A Measure of Love - 1. A Measure of Love

A Measure of Love

Our shouting was abruptly silenced by the sound of a wine glass shattering as it hit the ceramic tile at my feet. The noise reverberated through the apartment, followed by utter silence. My eyes widened in shock, and I opened my mouth to yell at Aiden, across the room, but an immense exhaustion washed over me and I closed it again without speaking. He stood motionless, staring at me silently with hard, unforgiving eyes. It was a harsh silence — a silence filled with six years of things we had not said. I looked around the apartment and my entire adult life flashed before me. I looked at my – at our – apartment and I remembered. I remembered falling in love; I remembered a life beyond the quotidian; I remembered moments that would not – could not – be repeated. It all seemed so far away – souvenirs of a past life.

I lit a cigarette and sat down on the floor. Aiden hadn’t moved and his face was still cast in stone, but his shoulders slumped slightly now; no longer a viper poised to strike. The silence stretched on. There was so much that I wanted to say to him and yet I could find no words that would suffice. I flicked my cigarette, letting the ash fall amongst the broken glass.

“Smoke?” I asked wearily, finally breaking the silence.

He nodded curtly and walked over to me. I handed him the cigarette and watched him take a drag. He was sweaty and unkempt and there were bags under his eyes that I could not recall seeing before. But when he raised the cigarette to his lips I saw only a youth with soft features, wide eyes, and an enigmatic smile. Even then, I couldn’t help but notice his beauty. He sat down beside me.

“What happened, Aiden?” I asked, finally breaking the silence.

“Six years happened, Matt.”

“Six happy years,” I said softly.

He nodded his head, but I saw the unspoken anguish. I watched him, unblinking, as he smoked. I wanted to reach out to him, to tell him that everything would be alright but as I observed him, I realised I no longer believed that it would. It was as if I was seeing him again for the first time. I saw things that I had never noticed before: a deep pain behind his eyes, an inner conflict that I could not identify. For the first time in years, I felt powerless to reach him. So I lit another cigarette and leaned my head against the wall.

“I love you Aiden. You know that, right?” After all that had happened, it seemed so inadequate.

“I know.” He paused, closing his eyes and exhaling deeply. “I love you too, Matty. More than you know.”

Those words, which should have brought a smile to my lips, left me feeling cold.

“It’s funny,” he mused. “Sometimes when I look at you, I am afraid – terrified, even. I know that I don’t have to say anything, and you know what I’m thinking; what I’m feeling. I know that I can’t tell you anything about me that you don’t already know – and accept. And sometimes...” he trailed off and a distant look came over his face.

“Go on...”

“And sometimes I look at you and see a stranger staring back at me.”

“Aiden...” I began, but he cut me off.

“Perhaps you really are a stranger, Matty. Perhaps we don’t really know each other – we only remember. It’s been six long years. And when I think of the early days, I can remember them like it were yesterday. I could tell you – word for word – the things you said to me so long ago that made me fall in love with you. And at the same time, it feels like a lifetime ago. I remember Ibiza; I remember every single minute of those six weeks. I remember feelings that I will never have again. And when I remember, it fills me with an indescribable sadness. I’m sorry... it’s not really something I can articulate.”

“You said it yourself, I don’t need you to put it into words.”

He continued as though he hadn’t heard me. “Meeting you, Matty – falling in love with you – was my great story. If I wrote an autobiography, you would be the highlight, the climax. When I said I loved you more than you knew, I was not lying. You were my best friend, my saviour, my blood-stained suit of armour. I have confided in you things that I thought were mine and mine alone. I loved – I love – you with all of my heart. I have given more of myself to you than I thought I could ever give to another human being. Perhaps that is the problem.”

“Is that such a bad thing, Aiden? We complete each other.”

He laughed, almost scornfully. “Perhaps I misspoke when I said you knew me. One and one make two, Matty. I am not one half of a whole.”

“You put words into my mouth. You say you are whole, Aiden, well what is the whole if not the sum of its parts? If you were asked to give a complete description of who you are, would you be able to do it without mentioning my name?”

“Of course not,” he sighed. “But I also have to know that there is something more to my life than just this relationship.”

I put the cigarette out on the tile, watching Aiden from the corner of my eye. A tear slowly slid down his cheek.

“I’m tired,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m tired of longing – of constantly craving something. I’m tired of remembering happiness, but not experiencing it.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. I thought I understood vaguely what he was trying so desperately to put into words, but it was not until years later that I realized Aiden’s anguished look was precisely because I did not understand. Whether or not I understood, I knew what was coming.

“You’re about to leave me, aren’t you?” I asked, my voice barely audible.

He nodded. “I love you, Matty. And there is a part of me that will always belong to you.”

“Love is supposed to be forever!” I tried to blink back the tears, but they came anyway.

“Nothing is forever, Matty” he said sadly. “Love isn’t measured in years.”

“Then how do you measure it?” I demanded, my voice thick with emotion. His only reply was a haunting, tortured stare.

He stood up, and I felt anger well up inside of me. I wanted to scream at him, to tell him he was wrong. But most of all I just wanted to hold him once more. I pushed myself to my feet and pulled him into an embrace, squeezing with all my might. He tensed as my arms wrapped around him, but he relaxed after a few moments and kissed me gently on the forehead. We stood there with our bodies pressed together for minutes on end, neither of us speaking. There was nothing left to be said. We released one another and stepped apart. I tried not to look at him, but he stared at me until I reluctantly met his gaze. There was a profound melancholy behind his eyes, but as I stared into those deep pools of brown, I knew that it was not my cross to bear.

He kissed me gently one last time on the lips and then walked slowly out of our – of my – apartment.

* * * * *

I saw him only once more after that day, some fifteen years later. By chance I had picked up a collection of short stories in an airport bookstore. The final story in the book was entitled One Night in Ibiza, written by one John Waters. I flipped the book open, allowing my mind to wander down memory lane. For a long time I had not been able to think of Aiden without stirring up a maelstrom of emotion, but as I approached my middle years, I found that the resentment faded and was replaced by a fond recollection of what we had shared. I wanted to read the story only to indulge my sense of nostalgia for the Spanish island, but as I started to read I realized that it wasn’t just any story, it was my story. I told myself that I was just taken by a flight of fancy.

Love is not measured in years.

I read, and re-read, that final line of the story. It was impossible. I would never forget those words, the last he had ever said to me.

When I got off that plane, I immediately called the publisher and tried to get more information about ‘John Waters’ but they would tell me nothing, not even if it was a pseudonym. They gave me an address where I could send fan mail but could not guarantee that it would actually be read by the author. I had to do something – reading the story had rekindled a forgotten fire inside of me. I remembered him telling me that I would always be his great story and at the age of forty, I felt old enough to say that he had been mine. I sent a short letter to him, containing not much more than my contact information and an old photograph of him that I had taken the night we met.

Nearly six weeks passed with no indication that the letter had even reached him. I thought that perhaps somewhere there really was a John Waters, laughing at what must have seemed a madman’s letter. But one evening the phone rang; I did not recognize the number.

“Hello,” I said. Silence greeted me. “Hello?”

“Matty?” It had been a long, long time since I had been called that. It was my turn to be silent.

“Aiden?” I asked at last.

“Yes.”

“Oh my god...I don’t believe it. It is good to hear your voice again. I take it you got my letter?”

“Yes.”

“I would love to see you again, Aiden. For old times’ sake.” My voice was confident and steady, but my hands were trembling and I felt butterflies in my stomach; I felt like I was 21 again.

“I...” he faltered. His voice, however, was toneless and lacking the rhythmic cadence I remembered. “I would like that. I live in Prague now.”

“I can come there, if you like.”

“No,” he said. “Meet me in Sant Antoni. For old times’ sake, as you say.”

“Of course,” I replied, stunned. That he would ask me to meet him in the very place where we had fallen in love surprised me. We had lived in London for six years, yet it was our summer in Sant Antoni that I held most dear. I wasn’t sure what his intentions were and yet I could not bring myself to tell him I had a partner of nearly ten years with whom I owned a house and shared a life. We agreed on a date a month away but after that the conversation died and we exchanged polite goodbyes.

* * * * *

For a month, Aiden consumed my every thought the way he had so long ago. The years had dulled my resentment, but they had also dulled the passion he inspired in me. Though we do not often admit it – even to ourselves – most of us end up settling for something short of our dreams. We call it compromise, because ‘settling’ has the ring of failure, or we call it wisdom because, after all, what did we really know when we were young? But as I waited to see Aiden once more, giddy as a child, I remembered the forgotten passion and abandoned ideals of my youth. I remembered living each and every day with an intensity that had long since faded.

Just as I could not bring myself to tell Aiden about Andy, I could not bring myself to tell Andy that I was going to see Aiden on the island where we had first met. I don’t know why I lied; I had no intention of doing anything in Ibiza but catching up with Aiden and remembering, one last time, the passion we had shared. But as I mulled over his words, I could not deny that in my heart I knew I had loved Aiden has I had never loved anyone else.

*****

I arrived in Sant Antoni the night before we had agreed to meet, to have time to settle myself and calm my nerves before meeting Aiden. The small villa we had rented so long ago was gone, but I booked a room at the luxurious hotel that now covered the area. As I checked-in, though, I was filled with doubt. But it was too late to turn back, so I took my bag up to my room and went down to the beach bar for a drink. The beach was exactly as I remembered it except that it was more crowded now. I took my drink and walked along the pristine white sand until the sand turned to stones and the noise of the bar faded and the only noise was the soft sound of the surf breaking against the rocks.

I’m not sure how long I sat on the rocks, sipping a cocktail, but after a while I saw a figure walking along the beach towards me. As he neared, I saw that it was Aiden, and that the years had not been kind to him. He said nothing as he approached, but he stared intently at me with an expressionless face. I had almost forgotten that intense, poignant stare. He was gaunt beyond all reason and draped in what I can only call rags. He did not look happy; he did not look like he had been happy in a very long time. It was hard to imagine that those thin, cracked lips could form a smile. Only his eyes were unchanged – they still shone with intensity - though they were now set deep in a hollow, creased face. It was a face that belonged on a martyr.

He stopped a few feet from where I was sitting and stared at me with those beautiful, luminous eyes. If it was possible, the sadness etched into his face deepened for a moment, but then it broke into a broad smile and he stretched his arms out to hug me.

“How long as it been, Matty?”

“Long enough that I’d forgotten you once called me that.”

“Matt, then? Or Matthew?”

“It is not an unpleasant reminder,” I smiled. “I don’t know where to begin... How have you been?”

He laughed hoarsely. “Fine, I suppose. I never really found whatever it was I was searching for, but then I don’t think I expected to. I haven’t had what most people would call a successful life, but that suits me fine.”

“Are you happy, Aiden?”

“Such a simple word, and yet such a complicated question. Smoke?” he asked me, lighting one for himself.

“Sure,” I said, even though I had quit years ago. We sat in silence as we smoked, but it was an oddly comfortable silence. There, on the beach where we had met, I forgot about everything except a happiness that I had never known since.

“You didn’t answer my question,” I said quietly. The smile vanished from his face.

“What do you think, Matty?”

“I...I think,” I faltered. I had spent many years pondering the question. “I don’t believe happiness is in your nature. I think that perhaps you see too deeply. I think that you have probably spent your entire life searching for it, knowing the whole time that it would always be somewhere just beyond your grasp. And no matter how close it seemed, you may as well have reached for the sun.”

He did not respond, but when I looked over at him a tear was rolling down his face. “How can you know that, Matty? How? I don’t believe in soul mates, but if I had one on all this earth, it would’ve been you. I want you to know that I loved you on the day I left as much I ever did.”

“I...I know that. I didn’t really get it back then, but I think I understand why you needed to see that you were capable of being, if not happy, at least at peace with yourself, without...” I choked on my words, as I remembered something. “Without being one half of a whole.” My voice was a whisper. It was only now, as I sat there with him, that I truly understood.

He nodded slowly, tears staining his cheeks. “I’m sorry for the hurt I caused you, Matty. But I had to know who I was, separate from you.”

“Do not apologize,” I said, putting my arm around him. “Did you find love, Aiden?”

“Just the once,” he said, leaning over to kiss me softly on the lips. “How about you?”

“I thought I had,” I said quietly. “I don’t know. I do love him, but at the same time, not the way I loved you. But I ask you again: How does one measure love?”

“There is only one kind of love, as I understand the word.”

“Then I suppose I have only loved the once. It’s not a comforting thought.”

“No,” he agreed. “It is not.”

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