Awaiting

Between rehearsals we are in the lobby. Chris is irritated; I can tell. The rehearsal didn’t go well, he constantly lost the beat. The line dividing his forehead shows how much he resents not meeting his expectations. How deeply I yearn to stretch out my hand and touch him. Strike off his anger. Ben comes back from the coffee station, balancing three paper-cups in two hands. While he hands out the coffee, I manage to meet Chris’ eyes. I smile. He smiles. Stricken off.

The coffee tastes watery. I nod towards the big glass facade with the harbour view. A woman sits there on one of those modern plastic cubes. We can only see her back, and yet I know that she is beautiful. It is something in the way she sits. So still, almost motionless. Her back held upright. Her long, straight hair caressing her spine. How does she do that anyway? I gave up hairstyling long ago. With the Reykjavikian winds destroying in seconds, what I had tried taming for hours.

“Whom does she wait for?“ I ask. “Why does she have to be waiting for anyone?” Chris counterasks and Ben answers: „In drama she seeks distraction of her own drama, like everyone.” Oh, Ben. He knows what he is talking about, and we know what he doesn’t want to talk about. And yet his cancer surrounds us now, insistent. “She’s waiting for true love,“ I lead us back on firm ground, “They had a deal: if we ever lose each other, we meet here! At Harpa-Concert-Hall, ten years from now!” I see Chris mucking around with his wedding ring. Is he thinking of her?

“Maybe she committed murder,“ Chris says, “and confessed in a letter. Here she waits for the police, and for one last time she enjoys the view of the sea, the mountains, liberty.” “I think, the only murders ever committed in Iceland were purely literary,” Ben laughs. He bends forward conspiratorially: “She waits for her lost twin sister; seperated at birth. The only clue to where to find her were a few signs their mother had stitched in a diaper: ‘Harpa’ and today’s date – no year. On this day, she comes here and waits for her sister. Year after year. Unsuccessfully.“

“That’s so sad!” I yell over the end-of-break ringing. Ben throws away his paper-cup. “It’s just a story,” says Chris, “Coming?” Yesterday he said, he loves me, three times. We were out in the hallway and the lights went off. He pressed his cheek to mine and said it thrice, because once wasn’t enough. I closed my eyes – despite the darkness – and allowed it for a moment: happiness rushing through my body. Then I opened my eyes and pushed it aside. Because it doesn’t last.

I turn around one last time. I can see her front now. She is beautiful. A gust signals the opening of the main entrance. I can’t see it. I only see her. She looks at the entrance. She smiles.