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 David and Elizabeth - Opposites Attract

Attraction was there, no doubt about it. Blonde, cascading hair that fell over one shoulder, blue eyes, not the colour of the shallow water that hovers near the beach, but a deep blue, almost green, encircled with dark curled eyelashes, and her mouth, oh, when she smiled, those white teeth, gleaming with confidence! Was it a put-off that she knew how she looked, how people stared at her? No, not to me. The self-assurance with which she carried herself was an utter turn-on. This was a girl, no, a woman, who knew what she wanted; none of that ‘take care of me’ rubbish about her.

We were both in university in London, she in her second year of accounting and I was just beginning my year of teacher training. We were at a bar, out with our mutual friend Roxy, and I knew I wanted Elizabeth right off the bat, even when she leaned into me, slurring her words and batting those eyelashes.

“Hi, stranger.” For a petite twenty-year-old, she could throw down a truckload of alcohol, more than I could to keep up, but I grinned at her devil-may-care manner and reached out my hand in greeting. She looked down at my outstretched offering and suppressed a giggle. I should have been offended, but I was intrigued.

“Hello,” I replied.

“Elizabeth, gotta go,” came Roxy’s voice.

“But,” I began to protest but Elizabeth was already waving me goodbye with a pout as Roxy pulled her off the barstool. I scowled at Roxy who pretended not to notice as she dragged Elizabeth out of the bar. I turned back to my beer and took a slug, a smile plastered on my face and hers emblazoned in my brain.

Yet another Friday, yet another tough week and I sat at the same bar, on the same barstool, hoping the year would fly by. I was sick of studying. If anything was going to get me by more quickly, it was keeping busy. I was contemplating going home after just an hour, perhaps hitting the books, getting a head start on my assignments but Peter, one of my classmates, had other ideas. I hoped he was done chatting up every pair of legs that walked into the bar.

“Hi, stranger,” a voice behind me sung as I ordered another beer.

An unexpected jolt went through me. I knew it was her even before I turned around and I felt the ends of my lips curl in pleasure. “Hello. Elizabeth.”

“You remembered my name?” She pulled up a stool beside me and wiggled her bum into it. “I thought you were too drunk to remember that night.”

“I could say the same,” I replied and wondered if that were the right thing to say. Usually I was a confident guy, not really caring about what people thought. A take-me-or-leave-me sort of man, probably as most twenty-one-year-olds are when they begin a new phase of life; you know, slightly cocky. But here I was, wondering if I had offended this girl by what I’d said and it took me a little by surprise.

But she laughed, her head thrown back slightly, and put her hand on my shoulder. “Touché,” she said and signalled for the bartender. “By yourself?”

“No, just waiting for my mate, Peter.” I gestured to the men’s room. I hoped now that Peter would take his time. “You?”

“Here with Roxy. You know Roxy, don’t you?” I looked over to Roxy and waved, hoping that Roxy would not take it as a cue to approach us. I hoped we could just chat together, alone, sober.

We chatted, about what I don’t completely recall as I was too busy soaking in her aura, her presence, the way she laughed at my stupid one-liners, the way her brows knotted when I was telling her something serious, again, what, I don’t remember, but I got the feeling she liked me. I don’t know what it is, how you can tell, but you can tell. There was an attraction there, certainly on my part and I was pretty sure it was mutual.

“Elizabeth, David,” I heard and we turned to see Roxy signalling us over to a table. We both turned to each other, disappointment in our faces. But through the evening, we knew some spark had been lit. The sly catching of eyes, the coy smiles, the looks between us that told each other we wished that it were just us, alone. Everyone else at the loud laughing table was a blur. But when she suddenly got up to leave without even a glance in my direction, I thought I had imagined the whole attraction thing and was disappointed in myself. I was a young guy, sure, who could misconstrue signs, but maybe I was just seeing what I wanted to see. I went home a little disheartened but nevertheless, I was not one to give up easily on something, so the next day, I called Roxy and asked for Elizabeth’s number.

“She’s taken, buddy,” said Roxy, and after we exchanged a couple of words about the night before, I hung up the phone and breathed a deep sigh of sorrow, or maybe relief. I decided to close the book on this very short chapter, the romance that never was.

Months went by and Elizabeth would pop into my head at times and I hoped that we would bump into each other again, but I didn’t dwell on her; she was unavailable and I wasn’t going to crash a party at which I didn’t belong. However, one evening after a boozy night out with Roxy, I decided to see where things stood and I asked her for Elizabeth’s number.

“Why?” Roxy screwed up her nose.

“Because I would like to call her, maybe invite her out for a drink or dinner or something.”

“You two are very different, you know.” Roxy looked at me, slightly perplexed.

“Maybe. But opposites attract,” I said, flashing a smile.

“Not always,” replied Roxy, her head dropping.

“Well, is she still with that guy?” I pressed. Roxy shrugged. “Come on, Rox,” I said, knowing she was weakening. I’d like to think I can be quite persuasive, especially with six beers bloating my belly.

“No, she’s not with him anymore,” said Roxy and began striding away from me. Then she turned around. “I’ll text you her number,” she said quietly and I watched her walk away. In hindsight, I realised the reason for Roxy’s hesitation; she wanted me for herself. I wish I had been more sensitive, but what would I have done anyway? I had no feelings of that kind for Roxy, as cute and sweet as she was.

I sent Elizabeth a text the very next day. Are you single yet?

Maybe, came the reply and I smiled into the phone. I’m as cluey as the next guy, which is not saying much, but I decided to take that as a yes. So, with my confidence high, I asked her if she’d like to meet up and she agreed.

I was trying not to get my hopes too high, but the moment I saw her, I knew there was a connection, just like the last couple of times I’d seen her all those months ago. We talked as we sipped on our drinks, hers vodka, mine a beer; we talked about family, friends, what we did for fun, and I realised how dissimilar our lives were, not that it deterred me. Elizabeth was from a wealthy family, a staunchly religious one, and I was from a working-class family, who struggled to get by. She was fun and flirtatious, enjoyed the fact that she turned heads, while pretending not to notice, and I was as down-to-earth as one can get; well, I’d like to think so anyway. But she laughed a lot, enjoyed my sense of humour and I began to relax in her presence. She touched my arm each time she threw her head back in laughter and I wanted her to keep her hand on me. But I was not someone who threw myself at a girl and this one, I wanted to have for more than one evening.

“I live just a couple of blocks away,” said Elizabeth with a twinkle in her eye. “Want to take it back to my place?”

I was elated. Not that I was going to take advantage of her, I was just relieved that she trusted me so soon. “Sure,” I replied and we walked to her flat, her arm entwined in mine.

“Wow,” I blurted as I walked in, looking around at the spacious room, the plush sofa, the wall furnishings, the shag carpet. “How do you afford all this?”

She shrugged. “My father pays for it,” she said, nonchalant.

“Why?” Stupid question but it just came out.

“Because he can,” she said with a laugh. “Another beer?”

“How about coffee?”

She pouted affectedly. “Okay.”

“So, you’re a rich girl …” I teased.

She paused and leaned her shoulder against the wall, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes. “Is that going to be a problem?”

I was taken aback by the question. “No.”

“Well, you know that pub we were just at?” I nodded. “My parents own it. And six others around London.” My mouth turned into an O and she laughed. “I don’t care about all that shit,” she said. “I’m going to make it on my own stead.” I loved the way she talked, a little posh, but the way she enunciated her words was nice.

We stayed up all night talking, continuing our banter from the pub, and before we knew it, the morning sun was making its way through her chiffon curtains. “Wow,” I said. “That went quickly. I have to get ready for school. Going to be hard without much sleep.”

“Not just for you,” she said, her voice tinged with disappointment.

She walked me to the door and we stood facing each other for a moment. Then I took her in my arms and felt hers go around my neck. Her mouth was soft, gentle, but demanding and I had to pull back first for fear of her getting the wrong idea. “See you soon,” I said, trying not to smile too happily, and walked back to my own flat, quite a distance by foot, but I was happy to stroll all the way, taking in the night before, trying to relive every second of what was an amazing night.

****

Elizabeth and I were inseparable after that night. I took her to a fancy restaurant that usually had a waiting list of at least a few weeks, but with the help of a friend, I managed to book a table there the next evening. I spent most of my savings to eat at a place that served a little blotch of green on a very large plate, and left hungry, but Elizabeth looked like she belonged there, like she spent a lot of her time in fancy restaurants. After that we went back to her place and this time we didn’t wait to kiss each other. The moment we were in the door, her lips were on mine, and I hungrily explored her face, her neck … We didn’t make love that night; oh, I wanted to, but as we were getting hot and heavy, she whispered to me that it would be her first time, and I couldn’t do it. We played around, we kissed, we cuddled, talked and laughed some more.

It wasn’t specifically labelled as such but we became an item. We spent most of our spare time together, and although we didn’t have a lot in common, just being together was the most important thing. A few weeks later, I was at her parents’ house for the weekend, a lavish country ranch on a large piece of land, green as far as the eye could see. Her parents were good with me, her mother made me feel welcome immediately but her father, well, fathers are always a bit wary, aren’t they? Elizabeth was clearly Daddy’s girl and he was making sure I was good enough for her.

“A teacher?” he said, pursing his lips, when I told him about my plans for my future. At this, Elizabeth lowered her head and I was a little surprised that she hadn’t jumped in to defend my choice of career even though I knew how she felt about it; she was always trying to tell me that I was destined for something bigger, something more. For me, what was more noble than helping to carve out the paths of future generations? I hoped in time it was something she would come to understand, and that her family would accept. I didn’t realise it then, but it was the first of the cracks that began to appear in our relationship.

We were expected to sleep in separate bedrooms, but by now, Elizabeth and I had already made love, yet it was exhilarating and dangerous when she sneaked into my bedroom, a middle finger up to her father’s ideals. She loved being the rebel, even though she was a secret rebel, not wanting to upset the applecart of her perfect family life. It was clear by now she was spoilt, got everything she wanted, but that didn’t diminish my love for her, and by now I knew that I loved her. Like I had never loved anyone before.

Our romance continued as it had when we got back to London. We went out drinking, went to parties, out for walks, read together, laughed and loved together. But our differences, as much as we tried to ignore them, were creeping out of the woodwork, the most contentious issue, my lack of ambition. I couldn’t understand it really; I wanted to do what I loved doing and being a teacher was not a career to be scoffed at. I tried to argue my point on many an occasion but I tried to see her point of view. I could understand that in comparison to her parents’ wealth, her upbringing, that what I would make as a teacher would not keep her in the lap of luxury, the lifestyle to which she was accustomed, but to me, all that meant nothing. Unfortunately, to her it meant a lot, especially when the reality of a life together was becoming a real possibility. There were other arguments too, friends, domestic issues like leaving out the milk or some other innocuous incident, which we chose to see as getting used to each other, little things that we both let go of easily.

So it came out of the blue. A poem, which she read to me as we sat on the grass in the park one evening, one that she wrote. I can’t remember the exact words but well, it was a break-up poem, a sad little sonnet that expressed her sorrow at having to leave me. No real reason; she loved me, but it was never going to work.

I had no words. I was choked up, unbelieving, not sure of what was happening, or what had happened to bring this on, but I certainly wasn’t going to stand there and beg for a more detailed explanation. I turned my back on her and walked away. I still had my pride and I was damned if I was going to let her see me shed even one tear.

If that was love, then I didn’t know what pain was. The tightness in my chest, the way my jaw hurt when I discovered my teeth were clenched, the difficulty to hold back a sob … But I held my head high, tried not to think about it too much and my friends rallied, kept me busy, kept me drunk through it while I tried to think I was a stronger man, one who could easily flick the pain off my cuff, get over her. When three months went by without a word, I thought I was making headway when fate, or whatever you want to call it, laughed at me.

“Hey, stranger.”

I was back at the pub with my friends, not the bar her father owned, another one close to my flat. My heart flipped and I turned to see Elizabeth standing there, that same flirty smile on her face, and before I could reply, her lips were on my cheek. I didn’t know what to say, how to say anything, but I felt an anger bubble up in me. I don’t know what it was, perhaps her indifference towards what had happened, her greeting me like nothing had happened. Maybe I just hadn’t stopped to process the break-up, her reason for leaving me. But I smiled and gestured to the seat beside me, which she took, and we chatted like we were old friends, all the while, my heart beating so hard I thought she may be able to hear it. When she left, I sat there alone with my empty glass and felt relief. I had held back my anger, treated her like a friend. Maybe this was what they called closure. I sighed. No, I knew I wasn’t over her. I wondered if it showed and she knew my composure was an act. She seemed to know me so well when we had been together.

We bumped into each other a few times after that and with each time, it became easier to talk to her, but I knew I had to keep my distance, even though she flirted outrageously with me. I didn’t want to be drawn into her life again and I wasn’t sure where I stood with her. She had broken my heart and I was not going to go through that again.

It was nearing the end of the school year and Elizabeth called me. She wanted to meet up and I agreed, unsure of why. I went to her place, tentative at first, but we were soon laughing and talking and it felt almost the same as the first time we had come to her place together. We talked about her plans for the summer, her trip to Mexico and I told her of my summer job at a school and I was glad we had the chance to talk. This meeting felt like closure even though no mention was made of our relationship or the break-up and I still had too much pride to demand an answer. The urge to kiss her was strong, but I didn’t and after a night of chatting and listening to music, I left, this time without the kiss and felt good about the whole thing. This was it, she wanted no more from me and I was confident I felt the same way or would do so in time.

I went back to my life, met a lovely girl, Laura, whom I had a lot in common with, maybe not the connection I had with Elizabeth, but she did a lot to help me move on and I thought I had made strides in my attempt to rid Elizabeth from my head. I’d even planned to travel the world, Australia to begin with, to broaden my horizons, to see things before I settled anywhere.

Unfortunately, when the summer had ended, Elizabeth called again and invited me out for a drink. For some reason I couldn’t resist and I met with her and as usual we ended up back at her place, but this time one thing led to another and we found ourselves in bed together. It was one of the best nights of my life and as she lay beside me, a gentle snore escaping her parted lips, I knew it was her I was in love with. She opened her eyes and put her hands over her eyes.

“Stop staring at me,” she said as I removed her hands from her face.

“You’re beautiful,” I said.

“Let’s be together, David.” She sat up and grabbed my fingers, squeezing them. “I’ve never loved anyone like I loved you. I missed you so much, I can’t think about life without you by my side.”

I had questions, of course. Why did you leave me? What have you been doing all this time? More importantly, who with? Who was it that you loved? But I didn’t ask them. Right now, I didn’t want her to reconsider. I knew I was weak when it came to her and I didn’t care. There was still so much I wanted to share with her, for her to share with me. She was aloof, that was a given, but I was determined to break the exterior and find the real woman in there, the vulnerable human that I knew deep down she had to be.

“Well?”

“We are going in different directions, Elizabeth,” I said.

“I know.” She pouted. “You’re off to Bournemouth, to your school.” She emphasised the word school like it was a vile expression, but I ignored the implication. I nodded. “We could try long distance,” she said suddenly, her eyes shining. “And it’s not too far. Only a couple of hours away. We could see each other on weekends?” This was what I wanted to hear. That she wanted to try no matter what, no matter how hard. That I was worth the effort.

“It’s only for a few months,” I said and then I knew I had to tell her of my plans—to travel to Australia. I had been saving for this trip since she had left me and I wasn’t about to put it off. I hoped this wasn’t a dealbreaker but she had to know.

She listened, nodding, smiling, and I could see her brain working from the way she bit her lip. “You know what?” she said when I was done. “What if I join you? When I’ve finished uni, I could meet you there and we could go about together, you know, be a couple of gypsies.” There was an edge of excitement to her voice which was contagious and although I never fathomed for a moment this would be an option, I was pleased. It could work. All of it.

It did work. For a while, at least, it did, the thrill of a new job keeping me busy enough not to miss Elizabeth too much and the craving for her being sated on the weekends when she came up to see me in Bournemouth or I came to London to see her. When I left for Australia, I missed her like crazy but the thought that she would soon be with me, experiencing this life with me, kept me energised, excited. And I loved the place, the idea of getting to see what I had dreamed of. I wanted to stay here, create a life here, one I hoped Elizabeth would be part of.

She met me in Cairns and we travelled around Australia together but by the time we left for India, which we had decided we both wanted to do, we were arguing all the time. Little irritations, major decisions, marriage, children, all the topics that couples have, all of them ending up in differences of opinion. She had quite a temper, but admittedly, so did I, and I was certainly not going to constantly defend my life choices to her all the time. But our love for each other always won out and we let things go. Which, in hindsight, was not a good thing and even though I could see that we were drifting apart, there was nothing I could do to stop it.

When we got back to London, it was all but over. I got a job in a school, not a great one, but a job nevertheless, where I was unhappy and we spent our time together barely talking because when it came down to it, I felt like nothing when I was with her. I went out almost every evening, usually without her, and drowned my sorrows at the pub, knowing that something had to give.

Eventually, Elizabeth ended it, via a text message, but by that time, I didn’t care about how. A poem, a text message, what was the difference: a break-up was a break-up and this time, I was done too. This was it. When I went to her place to collect my things, two weeks later, she had them ready for me at the door. Without a word I grabbed the rubbish bag and as I walked away, I stopped to take one last look at her but she was inside, the door already closed on me. I dropped my head in disappointment that we had nothing more to say to each other, but as my eyes fell on the stoop, I saw a pair of men’s boots sitting there. I took in a deep breath. I knew who she was when I met her. She would never be alone.

I packed up and left for Australia, knowing I needed a clean break, a different life, a place where I wouldn’t be made to feel like I was worth nothing. I haven’t looked back. I found a good job here, made my life here, I met my wife here, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Why is Elizabeth the one that got away for me? She’s not really. I’m glad she got away, I’m glad I got away from her, literally having to leave the country to be rid of her. But I loved her deeply, my first real heartbreak, the first one I thought I could spend the rest of my life with. The one who could drive me insane but I loved so hard. There is never the matter of what if. I tried. We both tried. We were just so different and we thought we could beat those odds.

We couldn’t.