Flaws: Vedmykiv

[20] A Moment of Clarity

THE NEXT DAY, I got up bright and early. I layered up, poked Oxana on her belly, and forced her out of bed. We washed our faces and entered the kitchen. It was a strange feeling to spend time with other people. People not involved in separations, crises, and conflicts. Tourists, travelers, backpackers, people looking to have a good time even when they, like me, were in a country they shouldn't be. I felt normal again. And while I was glad to be around people from other countries with whom I could talk about other topics, I still didn't fit in. Not because I was an asshole or easily annoyed—I may be set that way—but because the capital city had an air of empowerment that made every interaction dangerously earnest. I was still working my way up to that. That poker face that pretended to be incorruptible by charm or curiosity, I had learned, was nothing but a useful facade. The useful facade of mine, I needed to crack. Besides, there were reasons to celebrate. I deserved some fun. On the other hand, these foreigners couldn't stop their annoying smiles. Especially the dude hitting on my gal.

"You speak Russian?" asked the bearded jerk while I made breakfast for her.

"Why, yes. I do," Oxana responded, bending her knees and tilting her head, feigning a curtsy. Her smile lingered.

"She should come with us," the bearded shrimp said to the rest of the clan. "She'll help us communicate."

"I'll do more than that. I'll be your tour guide."

Excited voices spoke in different tongues. Oxana's glow covered her skin in sweat.

"So you're Russian or somethin'?" The bearded man was getting on my nerves.

She loved it. "My grandparents were."

The German girl and her sexually frustrated best friend were still on the couch. She still looked for government-approved tour agencies, and he still kissed the air she exhaled.

"Oxana, we gotta go," I said.

"We'll talk later," the bearded midget said to Oxana, gratuitously ignoring me. I imagined a shovel swinging right at his small curly head. Whoosh! Yes. Right over his head.

We headed to the Peace Corps headquarters. I waited outside with the cab driver. The man offered me cigarettes. Oxana came out an hour later. It was set. Headquarters had serious doubts about her safety in Vedmykiv. It was best for her to find other accommodations in the city while they determined where she should go next. The Donbas region was out of the question. Oxana said I had to pay for the broken gate. I don't think Oxana mentioned the gunshot holes or the smoke marks on the walls. The officials could see that all for themselves when they get there. As far as I was concerned, we could continue to date. Either way, Oxana was not going back. She was not returning to her friends, her students, her life, her gray-suspended world I destroyed. I was stuck with her, and she was stuck with me.

The one who was not stuck with us was the cab driver. He got tired of waiting and left, not without giving me an extra cigarette. By the time Oxana made it out, I had already devised a plan. The entrance to the subway was only two blocks away. It was so flat we almost missed it. It disappeared on the horizon like Oxana's feelings for me. It was an escalator that descended through a hole in the floor behind a kiosk and a bus stop. We went down the long cylindrical tunnel to a platform so deep below the ground that it had to double as a bunker. It was a Soviet design. I hope they won't need it, but with Oxana's bitchy mood, I might. I made my way next to her as she approached the counter. "Two coins," she said.

The woman handed her the coins, and she paid with the colorful notes stuffed in her front pocket: green and maroon bills whose value kept plummeting. Without looking, she gave me one of the coins, and we proceeded to the turnstiles. "Try holding on to that," she said.