... — Olya frowned. — You’ve got an independent study plan. Plus, there are eighteen colleges and eleven institutes in that university. The chances of finding her...
— Who said I’m planning to look for her? — I looked at my friend in surprise.
— Fine, forget it, — Olya kissed me on the cheek. — Just don’t forget to tell her, before...
— Olya! — I interrupted her, indignant. — Nothing like that! I’m not even going to look for her...
— Sure, sure... — Olya smiled. — Good luck, by the way. In NOT looking for her!
***
I wonder when he’ll find her... Will that be the end for us? Even if it is, there’s a chance it could give Vlad a new reason to fight. I want so badly for him to keep going, no matter the prognosis. I’m ready to sacrifice anything, as long as he lives.
Vlad... I’ll never admit that maybe I love you in a different way... Not the way you love me.
Do I love you like an adult? This girl might help me figure it out. I’ll see your love and compare it to mine. Which one is real? I’ll be able to understand.