Scrabiola

Do you remember the time when you were a child and the excitement and impatience you felt every time you were about to go on a school trip? Even a few hours before the alarm clock was supposed to ring, you would wake up, toss and turn in bed, and impatiently check the clock. The same thing happened to me in my early thirties. The only difference was that I was no longer a child, so I did not have to stay in bed waiting for the alarm to go off. And fortunately, I did not stay there, for which I am extremely grateful, because if I had, my life would not be what it is today, and most likely the lives of many other people would not be the same either.

It was a Sunday morning, and now you are probably wondering what destination could have made me so excited that I could not sleep peacefully. No, it was not the Alps, nor some exotic destination. I was simply going fishing at the nearby river, about thirty minutes away from my home. To me, this was better than a vacation in some exotic place because it gave me a sense of freedom, peace, and the chance to relax and forget all my problems, at least for a moment. I do not know whether the reason I woke up as early as six in the morning was the exhausting week I had behind me and my desire to leave the house as quickly as possible, or perhaps because everything that happens in life happens for a reason.

The entire previous week I had been exhausted from work, staying up late into the night. We had to finalize a contract with a new client, and until the contract was signed, the ordeal continued. Finally, on Thursday, we signed the agreement, and I thought I would finally be able to rest and relax a little, but apparently luck was not on my side.

On Friday, we had a company party organized to celebrate the new client, and as always, I invited my girlfriend, Sara. She accepted the invitation without hesitation because we always had a great time with my colleagues. However, this time was different. I do not know what caused Sara’s irrational behavior — perhaps PMS, her vivid imagination, or maybe that hidden streak of jealousy she usually kept under control but that occasionally surfaced. In the end, it does not really matter; what matters is that my problems continued.

Everything happened about an hour before we were supposed to leave for home, after my colleague Lara and I returned to our table following a brief conversation with the client. At that moment, Sara’s face transformed into a “duck face.” Yes, whenever she was angry, she would pout, and it was very easy to tell that she was upset. On the way home, she remained silent the entire time. I asked her what the problem was and why she was angry, but I received the standard female response: “Nothing’s wrong!” Come on, I am not blind — I could clearly see that something was wrong, but apparently men are expected to read minds.

I decided not to push her to tell me what was wrong because I was already too tired to argue as well. I hoped she would sleep it off and forget everything by the next day, but that did not happen. The following day, after several hours of sulking, she finally told me what the issue was. She claimed she was not blind and had seen the way Lara and I looked at each other. Seriously? After a long argument and explanations that lasted nearly an hour, we came to the conclusion that perhaps I had not looked at Lara “that way,” but she had looked at me that way. And because I was denying this “reality,” Sara decided she would spend the night at her own apartment. Deep down, I thought to myself that I had already had enough of her childish behavior, so I told her she was free to do as she pleased.

On Sunday, I woke up earlier than planned. My attempts to fall back asleep were unsuccessful, so instead of wasting time trying, I decided to leave for fishing earlier than intended. I arrived at the river at seven in the morning, equipped with two sandwiches, several cans of beer, my fishing rod, worms, and a folding chair. After a short while, I found the perfect spot for myself, prepared the rod, and settled comfortably into the chair. Above me stood a large maple tree whose purpose was to shield me from the sun. It was May, and during this time of year the sun could already be quite strong.

Everything around me was lush and green, and the pleasant singing of the birds relaxed me even further. I could feel my own existence as the sunlight warmed my legs through the branches of the great maple tree, while the May breeze tousled my hair, which desperately needed a haircut. The scent spreading through the air was a mixture of freshly cut grass and various flowers that together formed a colorful carpet stretching endlessly into the distance.

Completely immersed in the world of nature, I was convinced that nothing could disturb this peace when suddenly, unable to believe my eyes, I jumped out of my chair, pulled off my shirt, and quickly dove into the river. A young woman’s body was floating there, and I had no idea whether she was still alive. When I reached her, I supported her against my back and began swimming toward the shore as fast as I could. Once I reached land, I picked her up in my arms and carefully laid her down on the grass beside the river. When I checked and realized she still had a pulse, it felt as though a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders, though the lump in my throat remained. I immediately rushed to provide first aid, and my heart felt as though it would burst out of my chest from fear and panic that I might fail to save her. When the girl finally began coughing, the lump in my throat slowly disappeared — she was alive. I had succeeded. I felt so happy I could have started jumping around like a child receiving a long-awaited toy.

The girl was terrified and confused. She had no idea what had happened or where she was. I tried to calm her down, briefly explained what had happened, and told her that we needed to go to the hospital immediately. After listening to me, she managed to calm down a little. We headed straight to the hospital, and I drove as fast as possible so we could get there quickly. While driving, I asked her what had happened and how she had ended up in the river, but she replied that she could not remember. In fact, she said she did not even know her own name. That was when I realized that she truly had no idea who she was. Panic overtook her, her eyes filled with tears, and she was moments away from crying as tears threatened to roll down her pale and exhausted face.

When we arrived at the hospital, I took her by the hand — still dripping water from her soaked clothes — and told her not to worry, that she would soon remember everything, that it was only temporary, and that the doctors were there to help. After hearing my words, a slight sense of relief appeared on her face, as though she had regained hope that her memories would return.

I stayed at the hospital for several hours. The police arrived and filed a report. It was difficult to identify the girl without any documents, especially since she had lost her memory. The police assumed that within a day or two her family would report her missing, and that was how they would eventually discover who she was so she could return home. The doctors diagnosed a head injury that had caused amnesia, which could last anywhere from several days to several months.

According to the doctors, revisiting familiar places and engaging in activities she had previously practiced could help restore her memory more quickly. However, because her identity was still unknown and no family members or friends had yet been identified, she would have to remain in the hospital.

Before leaving, I entered her room. She no longer resembled the small, drenched, frightened kitten I had rescued earlier. The wet clothes were gone, and brown curls now fell over her shoulders. When she saw me, a shy smile spread across her face, and in a soft, gentle voice she thanked me for saving her life, saying she would remain indebted to me forever. Trying to joke, I replied that we would find a way for her to repay me — perhaps a crate of beer would suffice. At my response, her smile widened, revealing her bright white teeth. She seemed much more relaxed and calmer now, likely because of the sedatives the doctors had given her, and she was even capable of joking about herself. When I asked how she felt, she answered that perhaps it was not so terrible not knowing who you are, because maybe you would only end up disappointed once you found out.

That evening was reserved for yet another argument with Sara. I had ten missed calls from her. When I finally called back, she nearly burst my eardrum. All I could hear was shrieking, as if I were standing beside the river listening to seagulls not blessed with pleasant voices. Everything revolved around accusations: “So you finally remembered to call me! Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? What now, are you avoiding me because of yesterday?” and so on. To make a long story short, I probably waited five whole minutes before I even got a chance to say anything. In the end, I received an apology for her assumptions.

When I told Sara that I was planning to visit the hospital the next day, she became angry again. According to her, it did not matter that the girl had no one by her side at the moment — it was not my concern. I had helped her when it was necessary, saved her from drowning, and that should have been the end of it. I did not even try to explain my point of view because I knew it would change nothing. I simply told her that I had made my decision and would not change it. Sara’s selfishness made me wonder whether there was any point in being in a relationship with someone who did not share the same values and who viewed the world so differently. After all the years we had spent together, the next logical step would have been marriage, but how would we function together and raise children with such different perspectives? All of this made me question whether Sara was truly the person I wanted to build a family with.

The next day after work, I went back to the hospital. There had been no change in the girl’s condition, but the police had found her car in the river. That explained the injury on her head. Before leaving the hospital, we learned from the police that the girl’s name was Sandra and that she was twenty-nine years old. They could now locate and contact her family. Before leaving, I gave Sandra my phone number, telling her that I would really like to meet the real her once her memory returned, but that even before then, I was there if she needed anything. The next day, when I called the hospital to ask about Sandra, she had already left. Her family was overjoyed that she had been found, and according to the doctors, her memory should return soon now that she was surrounded by people she knew and who had been part of her life. I sincerely hoped that would happen quickly.

The next three weeks were relatively peaceful for me. Work was no longer as stressful, and things with Sara slowly calmed down and returned to normal. Then, on Friday afternoon while I was still at work, I received a call from a number not saved in my phone. I heard a woman’s voice say, “Looks like you’re finally getting that crate of beer you asked for.”

“Excuse me?” I paused for a few seconds before realizing it was Sandra. Yes, it was Sandra! I was excited just to hear her voice. I had not expected her to call me. From the other side of the phone, I could hear the happiness in Sandra’s voice as she told me that her memory had returned and that she could finally continue with her life.

She invited me to dinner after work at a restaurant located near my office, saying it was the least she could do considering everything I had done for her. The curiosity that overwhelmed me at that moment — the desire to truly get to know the girl I had rescued that Sunday morning — did not allow me to stop and think about whether I might already have had plans. Without hesitation, I accepted her invitation. Although the restaurant was close to my office, I had never visited it before. On the way there, I secretly prayed it would not be an Indian restaurant because my stomach would never survive that. Fortunately, it turned out to be Italian. Perfect, I thought to myself — I’ll get to enjoy my favorite food.

But it was not only my stomach that enjoyed the evening — I enjoyed the conversation as well. It flowed so naturally that I did not even notice when three hours had passed. I must admit that while I was waiting for Sandra to arrive, sitting on a pale brown chair in the left corner of the restaurant with a glass of white wine on the table, I felt an inexplicable nervousness and unease that made my stomach churn. I felt as if I were on a romantic date.

My nervousness only grew stronger when I saw Sandra walking toward my table. The pale face from the hospital was gone; now her face glowed with life. Her hair, which had previously fallen over her shoulders, was tied up, accentuating her neck where a necklace rested delicately. And the pale green dress clung perfectly to her figure, emphasizing every curve of her body.

After the first few minutes of conversation, I managed to calm myself and suppress my nervousness. What I learned about Sandra that beautiful evening was that she worked as a book publisher, just like me. We immediately discovered we had many topics in common. She adored Italian food — which was not surprising considering the restaurant she had chosen. Her hobbies included hiking and yoga. Her sense of humor became obvious from the moment she arrived at the restaurant. She apologized for the crate of beer I still had not received, joking that she simply had not managed to find my address.

Before we left the restaurant, Sandra told me that her parents and her boyfriend were eager to meet me personally so they could thank me for what I had done for their loved one. But I tried in every possible way to avoid that meeting. The fact that her boyfriend would be there frightened me. I worried he might notice the way I looked at his girlfriend, even though I was trying with all my strength to suppress the thoughts running through my mind. Fortunately, we did not arrange anything for the moment; we postponed it until a time when I would supposedly have “fewer obligations.”

During the following two weeks, I searched for excuses to see Sandra again, especially on difficult days. I knew that talking to her relaxed me and allowed me to forget my problems, at least for a while. I could have invited her for coffee without any special reason, but I feared that might seem strange. Then again, why should it be strange when we were not doing anything wrong? Still, I decided against it and waited for a more convincing reason.

That reason appeared perfectly in the form of a book promotion event for one of our authors. Considering her profession, it was exactly the type of event Sandra would never miss, and as I had expected, she was delighted by the invitation and happily accepted it. The next thing I needed to figure out was how to keep Sara from coming with me.

First of all, it was highly likely she would create a jealous scene once she found out I had invited Sandra. Secondly — to be honest — I wanted to spend more time alone with Sandra. The promotion was on a Friday evening. Sara would never voluntarily spend a Friday night at home, so I decided to suggest that she organize a gathering with her friends. Then, on Friday, I would suddenly “remember” that I had the book promotion and would not be able to accompany her. She would definitely be angry, but I planned to buy her a gift, apologize, and eventually she would forget about it.

During the promotion, I did not have enough time to dedicate to Sandra, so afterward I suggested we go somewhere quieter where we could discuss the book. We sat down at a nearby bar, and just like the previous time, neither of us noticed how quickly the hours passed — or how many drinks we had consumed. Over the course of those few hours, we talked about many things, from the book itself to the meaning of life.

As Sandra stood up from the bar stool, she lost her balance slightly, and I realized we might have had a little too much to drink. I insisted on taking her home to make sure she arrived safely, even though I was not exactly sober myself. When we reached her apartment, I helped her unlock the door because she struggled to fit the key into the lock. As we entered the apartment, she tripped over the brown rug lying about a meter from the entrance. I quickly grabbed her before she hit the floor.

I caught her around the waist, and at that moment we both burst out laughing. She turned toward me, threw her arms around me, and said through laughter, “What would I do without you? See? You saved my life again.”

For a brief moment, our eyes met, and she leaned closer with the intention of kissing me. It was not that I did not want the same thing — I absolutely did — but I did not want her to think I had taken advantage of her drunken state. After the brief kiss, I somehow found the strength to pull away from the taste of her lips. I asked her if she was sure this was what she wanted, and she replied that she had never been more certain of anything in her life.

The kisses continued with growing intensity, and I hurried to slip the black satin dress from her body, the dress that flowed all the way down to her knees. I was desperate to feel and taste every part of her.

xBefore leaving, I carried Sandra into her bedroom. As I carried her there, I took a deep breath to absorb the scent of her hair, trying to imprint it in my memory for as long as possible. Amid all the chaos, I somehow managed to find a blanket to cover her with. There was a pile of clothes scattered across the bed that I had to move so she would have space to lie down. I told her that I would take the key that was hanging on the inside of the front door, lock the apartment from the outside, and leave the key under the doormat in front of the door. I am not entirely sure she remembered anything I told her. I kissed her and left.

When I arrived home, Sara was still awake. I tried to pretend that I was exhausted and hide the smile that kept threatening to spread across my face. I quickly took a shower, slipped into bed, and immediately fell asleep. To be honest, I did not feel guilty at all about cheating on Sara. I had never cheated on her before, nor on any of my previous girlfriends, and I had always believed I would never be able to sleep afterward because of guilt. But now it was completely different — the moment I lay down in bed, I sank into a deep sleep. Perhaps it was because Sara simply was not the right one for me, and that was why I had betrayed her.

For the next five days, there was no sign or sound from me. I know it is terrible not to call a woman you have slept with, but the situation was different now. I had a girlfriend, and Sandra had a boyfriend. I did not know what her expectations were, but I decided I first needed to sort things out within myself — to figure out what it was that I truly wanted before playing with open cards. Once I was certain about my feelings, I called Sandra. First, I apologized for not contacting her sooner, and then I asked if we could meet so we could talk.

We met at the café next to my office. I told her that although we had not known each other for very long and had only seen each other a few times, perhaps this would sound strange, but those few meetings had been enough to make me want to spend more time with her. If she felt the same way, ending things with Sara would not be a problem for me.

Sandra did not deny that she enjoyed spending time with me, but she admitted that she needed time to think about whether she truly wanted to end her relationship. I was not happy with the answer she gave me, but I was determined not to give up on her. It was enough for me that we would remain friends because that would give me the chance to make her change her mind.

After several “friendly” meetings, our encounters no longer remained merely friendly. The passion that had ignited between us eventually proved impossible for Sandra to resist. We continued seeing each other in secret over the following months, until she finally decided to end her relationship — and I ended mine as well. Although, in truth, it was not me who ended things with Sara. It was Sara who ended things with me.

I had been forced to invent countless excuses for all the time I spent with Sandra, and eventually Sara began to suspect that something was happening. One day, while I was taking a shower, she checked my phone and found messages from Sandra. It was a complete disaster. I heard screaming and the sound of things breaking. I immediately ran into the living room to see what was going on. Honestly, I barely escaped alive.

I tried to explain myself to Sara, but realistically there was nothing to explain. The most important thing was calming her down and stopping her from destroying everything around her. One of the things she told me was that she never wanted to see me again, especially after everything she had supposedly done “for us,” only for me to repay her like this.

After my relationship with Sara ended, it became easier for Sandra to finally end the farce with her boyfriend so that we would no longer have to hide our relationship. And to this day, we are still together and happy, and I have already started thinking about a ring.

I am endlessly grateful that on that Sunday morning I left for fishing earlier than planned, because otherwise I would not be waking up beside Sandra today. Honestly, Sara would probably still be here, and I would not be living the life I am living now. That incident changed my life completely and gave it an entirely new — and definitely better — direction.