I start dating Alvira because she is single and she knows about black holes, an interest of mine. I am impressed how she breaks in and out of conventions of self-confidence and womanhood. How her voice is bright, excited. In the coffee shop between walnut cake and light, we debate how our existence is a rare cosmic glitch, how this knowledge can change a person.
*
A small curve of afternoon light sits at her shoulders, touches her face, and tapers off. Her lips are open, her eyes shining. Finally, she looks at me.
*
In her bedroom, after sex, Alvira admits she is still reviving from her last breakup. Looking at the ceiling, she starts sobbing. The windows in her room are shut tight, but I can hear people from the adjacent apartment. The dim light makes her body look more tanned than it is, her dark hair a fan on the pillow. I try to comfort her; she rushes to the bathroom. Later, I walk back to my home like a burned-out star.
*
At the gym, Alvira and I are on the Stairmaster. She says she is craving a smoothie. I am at Level 10, swooshed, spent. But I can go on. I tell her to wait a bit. But she hits STOP and walks away. I watch her figure, increase the level on the machine. It’s surprisingly quiet and warm; I can’t hear my own heartbeat as if I am falling deep into her gravity, even when she is going farther and farther away from me.
*
During our break, we argue about solar masses. She’s written a paper on it. Outside the sun is shining but the forecast says storm. Alvira says she saw her ex. I know she is entering that phase of bursting into tears. I divert the discussion to singularity because it’s her favorite topic. Nuclear fusion of hydrogen, electrons and protons forming neutrons. Expecting a response is as hopeless as hoping for warmth in a snowstorm.
*
I touch her hair. I thought my hands were familiar with that feeling. But today I don’t know.
*
Alvira calls me from her dentist’s office. “They are recommending taking out my wisdom teeth,” she says. I listen to her talking to her doctor, swiping my tongue over my set, one tooth at a time. It feels wrong to pull out something so deep-rooted in your being: your origin, your bite, your memory.
*
“Early on, the Chinese astronomers recorded the appearance of a bright star and observed that it took about eight months to fade from the sky,” she says, her eyes drawn heavenward, as if she can see God. “Eight months,” I say, brushing an eyelash from her cheek, “from presence to absence.” She repels, shakes her head, and my airspace goes dark again.
*
Ben and Alvira.
Are we ever going to turn into this amazing couple? Ever?
Alvira and Ben.
Ben and Alvira.
I feel the distance when I say it, even though our names start with the alphabets next to each other.
*
Walking in the fruit aisle in a grocery store, Alvira evaluates the label on a peach, digs her nail into it, and puts it in our cart. A storm leers in front of the store, the dark clouds bending, poking into the skin of the ground. I pick up a large orange with a thick peel, perfectly round like a universe in my hand, completely at ease. When I look up, she is ahead, her back curved toward the cart, a blank grey space stretched between us.
*
I practice in front of the mirror: “Will you please talk to me? Will you please talk about what it is we are heading towards?”
*
“You scared the crap out of me.,” shouts Alvira when I come from behind and put my arms around her waist. We are in an alley behind our favorite restaurant. “Sorry,” I whisper, and tongue her ear. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she says, irritated. It’s the moment when I don’t know if we will eat or go back to our cars. I wait. “Let’s go back,” she says. The moon is rising, the moths zigzagging in the yellow of the streetlamps. Around us, men, women and children, coming out of their vehicles, excited, their mouths open. I am hungry. All I can think of now is a grilled chicken wrap with asparagus; all I can conjure is lying in bed with her after dinner, touching her fingertips with mine after a moan of pleasure. Our voices murmuring, our eyes twinkling in the dark, letting the stars in. I want to ask her: Do you get it? Or Am I going crazy? She starts walking faster and I try to catch up but feel less and less of her. As if she is contracting in her past, in herself, collapsing, imploding like a supernova and all I see is warping of light along her edges.
**
