The Ocean-Blue’s of Nadeja: Night 2

The Ocean-Blue’s of Nadeja: Night 1

Zigmund returned home to his cold apartment. You would call them deluded fantasies if he did not already know he was deluded, but fantasies of Nadeja one day stepping into his icebox flooded his mind anyhow. He cleaned up the mess representative of his descent and considered it something of slight progress. That night he lost sleep. His emotions tossed and turned him on his mattress. The dominant emotion, anger, was his master for a large portion of the night. Anger at himself for his attitude and behavior in the latter years, but more at being so severely ill-prepared in his encounter with Nadeja. Ziggy wrestled with thought over something he read years ago, in a time where he was closer to God than he was now, “weakness is no excuse for sin.” Finally, he stopped his tossing, laid straight on his back, and stared fiercely at the ceiling as if he was trying to glare the roof off of his apartment. Then, for the first time in God knows how long, he prayed aloud. “Father, forgive me for my failures. Please give me the strength to be a mere percentage point better tomorrow than today. In your precious name, Amen.” In what seemed to be a nanosecond, he peacefully fell asleep.

A sunny morning in Kezmarok. Maybe this has happened before, but Zigmund hadn’t noticed if it has. An extremist, Zigmund, wanted to change everything in an instant. The thought of foregoing work came, but it came along with the idea of going to the pub earlier than usual, which opened the door for incapacitation before his second night with Nadeja. So off to work he went, laughing at himself over the realization of his warped mind.

“Goodness gracious me,” he murmurs. Time flew and stood still just the same. Thinking of his second night seeing Nadeja passed the considerably; however, thinking of whether or not she would even appear slowed it to a snail’s pace. Simple tasks became strenuous and agitating. Suddenly, he began thinking he was better than this job, better than the other people he worked with, while simultaneously thinking he had exactly what he deserves. Purple bags under his eyes from lack of sleep led to somebody asking him if he was ill. As time inched closer to the end of the workday, time inched closer to his confrontation with Nadeja, and anxiety struck him like a sack of bricks. Sweat poured through his clothes, and his hands shook violently. Due to symptoms of the mind that showed physically, he took advantage of this and told his boss, “I seem to have fallen ill,” to which the boss agreed to send him home. At least he thought he sent him home. In reality, he sent him to the pub. “A pint and a shot will do me good,” Ziggy thought. His bar-mates thought it peculiar behavior. Never had Zigmund stopped in for such a short period. The sweat became his ally. “I must go home and shower. I look like I have gone 15 rounds with Ruzena, the whale!” Mean, he thought, but the outburst of laughter would keep his acquaintances from bugging him further.

When he arrived home, he did shower and searched for his best outfit, although he thought it might be pathetic to dress like a “somebody,” considering the state he was in the night before. “Have to start somewhere. Fake it till you make it,” he thought. Zigmund put on his best suit, top hat, and all. He looked as best as he possibly could and made his way to the same park as the night prior. “Will she or won’t she,” consistently penetrating his mind. Sure enough, as he reached the top of the hill, there she was, overlooking the same cathedral. Something was wrong, or it was right, but the nerves Zigmund expected to feel upon laying eyes on her did not consume him as he thought they would. Maybe it was the pint and the shot. After a deep breath, Zigmund made his way down. Nadeja heard Zigmund’s footsteps as he approached, but she did not turn to greet him just yet. Ziggy sat on the bench, crossed his legs, and just waited. About twenty seconds pass with neither of them budging, which all things considered, is quite some time. Finally, Nadeja, without turning around, spoke to him whilst continuing to view the cathedral.

“Enjoying the view?” she began. “You’ve dressed for the occasion, I see—far cry from last night. You know, I saw you disperse of your alcohol before our conversation. It would have been cute if it weren’t so pathetic,” snarked Nadeja.

A bit of a challenge, her opening statement. Zigmund remembered the days when he handled this challenge in a better state. He offered some pushback. “I saw you crying last night before our conversation. I would’ve thought you unique if I hadn’t seen every woman do the same.”

This willingness to compete shown by Ziggy pleased Nadeja. She turned around as If it were in slow motion, and her eyes met Zigmund’s. Fortuitous for Zigmund, for if she had pierced him with her eyes before, he may not have met Nadeja’s challenge with such gall. Nadeja sat down right next to him, facing him as if she knew her ocean-blue’s were her greatest weapon, and Zigmund stared straight ahead as if he knew she knew.

“I suppose you are so tough that you wouldn’t cry over the death of a parent. No, surely not. You would just drink your way through it,” said Nadeja.

Zigmund knew she was attempting to call his original bluff. Still staring directly ahead, “I went to the pub before I came here, too. Liquor helps me appreciate the view, which is much better now than when I first got here,” replied Ziggy. Another test passed. Nadeja smiled and relaxed her warlike rhetoric. She thought she should take credit for Zigmund’s long-lost but newfound vigor.

“Well,” Nadeja began, “You wanted to know if I would be here tonight. Here I am. Surely, Zigmund, there is reason for your inquiry.”

“The floor is mine, I suppose.” Zigmund set about on what was to be a monologue of sorts. “Dear Nadeja, your eyes, your most beautiful ocean-blue’s, I’ve been calling them, have punctured my existence. One look from you, Dear Nadeja, has made me look at myself, and I have not relished in so doing. The man that shamefully struggled even to ask your name last night was a more accurate representation of the man I am today than you see today, as you have so kindly indicated. Details of my descent matter not, for you could fill in the blanks yourself, and the story would be nearly precise. Daleka, my dearest Daleka, finally made her departure from me. A decision she should have made many years ago. It would’ve been smart if delaying that long wasn’t so stupid. Perhaps any variation of that has become our catchphrase, Dear Nadeja. Every cold soul I have passed by in Kezmarok, and possibly because of their cold souls, has not made me give a damn, furthermore, continuing my destruction. It is as though they are me, and I am them. But you, Dear Nadeja, although admittedly pathetic this is, with one look and without a single word – Oh, Nadeja! It is as if your glance was the hand of God, reaching down to me to pull me out of this miserable existence. Tell me, Dear Nadeja, is not where I am where God seeks, in the depths? Is this not where He dwells, hoping one day a wretch like me may ‘seek and ye shall find?’ Oh, please do not misunderstand, Dear Nadeja! I am not waiting or requesting for you to save me. However, Dear Nadeja, they have said to me words that meant nothing before now, that God is everywhere, but who is to say that He has not revealed Himself to me through your ocean-blue’s? Oh, most beautiful Nadeja! It must be said, dearest Nadeja, that you are most beautiful, for I do not wish to take the floor you have given me and speak half-truths. Would I have made a fool of myself, as certainly, I have, dearest Nadeja, if you were not? Oh, but you must believe me, Nadeja! This is no plea for company. Theatrical, perhaps, dear Nadeja, but have you not awoken the drama in me? Is this not a blessing? Are our lives not stories? Assuredly, I would enjoy your company, my dear Nadeja, but that is not the motif. My wish to keep your company has only been revealed for honesty’s sake. The motif, Nadeja, is that I have found justification for being in your probing stare.”

Zigmund exhaled a sigh of relief. It had been some time since he had been able to release as he just had, not even expressing himself like this to Daleka, for fear she would think him to be weaker than he was. Finally, he turned his head toward Nadeja.

“How stupid I must sound. My afflictions cannot be of comparison to yours. Yet, here you are, having lost a parent, stronger than I in more grievous conditions,” conceded Zigmund.

Nadeja looked at him and smiled. Although she knew Zigmund was not intoxicated, she had one last dig. “I’d think that was genuine if you weren’t so drunk,” joked Nadeja. She placed her hand upon his. “I shall be here tomorrow night as well, Zigmund. The floor will be mine.”

Nadeja got up from her seat and departed, slowly vanishing into the now dark night of Kezmarok..

The Ocean-Blue’s of Nadeja: Night 2.