Chasing the Meteor

I wanted to scold Robert for his stupid bravado, for the way he shamelessly increased the speed on the narrow forest road, not paying attention to the fact that we were driving straight into the empty silence of the night. But at that moment another thought flashed through my mind. I remembered that this was our last evening together, when we could love each other without raising suspicion, without hiding anything, without hiding behind false masks and without hiding our eyes. This was the last chance to spend the night as two people who were open to each other, before we plunged again into this world where hiding feelings becomes a necessity.

I held my breath, watching him concentrate on the wheel, confidently driving us along this route, as always, with a slight challenge in his driving style. He was not afraid. And I was still thinking about how I wanted to continue this night, not thinking about tomorrow. About how after it everything would return to normal. Robert could not know how hard it would be for me to return to the usual course, to pretend again that everything was normal, that we did not know what this look, these touches, this closeness meant.

I opened my mouth to say something harsh to him, but at that moment I felt another wave wash over me. Instead of making the usual remark, I suddenly moved closer to him and, feeling his warm breath, lightly touched his shoulder. He was not surprised, did not move away, but only slightly turned his head, letting me know that everything was okay. There was no condemnation in his eyes, only understanding. And this understanding was more important to me than anything.

"Don't worry," he said quietly, without taking his eyes off the road. "Tomorrow everything will be different."

I didn't answer. Instead, I just put my hand on his thigh, feeling the thick fabric of his jeans under my fingers. In that same second, I realized that I couldn't think about this. I couldn't think about tomorrow, about returning to our normal lives, about hiding what we had again. I wanted this night, this connection, this passion. Only now, in this moment, I wanted to be with him.

We continued driving, and I felt more and more how some invisible density was growing between us, which became more and more noticeable with each turn of the road. I felt my fingers tightening on his thigh, and in that moment there were no words, no fears, no thoughts about what would happen tomorrow. We were here, now, together, and that was enough.

It was our last night. I knew that tomorrow everything would change. In Albany, my lover had a message at the post office that he was to report to the editorial office in two days. I knew what that meant: his time on vacation was over. That was how long it would take to travel the nearly thousand kilometers that separated our camp from Ottawa: to Albany by car, then by boat, and back on the highway. We both knew that, despite our silence, this night was the final chord, the last moment when we could be just two people, oblivious to the world around us.

Robert suggested that we stay at the lake until the end of September, as we planned, to enjoy the peace and solitude, but of course I didn't agree. I couldn't stay. I knew that nothing would come back, and I couldn't afford to prolong the inevitable. There were things that couldn't be ignored, no matter how hard we tried to hide them, no matter how hard we built our little worlds, protected from everything else. I couldn't look into his eyes, knowing that tomorrow we would no longer be the same. We would not be the same as we are now.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay?" Robert tried to convince me again, but his voice sounded tired. He knew the answer, but he probably still hoped that I would change my mind. He was the one who always acted with confidence, with determination, but that night it seemed to me that something had broken in him. His words were quiet, but there was a hidden request in them. He couldn't understand why I didn't agree, why I felt that I needed to leave, that we needed to finish this.

"We both know it doesn't make sense," I said, feeling my chest grow colder with each passing minute. This was all just an illusion, a briefly forgotten reality. We could stay on this lake, enjoy every moment, but we couldn't escape what was waiting for us after. I knew I'd soon go back to my life, and he to his. And we wouldn't be like this anymore. We wouldn't be like this anymore.

He leaned back in the wooden chair that stood near the fire. I sat next to him, frozen in the shadow of the fire. There was no wind, and there was a dead silence all around. Only sparks from the fire flared up in the darkness, like our feelings - quick, bright, but short-lived.

"You always know what to do," Robert said after a pause, his voice soft and casual, but I sensed something more in it. It wasn't a reproach, not an insult, but rather an admission: he knew that our paths were diverging. We both knew that this moment on the lake was part of some other time that couldn't continue. We couldn't stop that process, despite everything that connected us.

I stood up and walked towards him without saying a word. He raised his head and looked into my eyes, and in his gaze I read what I felt: we both knew that this was our last meeting, our last morning, which would be complete and then break apart like something fragile and invulnerable. I touched his shoulder, and without saying another word, we remained silent, watching the fire gradually die out.

Robert suddenly remembered the newspapers he had brought from town and went to the car to get them. I stayed by the fire, which was already dying down, leaving only weak flashes of red light in the air. The dark, starless night enveloped us, and the space around us seemed immense, eclipsed by something mysterious. I listened to his footsteps, distantly pounding on the damp earth, and at that moment something in the silence clearly cut into my ears - perhaps it was something beyond the fire, unknown and unnamed.