And sometimes, the sex party is over: Who's Afraid of Untitled Love

Abroad is over but the movie goes on - after the big quarrel over the definitions of a kind of Rhoda angry at all the romantic comedies ever created. Last part

A kind of Rhoda

Part I: This is how I went abroad with a foreign man: my impossible novel
Part Two: Between Desires and Feelings: A Third Date at a Sex Party in Berlin
Part III: Shentz in Austria and Exposed in Oktoberfest: A Moment Before the Blast

We are in the midst of a romantic comedy, and this is the moment to curse all the movies I grew up on. I curse "Ten Things I Hate Most" and Dawson Creek. Curse all the Beatles songs and "Corrupt Dance". I'm supposed to remember that he is a former ultra-Orthodox, and not at all sure that he knows that your sleeping beauty woke up a kiss of true love. The knight on my white horse became a messenger for him.

We're only two months together, and I'm starting to get confused, because the scene in the movie where he is supposed to hug me and tell me he's in love with me to the top has come too soon in our story. If we were in Tel Aviv, we would meet twice in those two weeks, and the record would survive overnight. But we survived together for two weeks, and when I look at it, I melt away from the inside, and suddenly I realize the real trouble of traveling abroad with a guy I barely know.

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Last night, in the bed of a hotel in Milan, I ask him the question that scared me even while we were in Israel, and so I hoped tonight would have an answer. "Say, what are we?" The answer I got was clear that I am not Julia Roberts, and here is a real life, not a fairy tale. "We're two people having fun together and doing good to each other." Every sentence of it moves my heart from the heights we reached to the bottom of the abyss. How did we go through everything we went through, and nothing changed?

Shentz in Austria and Exposed in Oktoberfest: Just before the explosion

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All my attempts to spend two weeks outside myself collapsed in the same second. It's not fair. I let him lead the game. I was also spontaneous that day when I sat down on a hotel staircase and started crying because we had nowhere to sleep. I flowed out of the room a quarter of an hour after check-out, though in the depths of my mind I was sure they would be arrested soon. And I was silent for so many moments that the emotion shocked my body, but I knew that my words would do nothing to it.

"I was sure you would fall in love with me these two weeks." As soon as I said this sentence, all of his anger also collapsed, so he did what I expected him to do, and remained silent. Silence all the insults I had plotted, my whole attempt to drag a piece of comment out of it. And when he was silent, he said he didn't understand the words I was saying at all, and asked if I would travel with him even if I knew the end of the story would simply be another part of a two-person relationship, and not a record.

How could I explain, through the tears, when I realized that unlike all my plans, this trip was about to end in heartbreak, that it missed the moment when, according to all the scenarios I was growing up, it was supposed to stop and tell me that it loved me? How do I explain that I wanted his heart to fill not to say I was trying to work on it, but to give it a perfect two weeks? We did everything right, got along amazingly, laughed all the time, talked for hours and hours, touched on all the passion that exists in the world. If you haven't fallen in love with me until now, why would you ever fall in love with me? And if you never fall in love with me, then what's the point of all this?

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"You're trying to get me in jail." Congratulations. We're in the loop. We got into a dizzy with no way out. I am trying to find a getaway that will allow us to stay together even at the end of this night, and he is determined not to let me hear any word I want to hear. He won't lie for me to feel better. We can. How does he not understand that love is a good thing? That two people enjoying each other and doing good to each other, or the way he chose not to define our relationship, is not a prison - but a release?

And why, in the name of all the romantic songs ever written, why doesn't he realize that the way to feel free in a relationship with someone else is not to keep your truth to yourself, and let it live in insecurity, but vice versa. I'm too naive to think that honesty allows for much greater freedom than lying? Is that again a remnant of Disney movies that speak from my mind? When I realize that I will not even get a tip, I minimize my demands, and even then, when I just want him to say that what we have is special, I run into the wall. He sees people who fall in love every day, and people who recover from love and a broken heart. Everything makes sense to him. Everything is noisy for me.

He really gives me everything a person needs from his spouse, even if he doesn't let me call him "my spouse". During those two months he had already proved that he was here in times of crisis. He doesn't let the day go by without checking that I'm feeling good. Even in Tel Aviv, when I got into the dizzy wetsaps in the middle of the night and sent him messages that I was afraid I was nothing for him, he would wait until morning, and in the morning ask if I was feeling better. He didn't even run away once. He hugs me, he tells me I'm important to him, and he hates being ignored by all the good things - and chooses to just refer to the headlines. But how to live without headlines?

Dolomites in Italy (Photo: official website)

In the angry storm he fell asleep. It's three o'clock in the morning, and I'm leaving the room without a phone, no wallet, I don't know where. In the thick air of love that ended I can't stay. When I return an hour later, I see that he is awake. The only piece of concern he showed me that evening. In the morning he asked for time for himself, and even so there was no way to dispel the cloud that was hovering above us.

Italian pastry after Italian pastry, shop after shop, I burn this morning trying to erase the sadness the only way I know - carbs and shopping. When he asks me to come back, we act as if everything is normal, when nothing really is. On the train to Lake Como he hugs me again.
Hours later, as we sat together and waited for an Italian pizza at a waterfront tourist restaurant, he said without me asking:

"I don't want us to say goodbye."

Every night we would hug, and he would summarize everything that happened to me that day, counting the total of events until that moment, that night at the hotel he refused to sum up the two weeks we had together. "Something doesn't end," he said. We've had a fight and hug for so many months since. But we haven't concluded anything yet.