Sandy, the whore of Babylon

SANDY, THE WHORE OF BABYLON.

The story is based on real events

".. And the woman was arrayed in purple and scarlet colour, and decked with gold and precious stones and pearls, having a golden cup in her hand full of abominations and filthiness of her fornication..
...And the fruits that her soul lusted, and all things which were dainty and goodly are departed,
The merchants, which were made rich by her, shall stand afar off for the fear of her torment, weeping and wailing".
Apocalypse of John

...

I stood and waited for the traffic light to turn green - and the red today was more stubborn than ever.
Old lady, that was looking quite cheerful, saw me and asked:
- Can you help me to cross the road?
I nodded silently and held out my hand to her. She clung to this hand and said:
- I have to go to the other side, but I'm afraid that a car will hit me.
I just nodded.
- I'm ninety-eight years old, - the old woman said.
That's a lot.
- Do you plan to live to a hundred? - I asked her when the green light caught fire.
- Of course!
And she raised her head proudly.
So we went with her around the city.
- You know... you're a good man, - she said as we approached Burroughs Avenue.
- Thank you, - I answered.
She still held my hand.
- My granddaughter is young and beautiful.
- OK, - I was not that interested in romance.
- You should meet her.
- Why?
- Because she's a trouble. She always wanders around the world, changing men like gloves. I want her to settle down with a good man.
I frowned. The old hag wants me to meet some crazy girl. Great. Just what I needed - yeah, right.
But the old lady had already got a scrap of paper from her bag and was writing something on it.
- Here, son.
This was, of course, the phone number.

And Sandy - that was her name, the name of granddaughter - answered my call. I actually was not going to call her, it happened by accident - I copied her number from a piece of paper into the phone's memory (just in case, or the devil made me do it), and accidentally pressed the call button.
I'm so clumsy.
- Yes? - her voice was just a bit rude.
- I .... - I was taken aback by this, honestly.
- I can tell who you are! - the girl from the phone said cheerfully. - You are the good young man who escorted my grandmother to the house last night, right?
- Yes it's me.
- I have guessed it. The number is unfamiliar. So it's gotta be you. And my grandmother kept on talking to me about you.
I felt somehow uncomfortable, a bit ridiculous. What a stupid situation.
- Can we meet? - the girl suddenly asked. - Tomorrow?
- Let's do it, - I answered.
I have no idea why i have said that.

At night, I slept badly and was a bit nervous.
And then she called me - she was drunk - and spoke such a nonsenses that I did not know what to do with myself.
I did not know what she looked like, and she did not know me, but she already told me about love. And even about sex. She described to me what she would do to me.
She only asked me not to repeat her the same words when she will sober. I was not going to, but my heart somehow became warmer. She laughed in the phone speaker, - it was a completely drunken laugh, and her speech blurred - about a third of what she was saying, I just could not understand.
The next day she called me, regretting the fact that she was too drunk the other night. I did not tell her anything about the content of the dialogue, and even lied that she did not say anything wrong.

And who am I?
I'm an ordinary person, except that I have no friends. At all. I have colleagues at work, neighbors, drinking companions (I rarely drink, but it happens), someone else ... but no friends.
I had a few women, and with all of them I had my little piece of happiness. But on the whole, very few people understood what I was talking or dreaming about - and I was living in my own private Idaho. It's not that I was an artist or a poet, no - I just always thought about something, I was committed to something not relevant to reality.
And it tormented me.
Not because it somehow reflected on real life (I was never in a big trouble), but because I never had a friend to share with him (or her) my weird ideas that the stars are so far away from us - or that I want to woke up one morning in a world without people.
I'm pushing thirty, but my mind is still felt like a teenager. All that has changed from the outside is that I changed the college to a workplace in the office. And nothing more. Therefore, all my relations with women were short-lived - I was totally impractical. Walked, thought, admired the sunrises or listened with a sinking heart as the rain rapped on the roof. I did not need anything else.

... We met with her in a coffee shop, and Sandy looked like a scarecrow. Pink hair, huge eyes, white, almost pale face, and from under the T-shirt with the cartoon characters I saw a tattoo on the whole hand.
And still Sandy was beautiful.
I expected different - but the surprise was pleasant. And she did not frown when she saw me for the first time. Good sign.
We sat down at a table by the window.
"Two coffees, please"

She did not hide anything about herself. She had a hell of a lot of lovers and even a few girls. In her youth, someone abused her, so she was scared of men and was a lesbian - not for long though.
She traveled a lot of countries. She loved dogs, and she had a puppy named Jacob. She showed me photos with this dog.
She was married twice at her 28 years of age and, accordingly, had two divorces. She loved heavy metal music, to which I was indifferent, and all that.
She was drinking a lot.

We were different people.
I caught myself thinking that I should not have come here, to listen to her cheerful speeches about how she drinks and sleep with all kind of people. She talked about her turbulent past, and I was getting bored.
I got myself a drink, and so did she.
While we were chatting about this and that, she drank three glasses of tequila. I watched as she absorbs it, and was afraid that she would puke right here, but this did not happen. She was a specialist.

- I like the tastes of different drinks, - she said (with such a serious face that I almost laughed). - I know everything about different grades of liquor.
- Oh really?
- Yes. I do not drink peaty whiskey, because I feel bad.
- The peat? They use this in drinks?
- Well, they filter through peat ... Really delicious, but it's not my thing, I prefer tequila now.

What I liked was that, in a state of intoxication, she was becoming more meditative, more open, becoming more of a thinker- becoming ... more like me.
- You know, - she said, - it will rain tomorrow, I've seen it on TV. It will be possible to sit in the attic of my grandmother and listen to how rain drops will pound on the roof. Do you know that with the sound of the rain the soul is carried away towards infinity?
- I know, - I answered.
And I really knew.
And I was hooked.

Of course we met again later.

***

.... Everything was happening so quickly that I hardly realized what had happened. We got drunk in the bar, it was late, dark and cold. Then we took a taxi and Sandy took me towards the hotel. If I was sober, I would know what is what, but in a drunken state, I did not understand anything and just followed her - I did not care where she led me and why. We closed the door and she suddenly kissed me - so passionate that I even bitten my lips.
I instinctively ran my hands along her back, feeling the warmth of her knitted sweater, and my palms was descending lower and lower and lower .... Kisses, passionate frenzy, the smell of her body, the clothes scattered around the room, the crumpled bed, her feet on my shoulders .... the darkness.
I woke up in the morning, just barely breathing.
She slept, hugging my arm, and pressing her cheek to my shoulder. She snorted in her sleep and licked her plump lips. I looked closely - her whole back was decorated with a huge tattoo - flowers, patterns, foxes ... why foxes? - I did not care.
Some kind of eternal peace has seized me. There was a feeling that the whole world was sleeping with us - as if in the whole universe all the people are in bed seeing colorful dreams.

In the morning (or rather, closer to dinner) she woke up and lit a cigarette. A strange smell.
- What is it? I asked.
- Hash,- she answered.
Weed, hash, ecstasy, coke - she used everything. She was not afraid of anything - I would not have touch these things with a barge-pole, because I always believed that I do not need such a doping to dream. Drugs puts you in dependence, and I did not want that. I appreciated my freedom.
However, for a person accustomed to such poison, any drug becomes ordinary.

For me, her adventures - in our future - remained behind the scenes. I never saw her with others, and for me all of it was a non-existent. But I called her the Whore of Babylon once, and she only smiled back at me. She liked it.

While Sandy was lying senseless after the night libations and all this mess in another motel, I was drinking tea with her grandmother, and treated myself to the delicious donuts that she was making for me.
- Do not judge strictly, son,- she said. - Sandy has always been like that. And her mother is the same. I do not know why they act like this. Maybe I had it in me - my energy seemed to flow like a river, and I did not know how to use it. And Sandy does not know, everything is not enough for her.

Then I was returning to Sandy. She was usually fine by that time.
The more she drank, the more beautiful she became. She did not even have a typical face of a drinking lady - with flabby cheeks or swollen eyebrows.
But this was not her only paradox.
Because of all the alcohol, Sandy's eyes was acquiring an expression of universal sadness and kindness.
Looking into her eyes, I felt that I love this drunken reveler - because when she was getting drunk, she was stopping to be a drunken reveler.
From the outside everyone saw a drunk girl - and she was - but it was just a shell. As if in it there lived another person who was waking up from abundant libations. And God, how I loved this person.

I talked to her about everything - when she was drunk, when she was looking at me with eyes that could accommodate eternity, and pressed herself against my arm. She was very understanding about absolutely everything that I told her - and nobody understood me, not even my own mother.

And Sandy herself was not silent.
And she was saying such things that I could have to write down and keep - but I didn't and now I do not remember almost anything except; "you know, with you right beside me, pieces of the past fall off from me" and something else.
This woman could write a book full of such figurative comparisons. She herself in a drunken state was becoming some kind of book, which was worth reading from front cover to the very last page. And everything she was talking about was completely in line with what I was thinking about myself. How many times have we met just to drink! I wanted to be sober not to miss anything that she was saying. And she was talking, and my God, how I loved to listen to her drunken conversations.

- Do you hear the wind in the trees? The wind touches the leaves, just like a father rejoices his children, - she said as we was going home along the alley.
- I do.
And I did not lie. She seemed to retell me the content of my own soul.
- There are black holes in space,- she said, as we sat on the roof of her suburban house, and drank her grandmother's tea. - Those holes have no space, no matter, no future and no past.
- I believe you, - I answered.
And I was honest.
She herself was my own black hole sucking me in. With her, I felt neither space nor time.
- The past, - she was babbling, and her head was leaning toward the ground, - it's a really forgotten future. Our future with you. Or not ... - she hiccuped, - on the contrary. Our future...
- This is our forgotten past, - I replied.
Sandy passed out.

...I took care of her, took her out to fresh air, poured her a hot bath, fed her a spoonful, washed her, put her in bed, covered her with a blanket, straightened the pillow at the headboard, switched off the light and threw a last glance at her before I left ... after all, I finally caught myself thinking that I was treating her like a child.
And every time I felt guilty - because I wanted her to be drunk.
And did not dissuade her from this. I was an accomplice.

And I felt like I do not want to know anybody but her.
Family, money, fame - may it all burn. I just wanted Sandy to talk to me.
I did not care if she was drunk. None of those whom I knew could be like her - be they three times sober. And, of course, she was just a beautiful woman. Very beautiful. But I would have accepted her, even if she was a cashier at a local supermarket. Even now, a single memory of her makes me feel warm. I still want to pour her a full glass of tequila, and then another, and watch how she drinks - watching and waiting until she finally becomes the one I love.

Sandy loved me for real. I knew women before - but they loved me when they had no one, filling blanks. And I did not blame them.
I knew what I was like. If I were in their place, I would probably do the same. And Sandy ... She loved me, even when she could get herself any man he wanted. She was separating the husbands from wives, destroying families, she was devouring men for breakfast.
And was loving me more than anyone else.
Even though I had to put up with the fact that it happens to me not as often as I would like, and there were no relations between us. Who knows - maybe she was telling others that she loves them more than me? I didn't care. But I was warmed by her radiant love. And I was happy.

Not everything, of course, was perfect.
She was tormented by bouts of strange jealousy. But who and when could understand what can make a woman angry?
- You're a pig - she declared, waking in the morning. - I'll leave you.
- You are not "with me", - I answered. - We did not develop relationships. At your request.
- Bastard, - she grumbled, dressing. - You pretend that you do not care where I'm going and who I'm going to sleep with. As if you're not jealous. But you can not fool me!
- Are you serious?
- Yes I am! You're afraid to admit that you're jealous.
- I'm not jealous. I give you freedom.
- Who cares.
- Would you like me to be jealous? Why do you need it?
- That way I'll know that you're mine.
- I'm already yours.
- You don't get it, do you? You're so stupid. But you are jealous.
- But ... if you're sure that I'm jealous, then you know it.
- Well, you can pretend to be quiet, if that's what you want. I know that you're mad. You just won't admit it!
She furiously painted her lips. Then she went to party until morning.
Drugs and sex, probably.
- Listen, Sandy, - I said the next day. - I'll tell you the truth, if you need it.
- Well? - She turned to me, and her look was fierce.
- I'm afraid of something else.
- And that is?...
- If I'm jealous of you, we'll both lose our freedom.
She said nothing, and left, slamming the door.

I didn't like her attitude when she was sober.

However, these were trifles. Her love for me was stronger than any quarrels.

- There's something in you that feels special, - she told me. - I'm with you, because you're not gray, like these pathetic little people around us. It feels like I had amnesia and gradually I begin to remember you, - she repeated even more often. - I want to live one day, a day with you. And then I'll just die in your arms.
Inside me, everything froze.
Who can ever love me like this? Nobody.
I said:
- I'm an ordinary person.
And she answered:
- No. There's nobody like you in the whole world.

She was amazing.
She did not like bouquets - she could not watch the flowers die. Her apartment was filled with flowers in pots.
- They fading right before my eyes, and I'm feeling like it is my fault, - she said.

When we left the hotel, she left the book she was reading, on the barbecue table, - with a note that said that this book was looking for new owners.
For her, this was an ordinary action.

And I seemed to be putting each such moment into my piggy bank - somewhere inside myself.
And some part of me has always stayed with her - such women always tear off whole pieces from you, without thinking about what will happen to you afterwards.
But I wanted this crazy girl to be here and now with me; I wanted to forget about the past, the present, the plans and so on.
And I planned to go all in - to love her so much so that she would believe that I will give everything for her; that i love her truly. I was going to love her so much that she would be hurt if she left me...

She always told me: - You will be my last man, after you - I'm done.
I caught myself thinking that I should ask her about this strange intentions, and find out what "I'm done" means - maybe she was talking about suicide?... - but my innate indifference to such questions did not allow me to do this. Life, death - we all die. Not so long ago, I did not even know that Sandy exists in the world. She would have died before our meeting-and I would not have known about it. However, somewhere in the depths of my heart I did not believe that she would do so, but who knows?...

But she did not commit suicide. She bluffed, and I did not know about it. She quit drugs and booze - so suddenly that I did not understand what happened.
I took her to a bar - she refused.
I thought that she probably catch a cold.
We sat and drank coffee, chatted peacefully. But I felt something was wrong here.

I don't know what happened to her, as if she had become different, as if I had changed her. But I did not do it! - Anyway, so it seemed to me.
However, on due reflection, I realized - all that I wanted, happened. I wanted her to believe me, iI wanted her to believe that I would give up everything for her.
She was hurt when she was leaving me - and now she decided to put the end to this.
And it's me who is to blame for this - I have achieved my goal.
It was necessary for me to love, I needed that relationship - why! ...
And when she stopped drinking, I was waiting that she will start again. But she didn't. She changed her ways, made new friends, forgot her past, avoided former acquaintances.
I was the only constant in the new equation of her life. She no longer touched alcohol, dope was completely forgotten, like a terrible dream.

We finally "became one", and lived in her house on the beach. Her business went uphill when she took all the money saved on sobriety, and invested in her work. Beautiful, successful woman, leading a sober lifestyle. A role model. Probably, like her grandmother, she will live to a hundred years.
Next to her - ours? - house there was a shop, where she started a brisk trade. I felt like a married man, although there was still nothing official between us. A year passed, but she never even touched alcohol. Of course, I did not provoke it, but I had hope. But what if? - holidays, Christmas, birthdays ... but even a drop of champagne did not touch her beautiful lips.

Granny was happy, but she could not understand why I was sad.
- What's wrong, son? - she asked, peering into my eyes. - Why so sad?
- It's all right, - I answered.
And we both knew that I was lying.
And I finally understood what "I'm done" meant.

By that time Granny turned 100 years old.
What a date.
The celebration was big- many guests, and a lot of booze. Sandy, to delight her grandmother, did not drink. Not a drop.
But I got drunk as a goat.

And I continued to live with Sandy. She didn't like the fact that I began to drink no less than she did in her time, but did not say anything.

... One morning I awake - in all meanings, shapes and forms of this word; came out of her - ours? - house on the beach, waved goodbye to all three of her- ours? - dogs (Jacob became a hefty affectionate dog), and felt that the emptiness in my soul devoured me completely.
I did not feel a love for Sandy anymore.
I would prefer to see her dead and live with the memory of how beautiful she is, but with today's Sandy, I was not just bored.
I was scared.
I was frightened of the emptiness that prevailed between us; although, Sandy still loved me very much. Perhaps even more than before.
But she did not understand what I expected of her and what I was looking for in her. And I stopped looking for, because she no longer had what I so desperately tried to find.

There was nobody who would tell me, that tomorrow it will rain, and that you can listen to this symphony drumming on the roof all night long.
I had nobody with whom to get drunk with and wake up to the noise of this very rain.
There was no one to sit with and listen to the sound of the wind in trees.
With whom will I share my thoughts?
Who can talk to me now about black holes in a vast space?
Who can say to me now about the past, which in fact is a forgotten future?
Who will tell me now about a silence that is our best friend?
Who will whisper in my ear about the soul that is carrying away into infinity with the sound of the rain?
It was all over.

Somewhere ahead of me, in the fog of my lost life, the green light turned to red.

And so I was standing at the airport' ticket office - i have bought a one-way ticket: one way, to anywhere, just to get away from it all.

I no longer loved Sandy - actually, I never loved her.
I loved only that woman who was waking up in her when she was drunk.