California

She felt the sharp edges of the cardboard box. Let her fingers slide over the cool, smooth duck tape that covered the edges. She pressed her hands on the kitchen table and took a deep breath. Again. She was moving again. How many times had it been now? Just last year before Christmas had been the last time. She remembered that she frantically searched all of the boxes for her red velvet skirt that she wanted to wear to the family dinner. Then the previous time had been August the year before. Liz had complained that the AC was broken in the old apartment. It was unbelievably hot and they were all drenched in sweat by the end of the day, carrying boxes up and down three flights of stairs. And then up another two flights of stairs. Why did she never move into buildings with lifts? And the move before that…

Sanna closed her eyes. She felt her head spinning. Little light dots were flickering in front of her eyes. Her heart was beating fast. She slid her back down the wall and sat down on the cold tiles. The room smelled like citrus and eucalyptus. And bleach. She had spent all day scrubbing the apartment, almost as if she wanted to erase every memory that was made here. By her. And by Adam. The yellow stain on the white countertop where she spilled curry sauce the night they first kissed. The scratch on the parquet where Adam moved the table so he could show her how great he was at tap dance. How drunk they were. How in love. How absolutely, fully, fatally in love. Suddenly she was borne down by an enormous wave of sadness. A wave that pulled her in so deep, so strong, and so bottomless that she had no chance. Her head melted into her hands, her fingers tried to hold onto her hair, and her shoulders started to shake uncontrollably. Her tears ran through her fingers, pooled at her chin, and dripped into her jersey shirt. She had become the bottomless wave. It had become her. After a long time she remembered when she last cried like this: When Jonathan Griner broke her heart in 8^th grade. She felt the same bottomless, warm, absolutely excruciating pain. Innocent, naïve pain. And comfort.

Sanna sat up straight and stopped crying. She wiped the back of her hand across her wet cheeks. Comfort? Her body had become still now. The shaking had stopped. She had, of course, cried since then. From exhaustion, from frustration. But not like this. This… this had made her feel like… it was real. This, here was real. This was now. Now, on these cold, hard tiles. Now, with her black mascara and hot tears running down her chin and neck. Was this the comfort that she was feeling? Sanna slowly shook her head.

She had always focused on reaching the next goal, defining the next steps, carving herself into the vision that she had of herself. An internship at the UN headquarters. Another internship with the attorney general. God, what a hypocritical, ungrateful cow that was. An award for her thesis. Admission to Oxford. Celebrations, cake. Interviews with student newspapers, local radio stations. Sleepless nights, flickering library lights at 3am. Exhausted crying in the hallway. High table dinners. The black and white sub-fusc, wet in the summer rain. Pub dinners. Her first publication. More celebrations. Kissing Adam in the front quad. His shining green eyes under the lights of the streetlamp. Her first panel discussion. Flights to New York and Brussels. Her first job…

And for what? For another move? For another job? For another box ticked? Sanna looked across the kitchen. The ceiling light was too bright and merciless and created sharp lines and shadows that hurt her eyes. Sanna stood up, switched the light off, and slowly walked over to the kitchen window. She carefully leaned her forehead against the coolness of the glass. Now the only light in the room came from the streetlamp outside the kitchen window. It was a soft light, almost yellow. There was a church outside the window, its turrets elegantly and delicately growing towards the sky. Two pigeons sat on its weathercock. Senna could see the moon shining through grey clouds. It was a waxing moon. It would be full moon soon. A black cab slowly drove down the street, indicated silently, and turned left. Somewhere in the distance a car alarm went off. She gently placed her hands with her palms down on the cold tiles. She slowly shook her head again. For this?

“I never wanted to hurt you.” “That is unacceptable. Submission by 5pm. End of discussion.” “Yes, number 23 and 15 again. Plus a coke. Coke zero please. Washington Avenue 53, by 8.30pm. Is that possible?” “Sanna, I am so sorry. I just thought I should tell you. You are my best friend after all.” “Ladies and gentlemen, the brilliant and wonderful Dr. Sanna Izaki!” “He must have met with her when you were in Washington. I am so sorry.”

Sanna closed her eyes and pressed her lips together. Then she took a deep breath and exhaled forcefully. Not for this. Not anymore. She shook her head again and opened her eyes. The pigeons were gone now. She also needed to go. She didn’t know where, but she needed to go. Suddenly she felt an urgency in her to get far away from it all. Maybe to California? Sanna remembered running into the ocean one soft, warm May afternoon in San Francisco. The waves had been cold and powerful, but she also remembered that she had felt alive then. There and then. In that moment. With her skin on her arms and legs burning from the ice-cold water and her cheeks hurting from her smiles. She needed to go back to California. She knew it now. And just be. Just... be. Not do anything, not chase anything, tick anything, plan anything. She needed the ice-cold waves in her face. Needed them. Sanna was surprised about this sudden wish, no, this sudden urgent need that had come up from within her. From a place as deep as that wave had pulled her down to before.

She pulled out her phone from her jeans pocket and called #3 on speed dial. It rang for a while before someone picked up. A tired voice whispered: “Goodness, Sanna, are you ok? It’s 2.30am at night.” “Ohh, I am so sorry. I completely forgot about the time.” “That’s okay. What’s going on?” “I need you to clear my calendar until further notice. I’m going on sabbatical.” There was a long pause on the other end. “…Liz?” “You? On Sabbatical?” “Please. I’ll explain more later. And also book a flight to San Francisco for tomorrow night. One way.” Another long pause. “I don’t know what happened, Sanna, but I’m glad that it did.” Sanna placed her left hand on her chest, took a deep breath, and smiled. “Me, too, Liz.”