― Olivia Sudjic
Karine
I finally admitted it to myself–I'm infatuated with one of my students.
But this isn't some tawdry obsession based on lust. The damnable thing is, I feel I've known Karine before, in some other time and some other place.
It's impossible I know. I'm not really a believer in past lives, but something about our relationship is so compelling and familiar that it's frustratingly on the tip of my tongue but unable to be uttered–or at the corner of my mind, cloaked in shadows, unable to be seen.
It may be as simple as the fact that she's the girl who always seems to inhabit my dreams.
I've lived an entire second life nightly communing with her in the ethereal dimension of another reality.
Or, I may simply be coming unhinged.
It is a possibility, much as I hate to face it.
The above rant neatly summarizes the nightly ruminations continually disturbing my sleep. I wrote it down when I was restless and trying to get back to sleep and now in daylight it’s tormenting me as I revisit the pain.
Is it any wonder this morning I feel tired and bruised, as if I'd been beaten all over with a rubber hose? I decide to push through my feelings anyway and try to lose myself in hard physical labor.
"I came up to the cottage this long weekend to do landscaping", I muse, "and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let anything deter me."
I drive to the nursery, pick up some evergreen trees and by the time I arrive back at the cottage, the local landscaping depot has dumped three enormous piles of gravel, stone and soil along the edge of the driveway.
So, here I am, standing in my driveway, isolated for the long weekend and being tormented by flashes of Karine's lovely face.
I instantly feel overwhelmed, particularly since my mind is filled with Karine’s taunting eyes.
It crosses my mind to retreat and head back to the city, but what would that accomplish?
I push myself to work regardless, and manage to level the area and lay landscape fabric—but by noon, I’m done and can’t get any further.
“This just isn’t going to work,” I growl as I throw down the shovel disgustedly.
That night it rains and the FM station plays our song again as I’m drifting off to sleep.
I take Sunday off – it’s a day of rest after all, but I know that on Monday I’ll have to finish the job.
But I just can’t concentrate, or I’ve lost my will. A ruined weekend, I grumble looking at the piles of gravel and stone.
Monday morning I rise early, determined to work right through, but by noon I’m exhausted and only halfway done.
I sit dejectedly on the pile of gravel, jeans soiled and cheek smeared with mud.
A car pulls into the driveway and a beautiful girl gets out – she’s wearing sunglasses and is dressed in sweater and jeans.
At first, I can’t make out her face because of the sun’s glare, but then I hear a familiar, southern twang as she teasingly calls out, “Aren’t you supposed to be grading papers, Prof?”
My heart leaps in my chest at the sound of her voice. Karine, my heart whispers…
Karine, what a beautiful name.