Spring

A Story by Nea

Spring was well aware that she was being a hypocrite. But she couldn’t help it. All day long she was doing exactly the same thing for which she scolded her students the most. She never let go of her phone. During the first period Dima texted her.
"Good morning, beautiful. "
And she was glued to the device since then. It buzzed again and her face lit up.The students looked at her with slight disdain. Most of them didn’t even know what hypocrisy meant but they knew Spring was doing something that wasn’t right. She opened the text.
"3 pm, our place"
She quickly scanned the classroom, as if someone could find out who texted her and why. Her gaze lingered on Peter a second too long but then she turned back to her phone and replied.
"Can’t wait "
Dima. Dima was making her feel things she’d never felt before. The thought of him was making her grin like an idiot and the thought of the afternoon ahead brought butterflies to her stomach.
This is silly. We’ve done it so many times, why do I still feel like this?
She wondered but even though she knew exactly what to expect, it didn’t take away the nervous anticipation that predated her every encounter with Dima.
*Buzzz*
"Me neither…krasivaya "             (beautiful)
Krasivaya…now she understood that. Dima had taught her that. And many others.
"Skuchayu po tebe "                     (I miss you)
Was that even correct? She hoped it was.
"Ya po tebe "                                    (I miss you too)
"3 pm slishkom pozdno…can’t wait that long " (quite late)
Another look around the classroom. Another lingering gaze on Peter.
"Wish I could see you rn "
Spring continued her lecture with her phone still in her hand. She had to. She had a job to do.
"Ya tozhe "   (Me too)
No reply. The lecture ended. Still no reply. Another period started and the phone remained silent. Spring tried to talk some sense into herself.
It’s no big deal. He’s busy. I’m busy.It doesn’t mean anything.
"Sorry, can’t talk rn. I’ll see u soon zolotste"      (darling)
And Spring left her phone alone.

After her last period she almost sprinted out of the school building. Dima was waiting for her at their usual spot, a little café over the street from a building where Dima’s brother Yuri lived. Dima could have Yuri’s apartment whenever he pleased. That often made Spring wonder what was Yuri doing when she and Dima were in his apartment. She’d never asked though, time with Dima was way too precious.
Everything went how it usually did. There was no time to waste. There’s not much to be described either. It was ordinary and, from literary piont of view, pretty boring. Nothing special. But for Spring it was. It was sweet and tender and so wonderful she wanted to cry.

"Ti takaya krasivaya."                    (You are so beautiful.)
Whispered Dima when they were done. Spring smiled. She liked it when he called her beautiful. No one else did.
He kissed he collarbone.
"Mne tak kharasho stoboy."      (I like being with you)
Tried Spring. The Russian still felt weird in her mouth but she was starting to like the taste of it.
It tasted like Dima.
"You learn so fast lyubimaya moya. "     (my beloved)
Lyubimaya moya. My beloved. Spring never knew what to say to that. She couldn’t say it back. Firstly because she didn’t know how to and then because she wasn’t in love with Dima. She wasn’t.
So she got up, put her glasses back on and checked the time. Dima pulled her back to him.
"Ya samey shaslivey chelovek ne zemle patamu chto umenya yest ti. "
"I don’t know what that means, Dima."
"That means that I’m the happiest man on Earth because you’re with me."
Then he took off her glasses and took her again. And she felt bad about herself. Because he loved her.

She came home late but her husband didn’t say a word. The dinner wasn’t ready when he came home but he was used to that. Spring seldom cooked. But he always had clean socks and underwear, who was he to complain? The children though, that was a completely different story. The absence of a warm meal wasn’t unknown to them either but the absence of their mother was. Her not being home after she’d finished teaching her classes was something new.
I must be more careful.

The following morning Spring shoved her kids a few bucks for lunch, collected her binders and prepared to face another day at work. Some students greeted her as she made her way through the school yard. She usually just smiled in response.
"Morning, missus."
"Hello Peter. "
Peter had beautiful eyes. Dima’s eyes. He resembled his father more than he thought. She liked his voice too. It sounded like velvet when he spoke Russian. Just like Dima’s.
It’s been almost a year since she found out Peter was of a russian descent. It wasn’t until she heard his father holler at him from the parking lot in in Russian. Dima. A tall, huge man in a suit in front of a black jaguar. She remembered that car well because she’d seen it again less than a week later.

"Hello. I’ve seen you at school. I’m Dimitri Yevseyev. "
The voice comming from behind her almost got Spring dropping her grocery bags. But soon she regained her composure as she recognized the Russian man from the parking lot. Peter’s father.
"I’m Spring. Bakker. Spring Bakker. "

Sometimes Dima’d take her out in his jaguar. Hed’d take her out of town to restaurants and galleries. Or to the movies. Okay, they went once but it was nice. It was the first and the last time she’d seen him wearing something else than a suit. It was also their one and only non-sexual date.

The weekend was incredibly long. A tedious time for some tedious work like dusting the shelves , changing the sheets and doing the laundry.
"I know you’ve been seeing that russian guy. "
An accusing voice rezonating through a quiet appartment.
Pause in folding a shirt.
"I know you’ve been seeing your secretary. "
More a sigh than a statement. Tired, resigned.
And it was quiet again.

Spring decided not to tell Dima they were busted. She didn’t exactly know why but she also didn’t see a reason why she should. Long story short, she just didn’t. And she also resisted the urge to text him right at the beginning of the week. But it was surely tempting. Her phone always present on her desk, in her hand, teasing. Spring was patient and it paid off in the end. Dima called her. And, like many of her students she hid in the bathroom. It was wonderfully cheesy. And soon the cold, tiled room was filled with clumsily pronounced russian tenderness. Whispered Russian. Russian tasting like excitement. Like spiced honey. Exactly like that.

The bedroom of Yuri’s apartment already felt as familiar to Spring as her own. The room itself was cold, dark and impersonal but it was a safe place. It was home of some sort even. It was a place where the masks fell off. And a scent of guit was no longer present but it’s been ther once. Once.

"I’ve never cheated on my husband. "
"I’ve never cheated on my wife. "
And both knew it wasn’t the last time.
"My glasses must’ve fallen off. "
"You don’t need them right now. "
"Just don’t crush them…please. "

Normally Spring’d say she was going to spend te night at her sister’s. She’s always been a great cover. That day there was no need to lie. Her husband already knew about Dima. He didn’t say anything and neither did Spring. She got dressed and left. Not a word.
Dima called her beautiful. She didn’t know if she felt beautiful but she felt uncomfortable, that was for sure. Her dress was way too revealing and a size too big, her heels too high. She felt exposed and her calves were starting to cramp. On the other hand she was glad she’d lost some weight and that now she was only about a head shorter than Dima. Normally she only saw his face up close when they were in the bed. Which was actually most of the time. Whatever. It was nice to look him in the eyes. Or at his chin.

The restaurant was quite crowded. That was dangerous. It should’ve occured to them.
"Mr. Yevseyev! "
They froze. This was what Spring always imagined a person staring into a barrel of a gun would feel.
"Mr. Jakobowsky. "
She didn’t know what Dima and that man talked about, she’s never been able to recall anything but the dizziness she felt. Her heart was doing a great job imitating a machine gun, her head was spinning. She was sweating, streams of sweat were running down her body, there must be a puddle at her feet already. When Dima tugged at her arm she was surprised to see there was none. The cool air outside hit her hard and she started to shiver.
"Are you alright? "
"No! "
Cried Spring. It came out way more hysterical than she intended. For the first time she’s seen Dima frightened. For the first time she’s risen her voice at him.
"I-eh-what-what can I do? "
"Dima, he’s seen us! Together! Mi vlepih! " (We’re screwed)
"Uspokoysya. He doesn’t know who you are. I bet he thinks you’re my wife, he’s never seen her. " (Calm down)
"But what if he talks?! What if he says somewhere he’s seen you with a blonde- "
"Anna’s blonde. You look a lot like her actually. "
"Let’s…let’s just drive then. "

It was deadly silent in the car, the air thick with guilt. The had both long ago forgotten what it feels like. They’d forgotten that what they were doing was wrong. It felt right to them. And now it crushed them.
"Her name’s Anna. "
Whispered Spring.
"Yeah. "
"She looks like me. "
"Not really. I mean, you look alike but…you’re different. "
"Oh. "
"She’s blonde, tiny,blue-eyed…Russian. That’s about it. "
"So she looks a lot like me. Why me then? Why me when she’s everything I am? "
"She’s not. Dazhe ne sleghkah. " (Not even close.)

The sky was clear even though the day was gloomy. It had this milky white color and snow was soon to be expected. Naked trees were bended by strong wind and some leftover leaves danced on the ground. It was cold and Spring snuggled deeper into the huge fluffy robe she was wearing. It wasn’t hers. The room felt like a freezer and goosebumps covered her entire body. She couldn’t bring herself to get dressed. Not yet.
She was standing by the window and looked into the blinding whiteness. Suddenly, as if out of nowhere, an airplane appeared in the otherwise stainless sky. Spring followed its path with her eyes. She wished to fly away too. To just leave. If only she could pack her bags and simply disappear. Just like that.
Should I take Dima with me? That’d be nice, wouldn’t it? But I’m not going anywhere. We’re not going anywhere. Nikogda. How much longer can we carry on like this?                       (Never)
Dima’s arms circled her waist and pulled that giant robe closer to her naked body.
"What are you thinking about, krasivaya? "
She turned to him with wide eyes. "We’re lost. "
A deep sigh
"Ya znayu, krasivaya, znayu. "                   (I know)
Spring felt tears flooding her eyes as the realisation sank in. She tried to blink them away but only sent them rolling down her cheeks. She tried to swallow her sobs but only choked on them. She tried to escape Dima’s embrace but he pulled her into him.
"Ne plach, lyubimaya moya. Please don’t. "       (Don’t cry)
‚I’m-I’m not crying.‘

After she’d finished teaching her first period, Spring struggled to collect all of her binders. She was running late that morning and didn’t have time to stop by the teachers‘ room to drop them off.
"Do you need some help with those, missus? "
"Thank you, Peter. That’d be nice. "
He grabbed the binders and they left the room. It was awkwardly quiet at first.But that was to be expected. It was exactly that uncomfortable moment between a student and his teacher.
"Are you alright missus? "
"Of course I am. Why-why wouldn’t I be? "
"Dunno. I just-you seemed sad. "
"I’ll be fine. "
"Surely missus? "
She turned to him and pierced him with her eyes. She expected him to flinch but he didn’t.
"Certainly. Thank you, Peter. "

"Peter, collect the essays and bring them to my office, will you? "
"Sure missus. "

"Missus? Can I have a question? "
"I guess.‘
‚Weren’t-weren’t your ancestors from eastern Europe? "
"Why are you asking me this? "
"I-uh, I have a bet running in class. "
"What have you bet on? "
"I bet they were. Eastern europeans I mean. "
"Why would you think that? "
"I don’t know…I just get that feeling from you. "
"What feeling? "
"Uuumm...eastern european? "
Spring stared at him fro a few seconds and then bursted out with laughter.
"An eastern european feeling? "
"I- don’t laugh, missus, I don’t know. "
"And what exactly is this easter european feeling? "
"I don’t know, slightly familiar, slightly foreign, warm and…frightening and…I don’t know, a breath of the old times. Kind of historical aura. "
"Well, at least you’ve won. "
"The USSR? "
And Spring froze. Partly because she’s been taught to always deny that fact but mostly because of the massive déjà vu. That scared her. Dima. Dima’s seen the Russian in her since day one. And then the reality began to shine through. Peter was Dima’s son. She was sleeping with this boy’s father. Suddenly she felt sick.

The next time she was supposed to meet Dima she felt all shaky and funny. But not because of anticipation nor excitement. It was guilt. Guilt and disgust she felt for herself. Dima had a family. He was cheating on his wife. What if she knew? She must feel it just like Spring’d felt it when her husband has started the thing with his secretary. What if his children knew? What if Peter knew? What if he finds out it‘s her? And then she thought about her own children. What if they knew? How did they feel? Did they blame her? Of course they did.

"Will we ever be forgiven? "
"What was that, krasivaya? "
"Mi koghda-nibudi byti proshcheni? " (Will we ever be forgiven?)
He took her hand and they shared a look that told what words never could. A look full of guilt, desperation, urgency, gratitude, devotion and that feeling you get when you realise everything’s in vain, when you loose without knowing you could.

Later she was sitting on the windowsill, wrapped in a blanket. Dima was in the bed, smoking.
"Dima? "
"Mhm? "
"How…how did you know I was, you know…Russian? "
"You just give off that vibe, I guess. I always recognize a fellow Russian. "
"So you just had a feeling of some sort? "
"Well, yeah. Just a feeling. "
Hearing that Spring jumped back onto the bed and held out her hand
"What is it, moya, chto ti khochesh? " (What do you want?)
Without a word she took the cigarette from his fingers and breathed in, desperately, hungrily. Her eyes closed as soon as the smoke reached her lungs. She held her breath. She held it longer than neccessary, as long as she could. If she held it long enough she’d choke, right? Choked on a cigarette smoke. What a bizzare death. But also beautiful. Poetic, kind of. They could do that with Dima. They could be Romeo and Juliet. They could, right? But they won’t.
With her head spinning Spring spiralled back to reality and breathed out a small transparent cloud. There. That chance lost.
"I didn’t know you smoke. " Said Dima, slightly surprised.
Spring looked at her new found friend she held between her fingers,
"Me neither. "

On a street someone forced a leaflet into Spring’s hand. She found it in her coat pocket while looking for her phone. It advertised a lingerie shop. Nice. Lingerie Anna.
Lingerie Anna.
Her name is Anna.
Anna’s husband is cheating on her.
Spring tried to picture her. She wondered if they’ve ever met during a parents‘ night. She couldn’t remember. Wait!
She could.
There was a woman hidden in some dark corner of her memory. A woman with thick russian accent. A skinny blonde.
Anna?
Peter’s mother. Dima’s wife.
Spring knew what it felt like to be cheated on by a s****y husband.
She didn’t know what it felt like to be cheated on by a good man.
A man like Dima.
Dima had to be a good husband, right? He was so, so good to Spring.
Was he to Anna,too?
In that very moment Spring realized just how little she knew about him.
About his life.
About what she’d ruined.
How much pain had she caused?
What have I done? What have I done? What have I done?

Her husband didn’t come home. Spring wasn’t surprised, she expected as much. The children hadn’t commented it but God knows how they’d felt. She woke up in a middle of the night in an empty bed. She didn’t miss him. Not at all. She was happy when he wasn’t home. Their relationship was awkward, at best. And she didn’t like him all that much. She never really did. He asked her to prom once and she accepted because she didn’t know how to refuse. At the end of the night he kissed her and she didn’t know what to do. There was a gross amount of saliva and awkwardness.
She hadn’t kissed him in ages. She felt no desire to. And now she got to kiss Dima. That was so much better. If only she could kiss Dima forever.
But why couldn’t she? Dima loved her. He’d be with her if she wanted him to. She was sure of that. She could get divorced. She wanted to get divorced. But what about the children? They must feel their parents don’t love each other. They’d understand, right?
Spring jumped out of the bed when she made her decision. It just threw her out.
Opening the window she let in the cold air. It played with her dishevelled hair.
She lit a cigarette.
Inhale.
Dima.
Exhale.
Dima.
She’ll be with Dima. Forever. Because she loved him.

She was standing in front of Dima’s house. She looked up the address in Peter’s personal file. She shouldn’t have done that, sure, but she needed to see Dima as soon as possible.
The street was quiet. She wanted to turn around and leave. That’d be for the best, she should do that. But she couldn’t. She needed Dima. She needed Dima to want her. To love her. And he did, he did, right? She needed to hear it.
So she rang the doorbell.
She fought the urge to run away and won. She was still standing there when the door opened. But it wasn’t Dima who opened them. It was her. Anna.
"Da? How can I help you? " She asked with her thick accent.
"I-well…is mr. Yevseyev home? "
Anna nodded and turned into the house.
"Dimitri! "
Dima.
They looked at each other for a long time.
"Chto ti zdesi delayesh? "                           (What are you doing here?)
He didn’t sound pleased to see her.
"I had to see you. "
"You shouldn’t have come here. Eto slishkom opasnoh. My wife’ll get suspicious."
(It’s too dangerous)
"That’s why I had to see you, we can’t go on like this. "
"We…can’t? "
"No Dima, we can’t. "
"But why? "
"Potomu chto ya ne khochu, that’s why. "                         (Because I don’t want to.)
"I thought we were having a good time together. "
"That’s right. I don’t want it to stop. I’m getting divorced. "
She looked at him happily, expectantly.
Color drained out of Dima’s face.
"That’s-uh, great. But you don’t expect me to get divorced too, do you? "
Now it was Spring’s turn to loose all color from her face.
"I-Dima… "
Tears rolled down her cheeks. She didn’t want them too but she couldn’t stop it.
"Spring…wow…I didn’t know you were taking it seriously, I-. "
"Ti menya ne lyubish? "                               (Don’t you love me?)
"I’ve never thought about that. Or about getting divorced for that matter. "
And she broke.
He looked at her helplessly.
"I thought it was clear we weren’t serious. I wouldn’t’ve-. "
"Pozhaluysta. Pozhaluysta budi so mnoy. Ya lyublyu tebya. "    (Please, be with me. I love you.)
"Dorogaya, eto ne- look, we’re not gonna be together. "           (Dear, it’s not-)
"I f*****g love you. "
"No ya-. "                           (Well, I-)
"Ti menya ne lyubish? Skazhi eto. Say it to my face that you don’t love me. "

(You don’t love me? Say it.)

Silence.
"You’re a coward, Dimitri, you know that? "
And she left.
She didn’t know how. Everything felt unreal. The world crumbled down and buried her.
What now?

Dima lived close to a harbour. That was where Spring fled. She was sitting on a rock, staring into the water and smoking.
"Missus Bakker? "
Peter.
"Wow. I didn’t know you live near here. "
Spring didn’t look at him.
"I don’t. "
"Oh, okay. Can I join? "
Spring shrugged. He climbed on the rock.
"You know smoking’s unhealthy, right? "
"I like it anyway. "
"Why do you like it? "
"Let’s just say that every cigarette is a hundred potential deaths leading to the big finale. "
"That’s …dark. "
"I guess. "
"Are you okay, missus? "
And then, finally, she turned to him. Her eyes were all red and puffy and new tears threatned to fall. She didn’t know she still had any. She resisted them as long as she could but they were stronger than her will. She closed her eyes and they escaped . She shook her head.
He hugged her.

Her vision was blurred. Partly because she was crying but mostly because of the speed of the cars rushing right in front of her. The city at night was both spectacular and horrifying sight. She was standing by the road. So close she could’ve touched the passing cars if she wanted to. The lights were blnding her. What was she even doing there? She didn’t know. For the last six months she mostly didn’t know what she was doing. She lived in a mist. In a state of never-ending dream. Or a nightmare. She was a sleepwalker. And she felt unreal.
Maybe I don’t even exist.
But she knew it was a lie. She felt the soft weight in her lower belly. It wasn’t visible yet if you weren’t really looking but she felt it. And she felt it moving. The proof of her weakness, of the unbelievable mistake she’s made.
She should end it all.
And she would do it without hesitation if it wasn’t for that child. That innocent life. She wouldn’t kill just herself, she would kill another person. A person who now was the size of an avocado but still. On the other hand what would life be for that little one? Wouldn’t it be better to spare them both the pain, the suffering?
She didn’t know. She didn’t know anthing anymore. Who was she? Why was she still living? Where was she going?
She didn’t know.
And suddenly someone grabbed her arm and pulled her away.
"Spring! "
She knew she should be grateful. But she didn’t know if she really was.
She didn’t know.

Epilogue

It was cold in the church. Spring was shivering in her thin dress and couldn’t think about anything else. Which was probably a good thing. Otherwise she’d probably run and ruin her life even more. If that was possible.
She knew her part well. She didn’t have to listen to vladyko to get it right. She had it memorized. She knew where to say "I do. "
That was all that mattered.
And before she knew it there was a ring on her finger. Just recently she got rid of the old one. Ring for a ring.
Here I am.Belonging to someone else again. Will I ever be my own?
And then she was looking into his eyes. They were beautiful, no doubt. Dima’s eyes.
Dima.
She should be marrying him.