Chapter 1 - Chewing Gum Under Poplars
So this is what the moment of truth felt like.
We were sitting on Yvi’s couch. The sun had already set.
“Tell me,” she urged softly, leaning slightly towards me — not intrusive, but as if offering comfort and closeness. A shoulder to lean on. I felt my heart beat a little faster, not just because of the memory.
I cleared my throat and fiddled with the small ring on my left hand. Simple, elegant, silver — a harbor and lifeboat in one.
She waited. Calm, at ease. Her breath was just a faint echo in the suffocatingly quiet room. But I knew it was time. Yvi didn’t need to ask the question I had to answer. Maybe she had already asked it — in her gaze, searching for me.
“I went to school with her,” I said, my tongue dry, swallowing hard.
“Sandy?”
“Yes. The one who changed everything.”
She nodded, without looking at me. It was easier when she didn’t touch me, when she was just there, simply present. Her touch distracted me too much, made me want too much.
“Sandy and I shared a few classes, especially in the last year. Before that, we didn’t belong to the same group, although we’d crossed paths every now and then. One day, Fran brought her along.”
The pause that followed felt longer than it was. I didn’t like talking about my school days. Awkward, fashion-blind, and with a penchant for the sciences, I totally didn’t fit the mold back then.
“Which was your favorite subject?”
Yvi’s words floated lightly through the thick, viscous memories I dredged from deep inside.
I had to smile, even though I didn’t feel like it.
“Chemistry,” I finally said. “But not because of the experiments or because I wanted to work in that field.”
“Then why?”
“Because Mrs. Borovic was my teacher. She made knowledge come alive. With her passion for elements and tables. But she didn’t just teach. She took us seriously. As if she understood us. More than we understood ourselves.”
Yvi was silent. She listened, without interrupting, without rushing with questions. She made space, space she wasn’t eager to fill at all costs.
“Sandy was too quiet back then. You know what I mean?”
I twisted the ring on my finger once more. This was the moment when the past crept in, with tentative steps but heavy weight. My gaze fixed on my hands in the dim light of the apartment, I knew Yvi was nodding.
“I didn’t like her. At first. She was into basketball and incredibly thin. You always feared she might break if she moved. Something with her thyroid. I found that out later,” I continued.
As if honoring the moment of revelation, the small electric candle cast its flickering light restlessly on the picture frame with Yvi’s sister’s wedding photo. The photo had no connection to Sandy or me, but it spoke volumes about the deep bond between two people. Love.
Yvi followed my gaze but didn’t say anything.
Maybe she was thinking about the last conversation with her sister, or maybe nothing at all — just letting the memory linger like a quiet chime in the background, something that doesn’t disturb but is meaningful.
I still didn’t know how far I could go, whether she wanted to hear it, or if I was just fooling myself. But I felt I had to continue. For me.
No matter how she might see me after that. No matter how she might feel about me then.
“I was with Titus at that time. Blond, blue-eyed, athletic. Volunteering with the fire department. I told you about him, remember?”
Instead of answering, she turned toward me, tucked her feet up onto the couch, folding them beneath her. She looked at me without saying a word, but there was no judgment in her eyes. Maybe just a hint of caution. Or knowing.
“The day after. After Titus confessed he’d cheated — with my cousin. Of all people, it was Sandy who was there when I fell apart.”
A deep breath spread over me like a blanket. I couldn’t tell if it came from me or from Yvi. I closed my eyes for a second — as if that would help me find the right words before I went on.
“I was sitting on the hallway floor outside the physics lab. My second favorite subject. And the teacher Mr. Thaley was great, too,” I said, skirting the heart of it. Dodging — maybe the charming kind of self-protection, or just the cowardly one. Probably just cowardly.
No reaction from Yvi. Only patience.
“I didn’t even notice her at first. The halls were dead silent. That was my favorite moment of every school day,” I began to edge closer to the heart of it. “And then suddenly, she was just there. No small talk. No pity. No fake Oh no, what happened?”
I sighed, and it echoed through the room, as if the world had suddenly grown much larger — or I had grown much smaller.
“She crouched down right in front of me. With both hands on my cheeks, she lifted my face and looked at me. Not at my swollen eyes — but at my broken heart, the one that had slipped down into my stomach because it didn’t feel safe in my chest anymore,” I went on. “And she — quiet as always. But fully there.”
I swallowed, ran my thumb along the inside of the ring, as if I could still feel something there — something that had slipped away from me.
“Then she stood up and held out both hands to me. Not a word, just a silent invitation to trust her. There was so much steadiness in her eyes, so much calm. She seemed incredibly old,” I said, surprised by the sound of my own voice.
I leaned back and let my head rest against the couch. The backrest was draped with a soft blanket that smelled like fabric softener — and a little like Yvi.
Comfort. A scent like Sundays without obligations.
“I took her hands. Without hesitation,” I continued softly. “I still remember how warm they were. And steady. Not rough or bony, not forceful — but firm enough that I didn’t feel like I might collapse again. Not fragile at all.”
A soft rustling of cotton. Yvi wrapped her arms around her legs. Just a few more sentences, and she’d rest her chin on her knees. She always did that when she tried to carry some of the weight with me.
I caught it from the corner of my eye. That small, quiet gesture of hers — not pushy, not dramatic. Just present. The kind of true listening that wraps itself around a fragile memory like a protective coat.
My voice faltered, turned rough. Stumbled.
“She led me outside. No destination. No plan. Just… out,” I said in a rush, afraid I’d lose the courage if I paused too long.
My voice was barely more than a whisper. “Across the courtyard and through the grass at the far edge. I remember how damp it was. And how I felt like I couldn’t breathe.”
I paused — not from hesitation, but because the images came back so clearly, as if it were yesterday.
Sandy. The grass and the old trees beyond it. My unsteady steps beside her steady ones. My gasping — not from running, but from loss and grief. A heart beating too slowly, wounded and ashamed.
“Beneath the poplars, there were tree trunks scattered like a tiny holiday camp in the middle of everyday life. Sandy sat me down there and rummaged through her bag.”
Yvi smiled quietly and tucked her smooth, blonde hair behind her ear.
“She pulled out chewing gum. Those disgustingly sweet ones with that ridiculously artificial fruit flavor.”
With two fingers, I gestured the size of the gum ball I remembered putting in my mouth. Bright pink. Practically neon.
Yvi let out a quiet snort — not mocking, more like she was trying to suppress an involuntary smile.
“The ones that turn into crumbs after ten minutes? That slowly fall apart and start tasting like egg cartons?” she asked, gently, her words like a soft touch.
“I took it. Didn’t say a word. And we just sat there, chewing side by side. Ten minutes? An hour? I’d lost all sense of time.”
Yvi smiled — barely. A smile not of amusement, but of recognition. Of understanding.
“I didn’t cry that night. Not when I got home. Not even when I sat alone in my room. I had already left everything out there. With her,” I said, feeling the first cautious sting at the corners of my eyes. As if a few of the tears I never shed back then still needed to find their way out. Not the ones I cried for Titus. Or for myself. But for a friendship that had only just begun, back then.
Unavoidable. Cathartic. Finally.
I heard Yvi quietly sniff. No sobbing, no sound of pity — more like a silent understanding.
She reached under the small side table and pulled out some tissues. She didn’t place them between us, but on the armrest. An offer, not a barrier.
That was Yvi.
“I’ll make us some tea,” she said. When she stood, the couch barely shifted — her presence so gentle. At one with the world, sensitive and in harmony with herself.
As she walked away, her long hair swayed from side to side. Even in the dim light, it gleamed like bright gold. A few soft steps later, I heard the gentle clinking of ceramic cups and her careful movements in the kitchen.
“Thank you,” I whispered, almost voiceless, into the now-empty room. My fingers felt numb. Still, I pulled a tissue from the pack — quiet enough that Yvi wouldn’t notice. I dabbed at my eyes and tucked it into my pocket.
When Yvi returned with a Mona Lisa smile, she handed me the cup and set her own down on the little table.
“Careful, it’s hot,” she whispered close to my ear. Surprised, I looked at her.
In her green eyes, there was kindness — and something else. Something hoping I’d keep speaking, if only I could find my voice again.
Only she could do that—a hug without any gestures.
Yvi sat cross-legged, playing with the hem of her pants as if casually checking something.
The steam rising from the cup was as familiar as my favorite sweater.
“Where did you...?” I asked.
“You told me. That you like chai latte. Since then, I’ve kept it on the shelf. Well, just in case,” she said, taking a deep breath.
I nodded, said nothing.
Just in case.
That’s why I wanted to tell her. Everything. And more.
But what came next?
