Authors: Eva Márquez
“Yeah, he’s over that phase,” Vicky replied. “I suppose it’s because he’s going off to college, you know? He probably felt he had to lose the rebel look. But he’s still cute, Goth or not. He’s got a baby face.”
“Well, he does seem more mature than most high school guys, I’ll give him that,” I conceded, watching Ryan carefully put his passport into his backpack and straighten up, looking around. “He’s got pretty blue eyes. And a nice nose.”
Vicky laughed out loud, “Yeah, and remember, he’s not really a high school guy anymore – he’s graduated! That means he’s getting close to your target age.”
The next few hours were spent getting to the airport, checking in, boarding our plane, and getting comfortable in our assigned seats. When the plane had finally taken off and everyone was watching the on-board entertainment, my mind turned to Tom. Although I enjoyed chatting with Vicky, I wanted a moment of peace and quiet so I could turn my thoughts inward, to the man I yearned to be with.
Here I was, I realized, sitting in this huge 747 jet, flying at thirty thousand feet across the U.S. and eventually across the vast Atlantic Ocean, which would separate Tom and I for the next two weeks. This was a disconcerting thought, and one that saddened me. Each time my ears popped from the increasing altitude, a greater sense of desperation set in. How would I make it two weeks without seeing Tom? What would he be doing while I was away?
Around me, I could hear the quiet titter of laughter from the passengers watching the movie on the main cabin screen. Although we were well into the full summer season, the plane was air conditioned and freezing. I pulled the thin blanket from the overhead compartment and spread it across Vicky and I, then slouched down in the seat to think. The warmth radiating from her body kept me relatively warm, but I was already yearning for a different warmth; the warmth of Tom’s familiar, masculine body. Tom would have kept me warm, with his defined arms and strong hands.
Vicky squirmed next to me under the blanket and suddenly nudged my side.
“Hey, I’m going to make my way to the back of the plane to see if I can chat with Ryan for a while.” She gave me a wink as she slid past me to get to the aisle. “Maybe I can hook up with him during the trip or something.”
I watched her go, and realized that since Tom and I first kissed in his classroom, I had become completely dedicated to him, forsaking all others. A part of me sometimes wondered why I was so loyal to a man who was literally sleeping with another woman. The fact that she was his wife made it even worse. I often spent hours torturing myself with thoughts of the two of them together; although I had never seen her, in pictures or in person, she was ever-present in my mind. Did Tom find it difficult to be with her when he was supposedly in love with me? I wondered what effect it would have on Tom to imagine me with another guy. Would he be as hurt as I felt? Maybe he would finally be able to empathize with what I was going through.
To be fair to Tom, I never shared these doubts or negative emotions with him. He likely did not know or guess that his relationship with his wife bothered me as much as it did, and that I was hurting. I was very cautious about what I wrote in my letters to him; he was in a difficult position, and I didn’t want to make it any worse. I had alluded to the jealousy and sadness that were taking hold of me a couple times, but had pulled back before I said too much. To my surprise, he had picked up on my hints and addressed them in a letter. When Vicky left to talk to Ryan, I pulled the photocopy of that letter out and read it for the hundredth time.
June 12, 1993
Dear Isabel
,
This letter won’t be very long because I’m writing from home, and it’s not very safe for me to write. But I noticed something in your previous letter that concerned me. I can sense that you’re sad. Our relationship is affecting you, I mean really affecting you, and I don’t feel good about that
.
I know that this situation we’re in is difficult for both of us, and right now, it may feel like you’ve got the raw end of the deal. Well, that’s not entirely true. I’m not saying it’s easy for you, because I can see that it isn’t. But you must know that I’m not just having my cake and eating it too. I’m miserable. I want to be with you all of the time. You need to know something: my wife is like a roommate to me. It embarrasses me to say it, because I know she loves me the way that I love you, and it’s not fair to her. But I only love her like a friend. We aren’t affectionate, not the way I am with you
.
It’s very important to me that you know that
.
I’m sure we both sometimes wish that we could be together the right way (I mean, you and I in a relationship that was mutually exclusive), because our lives would be so much less complicated. And if this is becoming too much for you, if you’re feeling bad about all of this, if it’s too much for you to handle, you need to talk to me about it. Isabel, please be honest with me and always tell me how you’re feeling. We can deal with these things together. I’m here, Isabel, I’m always here for you. And I’m completely yours and no one else’s
.
Love
,
Tom
I folded the letter carefully and slipped it back into my bag. He was only mine, he said, but that didn’t keep him from going home to his wife at night. For the first time, I wondered what it would be like if he were coming home to me, instead.
***
Our first day in Brussels was
magnifique!
The city was not as enchanting and world-renowned as Paris, but it was my first taste of the old-world charm of Europe and I loved it.
We already had a list of rules to follow; Mrs. Drake had laid them out before we left the airport in Brussels, and even put them in a contract for both students and parents to sign. There were three that seemed intended to hamper much of our fun:
1. Boys must remain on boy-only floors, while girls remain on girl-only floors (i.e., there shall be no co-mingling in hotel rooms at any time).
2. Boys and girls may mingle in common areas such as hotel lobbies. Hotel hallways of stairways do not apply.
3. No leaving the hotel premises without a chaperone after seven in the evening.
Vicky and I broke rule number three on our very first night in Brussels. We were rooming together, and had spent most of the afternoon checking into the hotel and listening to a repetition of Mrs. Drake’s rules. When she was done, Vicky and I were ready for a good meal. The dinner included in our itinerary was not appealing – we were able to eat some of the bland noodles, but the extremely unsavory poached white fish was out of the question.
A little after eight, back in our antique hotel room and sitting cross legged on the floor already in our pajamas, Vicky asked, “Isabel, aren’t you hungry? I’m starving.”
“Yeah, I’m hungry,” I replied. “What do you say we find our way to a McDonald’s? There has to be one within a few blocks from here, right? I think our French is decent enough … say,
Ou est le McDonald’s
?” I tried in a terrible French accent.
Vicky laughed. “Okay, I think we’ll manage. We can go in our pajamas, right?”
I looked her up and down. She was wearing an oversized cream-colored Snoopy nightgown, which hung on her frame like an oversized T-shirt. I was sporting a classic pajama set, with striped blue pajama pants, an undershirt – which was more of a white sports bra – and a matching button-up pajama top.
“Yeah, I think we look fine,” I said. “Let’s go before it’s too late.”
We walked right out of the hotel in our pajamas and ankle-length socks, and onto the street outside. No one stopped us, and once we were outside we slowed to appreciate the view around us. We employed our badly pronounced French with some people in the street, but didn’t receive any help. We did receive several odd stares, though. After walking for nearly an hour, we returned to the hotel room, still hungry because there had been no McDonald’s sighting after walking what seemed to be dozens of small city blocks, but excited about our jaunt through the city.
***
After a week on the road, and with eight days left to go, people began to get much cozier with each other. When we were in France, we shared a tour bus with twenty-eight students from a Washington state high school, and things really began to heat up. Interschool romances sprung up left and right. Vicky had given up on Ryan after heavy flirting didn’t elicit any response. She was already on her way to finding a new guy to entertain her: Will, a rich kid from Washington whose dad owned a yacht.
“Ryan is really into someone,” Vicky told me one night in our hotel room on the French Riviera. “That’s why he didn’t respond to me. Do you know who he likes?”
“Are you talking about that flashy girl from Washington?” I replied. “The one who plays tennis and speaks fluent French? What’s her name … Tanya?”
Vicky rolled her eyes.
“Your head must be in the clouds, Isabel. Hello! Have you been on the same tour of the French countryside as the rest of us? Are you seriously telling me that you don’t know? Ryan likes
you
, Isabel.”
I stared at her, shocked. Ryan was always spending time with Vicky and me on the trip, but I thought he just felt comfortable with us because we were from the same school. It never occurred to me that he liked me. From the moment we arrived in Paris, the city of love, to this moment with Vicky, my mind and heart had been on a single track, and that track always led to Tom. I’d admired the country, of course, and had taken a great deal of pictures every time we stopped at a new town or city, but I couldn’t wait to get back home to Tom.
“Well, aren’t you going to say anything?” Vicky demanded.
“I honestly had no clue,” I told her. “I hope you’re not upset about this – you know that I didn’t lead him on, right? I didn’t go after him or anything. Please don’t think that I was going after the guy you liked.”
“I’m not upset, I don’t care if Ryan likes you,” Vicky replied. “Things are going well with me and Will. And I
know
Ryan likes you because he told me himself. Apparently, he’s been too shy to approach you. He doesn’t want to wait too long, though, because the trip will be over in a week. So he’ll definitely say something to you soon. I think he’s just working up the courage.”
“I don’t know what I’m going to say,” I replied. “You know my rule about high school guys.” I paused, then smiled mischievously at her. “Although I must admit, Ryan is really cute, especially now that he’s lost that Goth look.”
She smiled back, hunching her shoulders with excitement. “Well, think about it anyhow. He’s really into you, and he’s a great catch!” She paused then winked. “And remember, he’s not in high school anymore. He’s a college guy, the kind of older guy you like!”
After saying goodnight and retiring to our wooden bunk beds, I thought about what Vicky had said. I thought about Ryan, and how I would react if he shared his feelings with me. Maybe this time I should just allow myself to go with the flow. Since meeting Tom, I’d given up on all other guys, and I wondered if I was selling myself short. I had gone farther with Tom than anyone else, and I had more experience now. He’d earned my trust and I loved him, but maybe I should see what it was like with another guy before I returned home.
Those brief but betraying thoughts began to get the best of me. I’d been loyal to Tom while we were together, and yet he was sleeping with someone else. He was going home to another woman every day. He had both his wife and me, and he seemed to be okay with that. He said that he loved me in a more pure way than he loved his wife, and that he wanted to be with me, but was that the truth? Could I trust him? And even if I did – even if it was the truth – he still went back to her, and where did that leave me? The image of Tom lying in bed, lovingly embraced by his wife, was just too much for me to bear.
Maybe it was time to turn the tables and let Tom feel what I was feeling: embittered by circumstances and increasingly jealous of his wife. Maybe it was time for me to get out there and see what the rest of the male world had to offer. I decided I would let myself go with the flow. If the flow led me to Ryan’s arms temporarily, then so be it.
***
The next day, Ryan confessed his feelings for me, like Vicky had said he would, and I went along with it, as I’d told myself I should do. We started spending a lot of time together, holding hands during outings at historic sites like the battlefield at Waterloo, and sharing a booth at dinners. He even carried me into the warm Mediterranean waters in the city of Nice in Southern France.
The experience couldn’t have been more romantic, but I had no genuine feelings for Ryan. He was a way for me to explore my feelings, and nothing else – a test for me to see how it would feel to be with another guy. I was guarded with Ryan, and didn’t feel any physical response to his touch. In fact, I didn’t even enjoy his kisses.
The first time our lips met we were on the tour bus and in the midst of the beauty of the Swiss Alps; the bus had just entered a deep, dark, and long tunnel that cut across a range of mountains, and Ryan gently took my face into his hands and engulfed my lips into his. I didn’t respond immediately, but then I recalled the decision I had made to go with the flow. My lips began to relax and I followed the movement of Ryan’s lips. It felt awkward and out of sync, but I went with the flow.
As soon as we reached Geneva, Switzerland’s breathtaking and colorful capital, I left the main group of students to find a payphone. I was immensely desperate – my heart ached to hear Tom’s voice, to clearly remember his lips, his tenderness, and his touch. I needed to hear him again, as soon as possible. I mentally calculated the time difference and knew that it would be a good time to call him at home – it was Saturday morning and his wife was usually out with their daughters.