Lovestory: Call Him Y

Once, up on time and all the way through it, there was a young woman who met a man ( let's call him Y) in a moment of her life in which the only thing she was looking for was somebody to touch. Her Beloved, she had met some time ago, but the relationship with him, ideal in every aspect, suffered something missing that only got worse: He was beyond her reach, not because he was a fiction, rather something even less real.

When she saw Mr.Y for the first time it was night. From afar he seems a good bit like her Beloved who had suffered the undoing mentioned above. For her, he lit that internal flame that radiates from the eyes, the smile and the skin. She moved closer to MrY and seduced him with…tricks like listening attentively, feigning that what she heard was startling and profound, that his statements were true intellectual challenges. MrY was fascinated with the young woman: never in his life had he someone who understood him so, who accepted him and with whom he could share so easily. Mr Y wasn’t looking for anything special: company, complicity, a certain tenderness- in short a mate. The young woman was like a ring made for his finger.

Ok, so the young woman needed to maintain a certain distance with MrY so that he would serve her purpose. She would have liked him to be mute, or even better, if he had a needle for the record that she had prepared for him and that she always carried with her for the appropriate occasion. But for all she looked- and you should know that it wasn’t easy to deflect the young woman form her agenda- nowhere on his body was to be found this particular audio accessory. However, during her exploration she found that Mr Y posessed certain accessories, one in particular which was of extreme interest, and which afterwards was of great use as a tool for filling holes.

Time passed and the closeness with MrY in spite of being a delight, was turning bit by bit threatening. This was a big problem because the hands of the young woman had become addicted to Mr Y, and they were not happy unless they were doing so. ( MrY was happy with the situation).

So then, the young woman came up with a brilliant idea: If the problem was the relative proximity of her hands to her own body, and of her body to her mind and fantasies- what she needed to do- was- stretching excersises!!!. Why not? Everything can happen exactly as you would propose it, enough with desiring him intensely, it’s said if you think you can or think you can’t, you’re right. She repeated…Another thing was, it was a fundamental need to rescue her Beloved form the oceanic, hypnotic eyes of Mr Y, where he was drowning- with her trying to save him.

Immediately, as was her modus operandi, she put her plan to effect. She went directly to the stores specializing in the matter: she bought every type of extension, a rod to nail to the roof, from which , she would hang- for at least thirteen hours a day. She bought as well about two thousand litres of a rubbery solution that they assured her would take effect after the twentieth dose.

In this way, the young woman methodically began to perform the exercises and the doses, and effectively- her arms began to stretch. The young woman lived now not only for her excercises and potions, but also she put herself to work making shits and sweaters to size with her extraordinary proportions.

It should be clear that all of this was turning hard and expensive, not a minor detail, because the money issue was getting out of control between the two: She didn’t have the means for her frequent nightime jaunts, and money wasn’t even making it to cover the costs like before, so that plainly, he was winding up paying for her with abslute regularity. This went on imperceptibally til the relationship was one of pure domesticity that was a new destabilizing issue for the young woman ( Mr Y, was evidently unconscious of the fact, because he had these ancient concepts concerning masculine identity and roles).

El Senor Y barely noticed the change when fondled by the young woman, who found herself at a distance of a block. He didn’t feel the need to touch, or to be close, he simply liked being touched. So a year passed during which the young woman felt almost happy. Mr Y talked and talked but from such a height, and she so far, that his words didn’t mess with her dreams. But one day, the wind decided that his words would prick her hearing and they went directly to her conscience, breaking through all the barriers that she strategically had placed in a variety of key places. He was talking about taking a trip to India, and was saying that he’d be gone for a year or more. He didn’t even realize that I was there! She began to call- You-who! Here I am! But he couldn’t hear, and she continued vociferously her You-who's until she lost her voice, and reflexively her extra long arms wrapped around him and suddenly they were face to face. She seductive, smiling, triumphant, apparently in expression of something like: Now I have you trapped, you are under my power- No way, he said, I’m free. She began to get desperate. She conjugated the verb- To Love: I love you, You love me, I will not wait for you, you will loose me, She conjured blame- If you leave, I’ll die. How can you be so selfish?; and the promises: And our projects? And when you talked about marrying me, were you lying? Obviously he had made a mistake, she wasn’t the woman of his dreams because she didn’t understand him, was tracing limits, and suffocating him. He should fly. This woman was a complete stranger, a crazy woman, not his Beloved. Hadn’t she made plain during all the time they’d been together, if not in words in attitudes, that she was a free spirit like him, that she hated commitment and didn’t believe in marriage?

This boaconstrictor definitely wasn’t his Beloved- and maybe never had been. Remember the story of Adam and Eve and understand that in the garden there never were three voices in the conversation. He’d never thought of it before but in the moment he realized something basic- Snakes do not talk! Obviously the moral of the story was..all women sooner or later turn into a boaconstrictor and eat you up.

She sreamed and cried to the point of desperation. She examined his eyes closely and now her Beloved wasn’t even there, just Mr Y dispelling her illusion. All her future life passed flying in front of her eyes: the pregnancies, the births, Christmases with family, the day their eldest became a doctor, the youngest an architect. The emotion of the day her daughter was married. The seet feeling of an empty nest, the arrival of grandchildren, tender old age, surrounded by the grandchildren and all those winter nights, the two of them together holding hands by the chimney on a plush green velvet sofa, reading stories aloud or remembering the old times. The young woman lost control and worse, lost all balance and fell inside herself. She found there only destruction, chaos and night. She found herself as a shell shrivelled and cold. She contemplated those blue eyes that were everything now she had nothing, and prey to the last panic attack… jumped into them.

The wind played awhile with the shell.

A man who had lost the body of his Beloved, recovered the abandoned crust and after a studied moment, judged her adequate, and began thinking how to place his illusion inside his happy find.

Mercedes Bocage and Paul Liebner