Page 65 of Nights Without Night
The Isadoro in the picture is painted with light. He is almost glowing, but only because he seems to be disappearing, his skin diaphanous, casting moonlight all around him. He is greys, blues, the translucent black of shadows. Everything around him is space and silence. As you look at him, there is a void between you, and with it comes a longing you can feel in the pit of your stomach. It makes you want to touch the canvas, to poke your fingers through it and to the other side, to be pulled inside and join the man in the picture, sitting with his light and his shadows.
It’s like he can sense me. As Jack and I walk towards Isadoro, he turns around. The moment he meets my eyes, I know. I’ve made a mistake. I can see the realization on his face, a spear through me. No one could look at that picture and not figure it out. Not understand the desperate want, not feel the sting of the salty wind blowing from the love that is an endless expanse as far as the light can reach.
“Iván,” he says and, God, the sound of my name said like that. The stormy sea of it. I don’t know what hides underneath.
“Hey!” I say, and the smile I give him is a strain on my face. “Isa, you’ve got to meet Jack! Remember I told you about her?” I say with an overabundance of false cheer. Isadoro looks at Jack.
“Hey,” Jack says. “I’ve heard a lot of things about you too.”
“Hi. Nice to meet you,” Isadoro replies. They shake hands like they’ve just finished a business deal. Despite the pain radiating from my gut, I almost roll my eyes.
“Can I talk to you?” Isadoro says abruptly, looking at me. I struggle to keep the panic from my face.
“I, uh, I really can’t right now. I’ve got to, you know, mingle. But later, yeah?” I stutter, pleading for him not to do this now.
I know Isadoro’s sense of what is right will propel him into wanting to talk to me. To let me down easy, check on my wounds as my fall finally reaches its hard landing. He’ll want to diagnose if my unrequited love is fatal or if there’s hope for a cure and I—I can’t.
“You two,” I point between Isadoro and Jack. “I’ve gotta,” I point a thumb over my shoulder. Both of them frown at me as I take a step back. Luckily, I spot one of my ex-teachers on the other side of the room and head towards her.
I avoid Isadoro desperately after that, even managing to get distracted into conversations with different people. Most of them I know, but some faces are new, showing interest in the paintings. They ask for the story behind the collection, and I tell them the bare bones of it.
“Someone I love is a veteran. It’s his eyes you’re looking through.”
I try to enjoy the exhibition, but there’s a peach pit of anxiety in my stomach, its filament roots digging into my intestines, my liver, up to my lungs.
Eventually, Jack finds me taking a moment in a corner.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asks bluntly, although not unkindly.
“He knows.”
“Who?”
“Isadoro.”
“Knows what? What are you talking about?”
“He knows! He knows that I…” I make a gesture towards my whole self. The confusion on Jack’s face clears.
“Oh, that you’re ridiculously in love with him and have been forever? Jesus, took him long enough,” she says, rolling her eyes. I almost can’t breathe with indignation.
“Jack, are you not getting it?”
“Areyounot getting it? This is the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”
I open my mouth to retort, but Iva suddenly comes up to her.
“Hi,” she says, waving at Jack and then looking at me. “Is everything okay?”
“No. He knows.”
“Who?”
“Isadoro.”
“Knows what?” Iva asks. Jack interjects before I can say anything.
“That he’s stupidly in love and stupid and in love.”
