FOUR WEEKS
1112 Words
We have four weeks. Twenty-eight days. Six hundred and seventy-two hours.
I count them obsessively.
Amon stays over most nights. Not s*x — we haven't gotten there yet. Just sleeping together. His body twisted around mine. His breath steady against my neck. Learning how to partake space. Learning how to be vulnerable.
It’s intimidating. It’s perfect.
Tonight we’re at his studio. Small. Chaotic. Paint far and wide. Canvases stacked against walls. Substantiation of creative life scattered across every face.
I love it. The systematized chaos. The way it smells like turpentine and possibility.
He’s painting. I’m working on my laptop. Comfortable silence. This is becoming our routine. Being together without demanding to fill every alternate with words.
“ I got the UN details,” I say suddenly. Ca n’t hold it in presently. “ Kigali. Eighteen months, not twelve. Starting in three weeks. ”
His encounter pauses mid-stroke. “ Three weeks? I allowed we had four. ”
“ Timeline moved up. They need me there sooner. ”
He sets down his encounter. Comes to sit beside me. Takes my hand.
“ Okay. So we have three weeks rather than four. We’ll make them count. ”
“ Amon, eighteen months. That’s — ”
“ A long time. I know. But Sarah, we can do this. ”
“ Can we? ” My voice breaks. “ We know each other. Three weeks together, also a year and a half apart? That’s insane. ”
“ Also, we’re insane together. ”
I want to believe him. I want to believe love is enough. But I’ve believed in love ahead. Look how that turned out.
“ What if we don't survive it? What if distance kills what we have? ”
He cups my face. Makes me look at him.
“ Also, we’ll deal with it. But Sarah, I’d rather try and fail than not try at each. Would n’t you? ”
I nod. Ca n’t speak. Tears hanging .
“ Three further weeks,” he says. “ Let’s make them count. ”
The coming three weeks blur together. A hopeless attempt to compress a continuance into twenty-one days.
We go to Lake Victoria. Sit on the reinforcement in the evening. He sketches while I lean against him. We don't talk important. Don't need to.
We visited my work point. He photographs everything. Says he wants to paint it. Wants to remember where I’ll be, what I’ll be erecting.
We've regaled with Miriam and Emmanuel. My stylish friend interrogates him completely. Threatens violence if he hurts me. He takes it gracefully. Promises to take care of my heart.
I believe him.
We met my mother in Mbarara. That goes less easily.
“ An artist? ” Mama’s voice drips dubitation. “ Sarah, be practical. What will he give to a family? ”
“ I give toit for myself, Mama. ”
“ Everyone needs someone! You’re already disassociated. Now you’re leaving for Rwanda. What will people say? ”
The old argument. The one that makes me feel small and inadequate.
Amon stays quiet. Let's me fight my own battles. But his hand finds mine under the table. Steady. Present.
Later, Mama pulls me away.
“ He loves you. I see it. But Sarah, long distance? After everything with David? ”
“ Amon is n’t David. ”
“ I know. But still. Be careful with your heart, my daughter. ”
“ I’m trying, Mama. I’m trying to be careful and brave at the same time. ”
She touches my impertinence. Softens slightly. “ You’ve always been brave. Indeed, when you are spooked. That’s real courage. ”
The words stay with me.
One week before I leave. We’re in my apartment. Quilting. Sorting my life into“ take” and“ leave behind” piles.
“ I’m spooked, ” I admit. We’re sitting on my bedroom bottom girdled by boxes. “ Not of Rwanda. Of us. Of failing at this. ”
“ Me too. alarmed. ”
“ Really? You always feel so certain. ”
“ I’m certain I love you. I’m alarmed by everything differently. What if you meet someone more in Kigali? What if distance makes you realize I’m not worth staying for? ”
His vulnerability breaks me open.
“ You’re worth everything, ” I say fiercely. “ You see me. Actually see me. Do you know how rare that is? ”
“ also trust it. Trust us. Trust that what we've is strong enough. ”
I want to. God, I want to.
Three days before departure. We’re at his studio. I’m watching him makeup.
“ I want you, ” I say suddenly. Bluntly.
His encounter stills. “ What? ”
“ I want you. Physically. Before I leave. I want — I need to be close to you. fully near. ”
He turns to face me. “ Sarah, are you sure? We don't have to — ”
“ I’m sure. I don't want to lament not having this. Not knowing what we’re like together. ”
“ Come here. ”
I go to him. He pulls me close. Kisses me deeply.
“ Not here,” he murmurs against my lips. “ Not in my studio. Your place. Where you’re comfortable. ”
We take a taxi to my apartment. The lift feels eternal. His hand grips mine. Both of us wobbling with expectation and nerves.
Inside, we don't rush. He undresses me slowly. Appreciatively. Like I’m art, he’s studying.
“ You’re beautiful,” he whispers. “ So incredibly beautiful. ”
We make love. Slow and careful and violent. Learning each other’s bodies. What makes me rustle? What makes him groan? The terrain of pleasure and connection.
Subsequently, we lie tangled in my waste. His finger traces patterns on my skin.
“ That was — ”
“ Yeah. ”
We laugh. No words acceptable.
“ I’m going to miss you,” he says. “ Every day. Every hour. ”
“ I’m going to miss you more. ”
“ insolvable. ”
We fall asleep like that. Wrapped in each other. Trying to study the feeling.
The night before I leave, we don't sleep. Just hold each other. Whispering promises. Making plans for video calls. Pretending eighteen months is survivable.
“ I love you,” I say for the hundredth time.
“ I love you more. ”
“ Come with me to the airport? ”
“ I’ll be there. First thing you see when you leave. Last thing you see before you go. ”
Morning comes too fast. Always does when you’re dreading it.
We stand in my empty apartment. My bags by the door. The space already feels like it belongs to someone else.
“ Ready? ” he asks.
“ No. But let’s go anyway. ”
- Writer
