Storytime: The Mediterranean Under the Stars

I don’t know if this story is a little jab at my mother, about everything falling into place, about low-upper medium happy endings, about standing up for yourself, about taking risks. Or even simply- the story about the time I went skinny dipping under the stars in the Mediterranean, with a gorgeous man. All of the above. 

I was on my way to the airport. I had gotten a window seat in the bus, and I was wailing into the phone. “Who is she, anyway? Why are you with this…this child?” I dabbed the tissue at my dribbling nose. It was reaching maximum dampness. I’m a professional public crier, but even that was too much for me. I looked at the bridge by the Ortaköy mosque, bathed in the early evening’s sad, blue light. 

Leith, my situationship of over a year, had just turned down my invitation to join me in paradise for my brother’s wedding. By this point, I was done playing the cool girl. The demons had broken loose. 

I’ll fast-forward through the rest of the journey. It was very long. It involved missing my flight and crying and holding my pee in long queues. It also involved another situationship declining my self-invitation to join him for a week in Belarus as he was motorcycling around Europe. It ended with me crying into a glass of neat whiskey, surrounded by my brother’s lovely friends. 

Then I crawled into bed in the room that I shared with my mother. I would have preferred my own room but I knew it meant a lot to her. She’s a light sleeper so I felt success in not waking her up. 

The next day, there’s a meet and greet. I show up in my orange and white dress that softly touches my ankles. As soon as I step in, I see a specimen of a man. This man is so gorgeous, that if an artist had asked me to describe my ideal man, he is what would have been drawn or sculpted. I don’t remember his face anymore, but I remember the feeling he gave. Like a gushing teenage girl. The rest of him was pretty standard: tall, Dutch, crisp shirt and sensible haircut. 

So for those of you who are going through something rough right now, consider this your sign: The universe has something better for you. I PROMISE. It’s clearing away the garbage to make space for something better. I’d gone through three consecutive heartbreaks in the span of two years, and this guy was superior to all three of them combined.

I walk over to my sister-in-law as she’s entertaining some people. 

“Yasmin!” she immediately touched my arm, “That’s James, over there,” she pointed to him, “I have chosen him for you.” 

Sis could not have become part of the family faster. She was annoyed that another woman, one of her guests in fact, was occupying. I scratched my head, “I don’t know. Should I go talk to him?” I’d been brainwashed/trained enough to let a man approach you. 

“Of course,” she said, “It’s a meet-and-greet.” 

I strategically went over and started a conversation with a group, until we were able to pull ourselves away for a one-on-one interaction. I asked him to step outside with me for a cigarette, which turned into a walk and snog on the  beach. Anyway, super fun night. He walks me to my hotel and kisses me goodnight.  Remember the two guys I mentioned in the beginning? By now I was very very glad they’d turned down my invites. 

The next day is the wedding. My mom says I look very pretty, which means I’ve done a good job cleaning up. I’ve straightened my long, dark hair which cascades over my bare shoulders. My strapless dress embraces the curve of my waist while its soft layered skirt follows my movements. Quite the contrast from the Yasmin of two days ago, I feel comfortable and elated in my elegance.

The wedding starts late afternoon, overlooking the sea. The drinks begin circulating just as the sun dips down into a glimmering fuschia sky. I begin the night at the main table with my brother and his lovely bride, but switch between appetizers between there and James’s table. Two of his friends slide into a single seat so that I can be seated next to him. “Are you a couple?” I asked. I wanted to make sure it was okay. They made vague jokes which made me more confused, “Are you sure? Are you doing the sex?”

Everyone laughed and I was very proud of my quirkiness. James put his head on my shoulder. I gushed over how familiar he was acting. When dinner arrived, we shared a plate. 

After much dancing and socializing, we sneak out to the beach for another one of our long walks. We were talking for what seemed like hours, when I suddenly looked at the beckoning sea. The foamy waves were full of gentle adventure. “I need to be in there right now,” I said, “Let’s go.” 

It happened very fast. We both undress and run into the water. I didn’t acknowledge that we were both naked until our feet hit the splash of the wave. I try to sneak a peek but everything’s moving too quickly, and I can’t be subtle. We get inside, and I put my arms around and we’re just floating in there. There was a mountain on one side, the stars were visible, and I was with the most exquisite man I’d ever seen in my life.

“I’ve never done this before,” I whispered to him, between kisses on the face, cheek, ear, neck, shoulder.

“Really? But you live in Istanbul,” 

I didn’t respond at that time. It showed me how much this guy knows about Turkey, or this part of the world. After all, we were still in the middle east. It was a very bold move on my part. 

I start getting concerned about our stuff (because we’re in the middle east), so we get out and put our clothes back on. He asks, “Do you want to go back to my place and dry up?” 

“Yes.” That was the thing to do. 

We go back to the venue and he asks, “Do you want to wait out here while I go get the key from my friend?”

“No,” I hate waiting. I think it has to do with my abandonment fears. “I’ll come with.” 

I want to make my presence known, much like a teenager who’s played hooky. I go sit with my mom and a few of her friends. I am next to Nilva in the booth, and she touches my hair and says, “You went swimming. Didn’t you?” 

I freeze. And I always feel like this with my mom, that I’m caught. I just don’t answer her. Nilva’s playful about it, she says, “Why didn’t you tell me, I would have gone with you!”

Anyway, I go find James and we take a cab back to where he’s staying. He wraps me after our dimly-lit shower together and leads me to the bedroom. As we’re getting into bed, my brother calls, asking where I am because our mom left her room’s key card in my Aunt’s bag. Could I come let her in?

“Shit!” I said, “I don’t think I can come. I don’t even know where I am right now. I’d have to take a cab and everything.” 

I almost consider sacrificing/giving it /abandoning my gorgeous-man fantasy. Family over fun times, right? 

“We’ll figure it out,” says my lovely brother, “Enjoy your night.” Him and Sis-in-Law are in matchmaker mode. They want all their guests to get laid. Couple goals. 

I couldn’t sleep all night. James is a snorer. 

In the morning, I’m very giddy. He walks me down and calls me a cab. I remember the feeling of the breeze as we exchanged goodbye morning kisses. 

The room is dark. My mother likes to sleep with thick curtains pulled all the way closed. Unfortunately, she’s awake. “Where have you been?” 

I deflect with a question, “Where’s Nilva? Wasn’t she supposed to stay with us?”

“She’s in her own room. Why would she stay here?”

After breakfast, I was sitting with the other sister-in-law and other brother. They are a catty bunch. They were gossiping about the events from the night before. Who was being a ho and a half, who was ignoring their boyfriend, who was grinding against whom. 

“Grinding?” my mother asks, “What does that mean?”

They talked about how my Pakistanis tend to overdrink when they’re abroad, let their wild sides loose. 

When Bro and sis-in-law left, my mom said to me, “Darling, I think you should take a look at your drinking too. One or two drinks to be social is fine. But to overdo it… In the beginning of the evening, you looked so nice. Your makeup and hair were perfectly in place. And after a few drinks, you THREW yourself into the ocean.” 

I’ve been trained never to retort back to my mother. When my mom asks a question, it’s never an answer she’s searching but someone to succumb and agree with her. I went over the events of the previous and slyly smiled to myself, “And if history were to repeat, I’d do it all over again.” Yes, I’d definitely throw myself into the ocean because what’s the point of an ocean or being alive if you can’t throw yourself into it? There’s a time and place for perfectly lined lipstick, for unsmudged mascara, for hair blow-dried to perfection. And a time and place to enjoy the reward of freedom. 

“Where were you last night?” she asked me again. 

I paused.

Then said, “I’m not telling you.”

“You’re so selfish.” 

I tried to remember: I'm a woman in my 30s. I live alone and I get to go out and not notify anyone when I’m coming home. I can have adult sleepovers because I’m not a virgin. 

I shrugged. 

The end.