Stitched from the Heart

Paths Cross Again

Andriy:

December 1994

She’s here.

Had we walked past each other in THIS very building countless times without so much as looking at each other and saying hi? Taras always ran downstairs after shodyny with the other boys to see his parents and he was gone by the time I’d gone down to check if anyone was still waiting for their parents. Of all the times she enters my life again, it has to be when I’m in a fake itchy beard from Party City. Good thing I was already wearing something underneath the bishop’s robes or else it would have been hella awkward.

I don’t get why she’s in my life a second time though. Especially when things with Melanie have gotten better. Is this God testing me to make sure that I am faithful to my relationship? It’s not like we’re married with a binding spiritual contract. But we might as well be considering how long we’ve been together. Especially since we’ve been intimate together. Though, to be fair, Melanie doesn’t really take God and the need to be a virgin before marriage shtick seriously. Either one of us could leave if we really wanted to by that logic.

But, how can I just throw away a relationship over some minor disagreements? Especially with someone who I’ve known for the most important part of my adult life. We saw each other grow throughout college. She pushed me to keep up with my grades in my most grueling classes. She pushed me to not slack off on my physique and go to the gym after I quit dance classes. SHE pushed me to always stay on top of things and seek out every opportunity I heard about instead of letting it pass me by. That organizational habit even helped me manage staying as a counselor in my Ukrainian Youth Organization and plan out lesson plans for shodyny instead of winging it like I did in high school.

But, Melanie keeps telling me that volunteering my time at a cultural youth organization will only distract me from getting my degree and the hard work I’d need to put in at law school to become a prosecutor or to be a real estate broker. She’s right though. I do give away too much time here. And it’s not like there’s anyone else my age left to help pick up the slack. Daniel, Pavlo, Maksym, Ira, Katya, Adriana and Victoria all left to go study out of state or just to focus on their classes and careers. I only really see them at the Ukrainian festival in August or the organization’s campgrounds on the Fourth of July or Labor Day. It’s just the five of us teaching these kids.

Maybe it’s time to just let go and build a future with Melanie. We can always send our kids to Ukie school and tanci and shodyny on the weekends and tabir in the summer. Maybe mama can pick the kids up from school and teach them some nice Ukrainian songs, teach them how to make varenyky with potatoes and grilled onions, show them how to thread the needle and practice cross stitching on their vyshyvanky. Maybe Melanie will even learn how to make these dishes herself. She did say she liked the borscht and the pampushky that my mom made during Sviata Vecherya last year. If not, we could take some leftovers from mom’s house whenever she babysits the kids. It is possible for a guy to keep his culture alive in his kids even if their mom doesn’t share that culture.

“So, Druh Andriy! What were you helping Svyatiy Mykolay with? Did he need you to feed his horses so they wouldn’t run out of energy on his flight home?” Taras exclaims, trying to look behind my shoulder for any remains of the Saint while I try to block his direction without making it too obvious that I’m hiding something. My foot feels something soft and I quickly push it out of the way, looking across Taras to see HER arch one of her eyebrows up and lift the corners of her lips only slightly.

My cheeks start to burn as I stammer out, “Yeah! I was definitely feeding the horses some food while Svyatiy Mykolay was handing out the presents!”

“Like what?” he asks as the girl walks up behind him and starts yanking him toward the door while he grabs onto the door handle so she wouldn’t take him away.

“Well,” I stall as I look around the room for a realistic idea of what to tell this kid, “I fed them some of these candy canes.” I pick up the opened box of candy canes as proof of my imaginary job.

“But isn’t that what the kids got from Svyatiy Mykolay too? My sister always said that horses eat hay and seed.”

She cuts me to the chase before I can reply, “Well, that is what horses eat. But Svyatiy Mykolay’s horses are special and they get to eat foods that normal horses don’t get to eat, Tarasyku.”

“Exactly. But now we can enjoy these candy canes since the horses won’t be needing them anymore. Would you like one, Taras and . . .” I trail off, not sure whether to address her as pani or not since she’s not old enough to be a mother, but I don’t know what to address her as instead.

“Maria,” she responds with a smile and part of me wants to sing it like a prayer the way Tony does in West Side Story. What can I say, the name is a classic for a reason.

“Andriy,” I respond back as I extend my free hand out to shake it, wanting to kiss it like I’d seen 1 or 2 guys do during holiday and weddings,, but not sure if it’s really something that is practiced in her house and not wanting her to cringe at my lack of cultural understanding.

“I know. Taras here was waiting until the last child received her present so that he could say goodbye to you and make sure we met. But I see you’ve had other important responsibilities to do and we should let you get some rest,” she replies as she turns to Taras and ushers him toward the door.

“Maybe I can walk you both out since it is already late at night and they’re starting to shut down the lights. I wouldn’t want you to trip over anything, these steps are steep and there’ve always been one or two crying children who scraped their knees running out of this staircase during our performances,” I reply.

“You should definitely come to our house with us Druh Andriy. My sister got attacked by some weird guy on her way to work one day and she’s always telling me we can’t walk too late at night. Maybe you can help keep the bad guys away,” Taras blurts out the information that verifies that Maria is the girl I met on the bus.

“Taras! Stop bothering Druh Andriy and making him worry more than he has to! We are in a safe neighborhood and live close by. Let’s go now!” She exclaims with a reddened expression, as she starts walking away with her brother.

“I would be happy to walk you home, especially since you took the time to wait for me and. . .” I trail off, not wanting to bring up even more bad memories for her. Her eyes are watering as she looks at me with the same terrified expression that she had that day on the bus.

“You don’t have to worry Druh Andriy. My brother is overexaggerating and we don’t want to burden you.”

“It’s not a burden. I live close to this building as well. I wouldn’t be surprised if your house was on the way to my house.”

She sighs with a relieved defeat, “If you’re certain we won’t be troubling you.”

“Not in a million years,” I grin, not stuttering with embarrassment this time.

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Glossary:

Tanci - “dance” in Ukrainian

Tabir - “camp” in Ukrainian

Varenyky (sometimes referred to as pierogi) - traditional Ukrainian boiled dumplings filled with a variety of savory and sweet fillings such as potatoes, cherries, blueberries, cheese, etc. They can be topped with sour cream, onions, etc.

Borscht - traditional Ukrainian beet soup that varies in ingredients depending on which region it is made in. It usually has carrots, cabbage, meat (chicken, pork, or beef), potatoes, and is topped with sour cream.

Pampushky - traditional Ukrainian donuts fried in oil. They can be served on their own or made with a sweet filling such as raspberries, blueberries, cherries, etc.

Svyata Vecherya - “Holy Dinner” in Ukrainian, it is the celebration of Christmas Eve for Ukrainians on December 24th or January 6th based on the Orthodox calendar.

Pani - “Mrs.” in Ukrainian; a respectful way to address an older female.