Imagine

Two scenes. One: he is waiting for you alone. He hugs you lightly, and then reaches out to take your hand but instead of holding it, he takes your luggage. Outside, he stops briefly to light a cigarette and you stumble a bit, almost tripping over his heels.

In another scene you arrive alone at the airport. You exchange money. You find a taxi outside. You croak out the hotel address to the driver, who doesn't understand at first. You hand him the address, hoping the hotel is not too terrible. The flight was very long and despite yourself, you hoped he would be there at the airport. You call him each day, carefully at different times, but he never answers. Somehow you manage, walking the narrow streets, and having cake and coffee for lunch. You catch yourself stopping when you see a tall lanky man with a ponytail. It is never him.

A third scene is also possible. He is at the airport, but she's there, too. You find yourself crammed into the backseat with your luggage and his camera equipment. She's introduced as a friend.

In the first scene, he takes you to his father's county house after seeing how crummy your hotel is. His room is small and in the attic. You promptly hit your head when you stand up from the bed. The other people in the house speak only Estonian. You nod and smile, practice a few hellos. You get a few phrases like “she’s pretty but old, " and "Is she rich?" He responds to their questions in such a rapid Estonian that you cannot follow it. When everyone laughs, you assume he has made some joke about you. At night, when you ask what he said, he doesn’t answer. He holds your hand but doesn't touch you until the last night.

That last night, he starts circling your arm with his fingers, dancing lightly on the skin, and then stops, asking you if you would to wait for him another year. He has to recover from his divorce. You say, yes, yes, of course. He stops touching you, turns over and sleeps.

In this version, he also asks you to marry him as he drives you to the airport. He asks as he tosses his cigarette out the window.

But it is none of these. Yes, there he is waiting, but he has no flowers. He's alone, but he's off to an editing project. He drops you off a few blocks from your hotel, leaving you to struggle along with the suitcase. He'll pick you up the next day so you can drive out to the countryside. And on this drive, you'll pretend nothing has changed. You will listen to his music, and watch him light seemingly endless cigarettes. You count twenty or thirty in the three hours you are together. You feel that you have worn the wrong clothes. Not feminine enough compared to the small skirts and high heels worn by the other women here. You brought too many clothes but they are all wrong.

It is a long day and he drops you off at the hotel without asking to see you again. You have to ask. He hedges, muttering something about work. The phone rings, he glances at it and frowns. Work, he says.

But he says the next day you can meet. He’ll take you to his father's country house.


Or perhaps it is the dream which is he spends each night with you, holding you in his arms, making love to you over and over. He spends each night with you in your hotel room. He whispers lovely words about you in the night, thinking you are asleep.

Or it is none of these because you live still in the United States of America.