We each got three words in wispy script. Mine went across the back of my neck, just at the base, and Matt’s went across his chest, right over his heart. We each chose the words for the other, writing them down on a piece of paper and handing them to the two tattoo artists. We didn’t know what they would be until the ink was pierced into our skin. I was like our version of a blood oath.
While we were getting tattooed, we stole glances at each other and smiled. I wondered what he was thinking. All the times he told me that he cared for me still wasn’t enough. It was never enough when I knew he was leaving the next day.
My tattoo was done first, and I used a mirror to read what Matt had chosen. The type was small and looked cute and feminine, and I loved it before I even read it. I looked closely and saw the words: Green-eyed lovebird.
“It’s perfect!” I squealed. Matt watched me, smiling happily, trying not to look down at his own tattoo.
When his was done, he stared into a handheld mirror with curious eyes. “ ‘just the ash.’ Is this Leonard Cohen?”
“Yep. You know it?”
“What’s the whole quote again?”
I swallowed hard and tried not to cry, but my entire body was betraying me. The tattoo artists walked away and gave us a moment. Matt stood from the chair and wrapped his arms around me carefully, tucking me against his chest on the opposite side of his bandaged tattoo.
“ ‘Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash.’ ”
He buried his face in my hair. “My life is burning well.”
Yes, but for how long?
Even though it was still healing, I must have kissed the words over his chest a hundred times that night. He’d kiss the back of my neck and tell me how much he was going to miss his green-eyed lovebird, and then I would call him a cheese ball and we would laugh and then I would cry.
The next morning, Tati left to borrow her dad’s Chrysler to take Matt to the airport. Meanwhile, Matt rushed around trying to pack everything that he wasn’t taking with him so he could ship it back to L.A.
“Why are you sending all your stuff back? You can just leave it in my room.” I was lying on my stomach across his bed, watching him scurry around frantically.
“Because I don’t want you to have to deal with any of my shit.”
“I want to deal with your shit.”
He stopped and looked at me. “It’s better this way.”
“But you’re coming back?”
“Yeah, but I hope to have a job by then so I can live in a real apartment. I’m not coming back to New York to live in Senior House.”
“Senior House is for undergrads. I’ll be in a new dorm by the time you’re back,” I mumbled into the pillow.
“All the more reason. I don’t want you to have to move my stuff when I can easily ship it to L.A. and get it later.” He was frustrated.
“You’re only going to be gone for a few months, Matt. It’s a lot of hassle.”
“Right, but you never know.”
This was not a good time for phrases like “you never know.”
“Come here,” I said. I rolled onto my back and held my arms open to him. I was wearing his favorite dress. He glanced over his shoulder and his eyes turned soft. Stalking toward me, he smiled his sweet, sexy smile. As he bent to kiss me, I stopped him right before his lips touched mine and whispered, “Would you stay if I asked you to?”
He jerked back and crossed his arms over his chest, cocking his head to the side. “Would you ask me to?” Frustration could be read in every line on his face.
Lying there beneath him, I felt more vulnerable than I ever had before. I wanted to ask him to stay, but how could I be so selfish? If I asked him, would he love me less, if he even loved me at all? I couldn’t take his dream away to make mine better. I wouldn’t do it. I wouldn’t destroy what we had created.
“Answer me. Would you fucking ask me to turn this down?”
I didn’t want him to, but I just needed to know if he would. “Would you stay if I asked you to?”
His jaw clenched. He was breathing heavily. Through gritted teeth, he seethed, “Yes, but I’d hate you for it. So ask me. Go ahead.” It felt like he was taunting me. I began to cry. “Ask me to fucking stay here and work at the PhotoHut while you go to grad school. Do it.”
I shook my head but couldn’t form the words.
He bent over and gripped my face hard, glaring into my eyes. “Fucking Christ, Grace, this isn’t good-bye. This is ‘see you later.’ Tell me you can handle that, please. Say that you can handle that.”
I was hyperventilating now. He was angry but his expression revealed love beneath the ferocity.
“We made no promises to each other,” I whispered. “I’m sorry I brought it up. We’ll just see how things go, okay? This is just a ‘see you later.’ ”
He nodded. “That’s right.”
You told me I was yours and you were mine.
Sniffling, I said, “Make love to me?” And then he did, sweet and tender and so full of emotion that I cried as he held me for a long time after, though it wasn’t nearly long enough.
A few hours later, we drove to JFK. Tati stayed in the car while I walked Matt to his gate at the airport.
“I’ll try to call you as soon as I can.”