Ana was staring at Christian.
At his sloping belly, his hairy thighs. The mole just below his navel.
They were laughing about that a while ago. She called it, “the fly at the precipice of your belly-button.” He grinned at her and said that she had a dirty mind.
Now Ana wonders how someone so dear can be so alien at the same time.
This morning, Therese told her, “It’s because he’s male and you’re female. That’s always a problem.”
But Therese is contemplating on becoming a lesbian, hence her opinion, Ana thinks, shouldn’t count.
But really? Is that it? Is that the problem?
She, Ana, a woman, has a worldful of being her that Christian will never even begin to understand. And Christian, a man, inhabits his own planet that Ana can never visit; not even in her dreams.
But isn’t that the dilemma that marriage was supposed to solve?
No, Ana corrects herself, not marriage. That institution that more often fails than it succeeds — as Isla Fisher had ranted in “Definitely, Maybe”.
What Ana means to think is: isn’t this what “love” was supposed to solve?
Isn’t love all about two aloneness reaching out, merging with and changing each other?