October 4, 2002
October 3, 10: 11 a.m.
One month! Count them baby! 30 precious, perfect days that I have been in a functional,
beautiful relationship with a man who is neither:
-- A pathological liar.
-- A Clintonesque nymphomaniac.
-- An indulgent self-centered little Mama's boy.
-- All of the above.
Could Ali be "the one"?
He likes the Dallas Cowboys and I like Woody Allen films. He is a morning person
and I am a night owl. He drinks Diet Coke and favors the outdoors. I like to stay
in and lap up green tea ice cream in front of the TV, and yet we are perfect for
We can go from a crazy 100 words a second animated debate to the most comfortable
of silences without missing a beat. Sometimes, we blurt out the same observation,
or we reach out for the same item at the same time. I have given a nickname for these
moments: The Nazali moments ( a combination of our names, Nazanin and Ali, to symbolize
how perfectly symbiotic
we are as a couple.) Even our bodies seem to be two pieces of a puzzle that do not
feel natural unless they remain in a constant embrace.
I am so in love and happy I feel that my heart has blown up like a balloon, forever
on the brink of bursting. But at the same time, it all feels so fragile, as if at
any moment this happiness may slip away from me. (I've had the rug pulled out from
under me so many times in the past!)
At times, I am almost paranoid. Like this morning, on the way to work, I was looking
at Ali's profile while he was driving the car. He was so quiet. In fact, been quiet
for a couple of days. Suddenly, I imagined all sorts of thoughts going through his
mind. That we have moved in together too fast. That I am cramping his style. That
he finds my once endearing habits
I couldn't stand it, I had to break the silence. Before thinking, I blurted out:
-- "Happy anniversary!"
Ali seemed to have suddenly woken up from a daze.
-- "Huh?" He uttered lazily, his face momentarily turned towards me.
I felt like I was sinking into moving sand. And of course, the more I tried to struggle
for a way out, the more I sank in.
-- "You know," (nervous laughter) "it's been one month since our official
first date. Since my birthday."
-- "Oh Naz," he whispered with a wmile, "You're so sentimental."
He leaned over and gave me a kiss. I didn't feel reassured but I didn't want to push
the issue. "He is right Nazanin-eh-khar," I kept telling myself, trying
to brush away ugly thoughts, "don't ruin this gorgeous day with your neuroses!"
It was certainly beautiful today. I love New York best in the autumn, particularly
in October, when the leaves have all had time to turn . And call me biased, but I
think the Village is the most pleasant area in Manhattan during this month. I mean,
it rules throughout the year anyway, but in the fall, forget it! You gotta walk through
the quaint narrow streets west of 6th avenue while golden, ruby, and emerald gems
fall around you carried gently by the wind to understand.
Ali dropped me off at my matinee show, in a little Off-Broadway theater in midtown
while he returned to Ground Zero to continue his coverage of the grueling events
that have forever poisoned our City.
I wanted to ask him if we were doing something special tonight to celebrate my "sentimental"
anniversary, but it was too late. Already his car had disappeared into the Manhattan
traffic. With a sigh, I entered the theater. It was show-time!
I can't believe what's happened! I am so tired and drained but I had to write my
feelings down as they stand at this second or else I will lose the moment forever.
After the matinee show, I tried to call Ali on his cell but there was no reception.
The whole cast was going for their usual bite at a deli across the street before
the 9 p.m. curtain call and I joined them. I had only half-heartedly bit into my
sandwich when I realized time was up already. With no sign from Ali, I went back
onstage completely demoralized. You better believe my "crying scenes" had
never been as moving as they were tonight. Even my director Derrick
gave me a sympathetic pat on the back, which is a gold mine seeing as he NEVER gives
As I made my way back home on the 6, I could hear the sounds of a giant church bell
ringing for the death of our relationship. After 30 days of feeling my heart bursting
like a balloon, it had now shriveled up to a tiny, wrinkly weak little organ. I was
With these thoughts in mind, I opened the door to our apartment and the sight awaiting
me almost knocked me off my (tired) feet.
There were candles and roses everywhere. On the tables, floors, and walls. A delicious
aroma revealed to my nose that Ali was cooking his famous chicken Cacciatore. Before
my jaw had the time to hit the floor, my love had magically materialized out of the
dim shadows of the apartment and had handed me a glass of Chilean Merlot (My favorite
I jumped into Ali's arms and proceeded to bury his neck under a thousand kisses.
-- "Happy anniversary you crazy kid," he whispered
in between returning my kisses.
My heart was back to bursting. The church bell had changed its tune from a gloomy
funereal melody to a frenzied celebratory waltz worthy of Edward Grieg.
Suddenly I felt famished. We sat down to devour the succulent dinner prepared by
my sweetheart. I dug my fork into a juicy piece of chicken and was about to bite
into it when without warning, the church bell came crashing down the tower of my
happiness. My god... Had I heard right?... Ali had just said something that sounded
like... no ... it couldn't be... I must have had too much wine.
-- "Could you... (Nervous throat clearing)... Ali... could you repeat what you
Ali looked straight into my eyes and calmly repeated the following words:
-- "Nazanin, there's something you should know. I am moving to California."