Flaws: Vedmykiv

[6] Don't Mean Ill by It

"WHAT ARE YOU looking at?" Oxana asked. She caught me by surprise.

"Oh, nothing. I want to sit here and stare at you like an idiot," I responded in automatic.

She took a moment to gather her thoughts. An answer brewed in her head. "You know I adore you," she finally said. "And I know you adore me. You wouldn't sit at the dinner table for hours a day looking at me if you didn't. I have proof."

We were at the small kitchen table. The cheap purple plastic cover rested motionless on top. A yellow flower print decorated it. It was a sunflower. Oxana was working on her next school assignment, and I dilly-dallied with my photographs. The shooting at the voting polls center had come out great. Truth be told, I edited them and submitted them in fifteen minutes, and spent the next two hours not staring at Oxana, but looking at the blank space in between us, deeply submerged in thought. The kid was dead. It was my fault. 

"Yes... this is... beautiful," I responded. She didn't need to know.

She skipped over the hesitation and smiled. She looked at me with her enduring puppy-dog eyes and added, "Do you foresee yourself getting bored of me?"

What could I possibly say to that? "Honestly? No. If anything, I'm afraid of screwing it up. You are too good for me."

"Good God, you really are on a mission to make me blush, aren't ya?" She covered her face.

I remained quiet. Behind her traumatized fingers, I could see her nail-biting smile. She looked up and said, "Oh my fucking God, are you nuts? Too good for you? You must be out of your fucking mind. I've been waiting for you since I was fourteen. I'm frighteningly swept away by you. I've never dated anyone who was half the man you are. I adore the shit out of you," she said that last part with a bit of embarrassment and a bit of that honesty the babushka yapped about.

"I think I shall keep you," I said.

We paused and contemplated each other at the small, suffocating table. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to go, three men were dead, maybe more. What the fuck did I do? What did I cause? I made her fall. I made them gone. I wanted to sweep the weight away under the rug or throw it out the iron door. But I couldn't.

"I think I shall let you," she responded. "Whoa," Oxana said. "I think I had this exact same exchange with Natalya once, except she was the creepy one asking if she could keep me."

Many thoughts raced through my head that day as I watched her return to her schoolwork. I had to give her credit for that. She was a dedicated teacher. Despite her solitude and the burdens that only the skinny prophet in the babushka's cross understood, she did her job excruciatingly well. Even in a crisis zone, with threats and dangers so palpable in the streets, and now even her home, she kept her cool. When she was with her kids, Oxana was a light bulb guiding them in the darkness. Maybe that was love in times of war. Maybe that was how love battles more than two fronts. I wished I could do more for her, but I didn't. The little hairs outlined her face reflecting the bright daylight just as the dirty snow reflected the winter sun.

The words of the babushka down on the first floor came to my mind. Something about being honest, something about actions. Something that smelled of borsch and made me feel nauseous. As embarrassed as a naked Jesus on a cheap golden medallion, I went to the bathroom to throw up. Oxana didn't fucking ask.

The last time we bumped into the old lady, she nagged Oxana to translate stuff for me. I recognized a common saying: You reap what you sow.

She kept talking about actions and deeds. To me, it sounded like the good ol' law of cause and effect. The evil you do, the consequences you'll pay. Translated to other words: you cause your own suffering. Yeah, yeah, old lady, I get it.