Can You Reincarnate a Cat?
Names and details have been changed to help keep the past in the past.
“Girl, take my number” someone whispered in my ear. Confused, I turned around. Dressed in glitter and glitz, a woman my age handed me her phone. “Just in case you have trouble with that guy you’re with.”
“You mean Hashim?!” I asked, flabbergasted*. He was my friend. What could she be talking about?
I took her number and let it go. Hashim and I laughed about it later that night, but the moment stuck in my mind. Why would someone be concerned about him?
We had been internet friends since I was in high school. We met on a bus after he asked to make a call; his Albanian number wasn’t working in the US.
We began dumping our emotional dramas on each other. With every email we exchanged, I thought I was getting to know someone. The few insights I had into his life coupled with the faded memory of our first meeting created a poetic fantasy I was convinced would be true.
Nine years and 23,757 words later, we finally got a chance to meet again.
“My movie is premiering at Cannes Film Festival. Can you come?” Hashim asked.
I was living in France. Cannes was a train ride away. Still, I hesitated - and I had to go. A relationship by email is one thing. What would real life do to it?
My friends repeated, “curiosity killed the cat”. But in some countries, cats are food.
When D-Day arrived my first thoughts were woah, he’s tall! His old Facebook profile pic featured thick eyebrows. The similarity between his virtual and real face ended there.
From the train station, we went directly to the beach. It felt like I had asked a stranger to take an intimate walk with me. Hundreds of people were out on the sandy boardwalk. The movie playing on the giant screen that night created a melodramatic soundtrack for my first night in town.
I was psyched.
It didn’t matter I grew up with zero pop culture and wasn’t even close to catching up. I could talk to Jennifer Aniston for an hour and not know who she was. I was about to live a dream I didn’t know I had.
Without a ticket to the actual festival, I spent my nights with Hashim at parties and clubs. We watched each other live. If the music and excitement didn’t remove the facades we came with, the alcohol loosened the rest of our inhibitions. I observed his habits - like smoking every time he used the toilet. I learned things he couldn’t have written to me - like his underlying motivations.
Slowly, I was losing the photo I’d painted of him. I didn’t like what was replacing it.
It seemed that Cannes was a treasure trove of potential mates to Hash. “I could fuck her if I tried” I heard a few times a day. Each to his own, really. I was just watching.
Day 8, real-life broke through.
We were at a club, music blaring, people grinding, and he got upset. In between the crackling bass notes and drunken yowls, he shouted he was heading home. If I didn’t join him right then, I’d be locked out for the night.
Five minutes earlier, I mentioned to Hash he was being a little handsy with my friend (who joined the last few days). That made him angry.
I felt like someone I loved changed overnight. Did our real-life friendship stop as quickly as our virtual one began?
I left Cannes on that sour note. Maybe the girl at the party had a point. Hashim wasn’t who I hoped he’d be.
But things didn’t really end.
Sometimes, I still sent him Whatsapp voice notes. I reread our old emails. I miss the guy I couldn’t picture - I want him back. I want the person I could share nonsensical musings and my deepest depressive feelings without thinking about seeing them the next day. Our assumptions of each other were replete with rosy interpretations. I wanted that again.
I don’t know if we’ll get it. The craving for connection is the only thing that lives between us. Maybe writing this is another way to tell him - I didn’t like how things happened, but I want to understand you.
Curiosity might have killed the cat. Will satisfaction bring him back?