Every little thing

I.

It was the peak of winter. All had retreated to their cheaply furnished rooms in the university housing buildings. Elena was struggling through the tinted brown snow to reach the university café. It was afternoon and so the first street lamps were turned on, yet they held a dim shadow over them. The sky no longer beheld the pleasant and graceful gold of the day.

Within the absorbing cigarette smoke and the vile screeching of young men, Elena found a table where she could be on her own. Even though she much preferred her own company to that of people, she did not object to background noise. It made her feel as if she were a part of something, not merely isolated in her square room. There was an essay she had to write. A brief summary of the differences between two of the most notable authors of the 1920s. It was not a task for her, but a pleasure, even though she was still unsure of where her life was leading her.

A part of procrastination was smoking a cigarette, drinking her coffee and observing the crowd within the place that day. She knew some of them, because they were from her building, yet she had never spoken to them. Others were strangers, which for all she knew, could even have been from a different university. She put in her earphones and took the notebook closer to her body – determined, yet tired, inspired, yet lacking words.

"Do you like the Doors?" A voice reached her, through her train of thought. Elena looked around her – there was no indication, that she would admire the band, even though she did. The man however was speaking distinctly to her. He was well dressed in fitted trousers and a collared shirt. His hair was short, deeply brown and slightly slicked back. It complimented his watery blue eyes. Elena recognized him from her building and remembered he had once greeted her, even though she did not even know his name.

"I do, yes, but how did you,"

"I'm intuitive," He smiled warmly, without a hint of falsity and sat down in the chair beside hers, "I'm also Damon,"

"Elena," There was a silence in which the pair exchanged an embarrassed smile and Elena drunk a sip of her dark, caffeine beverage, "Have you seen the film about Jim Morrison though?"

"No, I haven't,"

"It's slightly crazy. But any film depicting that particular moment in time would have to be slightly crazy to show the true nature of the groovy lifestyle,"

Damon lit a cigarette and the hint of a smile once again crossed his lips.

"You've given me something to watch then,"

Her heart remained at a steady beat. It was an unusual encounter and even though he seemed attractive to her, he seemed to possess no great intelligence or nothing too remarkable in general.

"Well, once you do, then get back to me," Was all she said and smiled, wishing to resume her essay and not to prolong this awkward meeting of two unknown souls.

"I will," Damon stood up, "Bye for now, Lainey,"

He left his cigarette hovering in the ashtray, barely smoked.

II.

The kitchen was nearly empty. Only Caroline sat on the worn deck chair and read a Nabokov novel. A snowstorm was still raging outside and so Elena closed the window and put the kettle on to boil. Her cup was plain and black, without any markings, because she despised the unrefined nature of anything too graphic. Three teaspoons of coffee was enough for this time of day. Once she held the warm cup in her hands and was about to return to her room, a familiar face appeared in the doorway.

"Oh, hello," Damon smiled warm-heartedly and came toward the startled Elena and embraced her gently, being considerate of the coffee in her hand, "I must have wandered onto the wrong floor by mistake,"

"You must have,"

"I watched the film you recommended,"

She was shocked, bewildered and confused. Elena had a fond habit of suggesting books, films and bands to those around her, yet no one ever seemed to follow her advice and time and time again her suggestions were left unnoticed, but Damon, as primitive as he seemed to her at first, had actually taken the time to watch the film.

"It took me while to understand which one you meant, but I assume it was "The Doors"?"

"Mmhm,"

"It was amazing. I hadn't seen a film quite like it in a while. Dark, but at the same time the music inspired something pleasant,"

"I especially enjoy the depressing nature of the film. I assume that this aspect makes it all the more real, because Morrison's fall to insanity and drug addiction is nothing too cheerful,"

"That's true," His eyes overlooked her being, with a ravenous look, "I was actually going to make coffee myself, before I found myself in the wrong room. Would you like to accompany me, so we could continue the discussion?"

Elena felt for the first time that her cheeks were turning slightly scarlet and that something made her think of him in higher regard.

"Yes,"

And with his proposal and her permission they went upstairs to a kitchen, which looked just like hers and as Damon made coffee, they soon departed from the subject of the Doors and came to such bands as Pink Floyd and Jimi Hendrix, The Who and The Beatles, even though Damon preferred the former and Elena the latter, she still found their interests and tastes to be the same and that truly comforted her.

Elena was four months away from becoming twenty years old. Her appearance can be described neither as disastrous nor exceptionally beautiful, yet she was by no means plain. Her hair was of a calm coffee colour, her eyes raisin black and her figure was that of an average young girl. Elena's true possessions were her knowledge of history, literature and music, as well as that of film. She was not at all satisfied with the present reality, so she lived in a world of her own, where she lived amongst tunes from the 60s, wine and fantasies of something that would most certainly never happen.

At the moment Elena found herself at university studying journalism and creative writing, though she did not know whether she could ever become a journalist or writer herself. A life full of uncertainty carried her further, yet it also killed her peace of mind.

Damon sat down on the sofa and beckoned her to sit next to him. They delved into their pasts. Damon was from Sweden, a place Elena had been to, but knew little about, only in terms of historical events. Elena described her childhood in the post-Soviet Russia and her mysterious yearning for Moscow, even though she had not lived there for many years, having spent time in France.

"When did you start smoking?"

"Oh, years ago," Damon said looking down at his cigarette, as he stood by the open window. Soft flakes chilled his skin. "What would life be without coffee and cigarettes?"

"Torture,"

"There you are right, Lainey,"

"Sometimes I wake up early on purpose and go for a walk in the nearby park before my lectures. Coffee in hand and with a cigarette, the morning seems so peaceful and it makes it easier to breathe again,"

"I do the same. We both have the healthiest addictions don't we?"

"Can addictions ever be healthy, I wonder?"

Damon smirked.

"I'd better go back to my room. I still have an entire book to read in one night, so time is of the essence,"

"Would you consider giving me your number? Just in case I ever need other suggestions from you of what to watch or listen to,"

Elena took the nearby pen and scribbled her number on a piece of paper.

"It was a pleasure to talk to you again, Lainey,"

Elena left without saying anything, because she didn't feel like she could. The words were stuck in her throat and she felt that her heart was about to burst and it was unclear to her whether it would be from the caffeine or from the encounter.

All night Elena could not read even a single page. She turned them unconsciously, but all her thoughts were focused on Damon. She wondered whether his approach at the café had been spontaneous or whether he had noticed her before, perhaps when he greeted her in the hallway. She questioned whether his mistake of coming into her kitchen, had actually been a mistake. There was something she intuitively disliked about the situation, but she felt she was helpless, due to the fact that her heart had already made an attachment to Damon, even if only for their wondrous similarities in interests.

III.

Drenched in grey snowflakes, Elena entered her room. Her window was partly open and so permitted entry for the blizzard. She shut it tightly, giving the outside scenery a dismissive look and then turned on the little night lamp by her bed. It had not been a pleasant day. Due to her lack of sleep during the night, she looked terrible, felt even more so and had heard nothing that was said in any of her lectures because she had been snoozing in all of them. Taking off all her wet clothes, Elena changed them for her large, cotton jumper and pyjama bottoms and climbed underneath the blanket.

Once she felt calmer again and found herself with nothing to do but observe her own room, she noticed that there was a message on her answering machine.

It was from Damon. It was a simple question, but asked in his cheeky voice, so once again Elena began to feel warmth rush to her cheeks.

"Would you rather live in the 60s or 70s?"

Elena did not even have to consider it. He had left a number. She immediately dialled him back.

"60s. And in 1969 I would be at Woodstock, grooving to the music and feeling free as a bird amongst all the hippies,"

"Good answer. I can say the same. Imagine all the great bands you could see live in the 60s, it would be incredible,"

Their conversation went on for several hours and in that time they moved on from the subject of music to their love of alcohol – whatever type it may be. Beer, wine, absinthe. Everything had its place in a certain moment in time. Elena felt that she was no longer alone in her bohemian lifestyle. When it was well past midnight and she finally put down the phone, Elena sensed a loneliness, which overtook her. He called her Lainey. Only family members had referred to her as that, but she didn't mind him saying it.

The room was now silent. With unsure steps she went to her desk, sat down on the chair, crossing her legs, placed a blank sheet of paper in front of her, took her black, ink pen and slowly, as if learning how to write, expressed her thoughts on the untouched paper. The sudden inspiration to write in the dead of night could only be seen as a positive turn of events and Elena had no doubt of the reason behind it.

IV.

The telephone rang every night around seven. The enthusiasm with which Elena answered made her feel embarrassed, yet he never seemed to notice. They discussed everything, from the minuscule details of their everyday life to vivid memories and cultural pleasures. This went on for three weeks. In between that time Elena also called him a few times. But very few, given that she did not want to appear too infatuated and also because Damon did not seem to mind being the one to make the call.

However over the course of these weeks, Elena had become dependent on these conversations. She could think of nothing else, but the evening when they would finally speak again. She could not help but dream of them actually meeting. So it was most bizarre that since the accidental encounter in the community room, they had not met, or rather talked in real life, even though they lived in the same building and she had passed him several times while walking through the university grounds.

It seemed incomprehensible to Elena, that two people, who were in such close proximity to one another would be incapable of speaking in public. It made her feel irritated and confused, but she never dared to show these emotions to Damon, and so their drawn-out conversations seemed entertaining and enjoyable, despite the underlying tension.

One not so very special day however, the call was different.

"I love bars and pubs which have an original atmosphere. The university café is great, but it lacks something unique,"

"I know what you mean. Though I have not really explored the town so much. I usually stick to that place,"

"There is a great bar in town, which has an interior entirely covered in magazine and newspaper clippings. Good music as well. Whenever I've been there all I've heard was 60s and 70s rock. The place is called Flash," Elena spoke passionately.

"Perhaps I should go there. Would you like to show me the place one day?"

After a brief pause, Elena agreed immediately and cheerfully. They arranged to meet that same week. Finally a meeting was arranged and it lifted a weight off her heart, because she truly did wish more than anything to spend time with Damon and understand his character better.

So came the Wednesday of the encounter. The sky was tangerine orange as the last rays of the sun slowly disappeared in the afternoon. The sting of winter was ever so present and as Elena waited in the city square for Damon to arrive her hands froze and her warm breath could be seen in the icy air.

He approached her with a profound smile and with what appeared to be the same cheerfulness which Elena felt in her own heart.

"Hi, sorry I'm late. Last lecture took longer than expected,"

"It's fine," Elena said as he embraced her and she could feel the thick fabric of his wool coat and the warmth which his body radiated from underneath. She felt herself blush even before he let her go, but she reminded herself that since it was winter, the blushing might be attributed to the cold wind. Damon himself had prominent cheekbones, which held a rosy tint due to the winter's touch.

"You lead the way,"

The pair quickly found the place, as large, red, bold letters spelled out FLASH just above the door and reminded one of Queen songs as well as the 80s film. Upon entering both were glad that the bar provided warmth. They sat down at a table, opposite each other. Next to them was a wall with advertisements from the 1940s as well as magazine clippings praising individual rock musicians. The pair quickly ordered their drinks; whiskey and beer. Elena needed the encouragement and the familiarity of the strong beverage. Once she took off her winter garments, her figure was left in nothing but a chiffon blouse and a floral blazer. It contrasted with the approaching darkness outside and not only that, but also the light snow piles just outside the window, by which they were sitting.

Even though at first only embarrassed smiles were exchanged between the two, they soon delved deep into the conversations which they delighted in each and every night and the meeting could be considered a success, because neither of them lacked interest in the thoughts of the other. What remained unclear to Elena was still the level of Damon's interest. When they were already at their apartment building several hours later, Damon once again embraced her warm-heartedly, but then they parted and it seemed as if two good friends had said goodbye. Elena however decided not to think too much of it and rather rejoiced in the notion that the evening had been so lovely.

Despite the fact that they had just parted, when Elena had undressed in her room and was already underneath the covers with a cup of tea, trying to suppress the dizziness of two whiskey glasses, Damon called again. Their conversation lasted well into the night.