Song: Mariah Carey's We belong together
I didn't mean it when I said I didn't love you so
I shoulda held on tight, I never shoulda let you go
I didn't know nothing, I was stupid, I was foolish
I was lying to myself
I couldn't have fathomed I would ever be without your love
Never imagined I'd be sitting here beside myself
Guess I didn't know you, guess I didn't know me
But I thought I knew everything I never felt
The feeling that I'm feeling now that I don't hear your voice
Or have your touch and kiss your lips 'cause I don't have a choice
Oh, what I wouldn't give to have you lying by my side
Right here, 'cause, baby (We belong together)
When you left, I lost a part of me (Together)
It's still so hard to believe
Come back, baby, please
(Come back, come back, come back, come back)
'Cause we belong together
Who else am I gonna lean on when times get rough? (Who else)
Who's gonna talk to me on the phone 'til the sun comes up? (Who else)
Who's gonna take your place? There ain't nobody better (Who else)
Oh, baby, baby, we belong together
***
"Akif, iyimisin?" Can you duck out of work and grab a drink?" Can asked as weaved his truck through the traffic.
"Abi, you're back? Hoş geldin." Akif's voice sounded out through the Bluetooth speaker.
"I just got back. I'm really stressed and I need to talk to you."
"Is this about Sanem? What are you doing to her? She's always sad after talking with you."
"Sacma! Stop talking nonsense, Akif!" Can snapped, rubbing his beard.
"Tamam. I'll see you in a bit." Akif replied.
"Do me a favour and don't lecture me okay? Not today." Can growled as the call disconnected.
Of the three childhood friends, Akif was the most astute. He always saw through Can and Metin and had this way of drilling down to the heart of the matter.
They had all met when he and Metin were 11 years old and Akif, a year older. Can, hurt and disillusioned by his mum leaving the family home and taking his younger brother, Emre, with her, had hounded his dad to send him off to boarding school.
He'd done his research about the possibilities of schools with a list of pros and cons for each. Finally, he'd narrowed the options down to the British International School. Though Aziz had been reluctant to send his older son away, especially with Emre gone, he'd eventually been won over when, one evening, Can had shown his father an impressive PowerPoint presentation showcasing the benefits of an education at such a prestigious school.
In his first week, he'd kept to himself as he observed and tried to get the lay of the land. Even at that young age, Can was a keen people-watcher. He'd spotted Metin first. Often found holding court in large groups, his ambitious yet gentle grey eyes would sparkle as he put forth his latest legal theory. Metin, a trust-fund baby from one of Istanbul's wealthier families, had his heart set on a career in the judiciary even back then and he wasn't bashful about letting everyone know it. One day, when some upstart, in Metin's opinion, dared to challenge his argument, he'd pulled Can into the fray, inviting him to arbitrate. Can didn't remember exactly what he'd said but it had obviously been to Metin's liking as, from that day, Metin had stuck to his side like white on rice.
Akif, the quietest of the trio, was a scholarship student. While admission was based on being able to afford the school fees, exceptions were made in some cases. He came from a humble family who couldn't afford the exorbitant school fees. His dad ran a printing press which had been passed down to him by his father and the family of six were just about getting by.
Akif had already started his secondary education at a school in his neighbourhood when his Maths teacher sought his parents' permission to enter him for the British International School entrance exam. The school had a special bursary fund and awarded scholarships for academic prowess, sporting or artistic skills. Rumour had it that Akif had scored the highest ever marks in the history of the school's academic entrance exam and was offered a full ride throughout his stay at the school. He never confirmed nor denied the rumour.
Can noticed Akif who mostly had his head buried in some giant tome or the other. He didn't speak much but he was the personification of the adage, still waters run deep. Every time he did speak, his tone was measured, his words deep and insightful. Can was also drawn to Akif's generosity: though he didn't have much, he was always willing to share.
Soon, the three were thick as thieves and were popularly known as the Three Musketeers.
Later that afternoon, Can sat gazing out at the rippling lake below the balcony of one of his and his friends' favourite haunts, The Tavern, nursing a glass of raki. Rustling in the soft breeze, the giant cattails, weeping willows and river birches surrounding the lake swayed rhythmically. Overhead, giant fluffy clouds floated past, occasionally blocking the afternoon sun which bathed the landscape in hues of amber, ochre and russet.
"Kardesim," Akif grabbed Can in a neck hug from behind, before sitting on the other side of the table. "Naber?"
Can took a sip of his raki, then a sip of water but didn't reply. He kept staring out at the horizon.
"Can, did you hear me?" Akif probed. "What's eating you?"
Still looking at the surroundings, Can leaned forward. "I went away to clear my head but I'm even more confused now."
"Sanem?" Akif asked warily, mindful of Can's earlier warning about nagging him.
Her name seemed to be the key that loosened Can's tongue.
"I messed up, Akif. I messed up big time!" he groaned, sweeping his hand over his already messy bun. "I thought time away would give me enough distance from... from her, from what went on. I thought I could figure things out. I just..." He pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling deeply as his voice petered out.
Can could feel Akif's eyes on him but Akif didn't utter a word as he watched his friend while sipping his own drinks which a waiter had placed on the table just after he arrived.
Sighing deeply, he told Akif about his week-long trip on Tahsin Abi's fishing boat. He'd always found the sea soothing. There was just something about the undulating waves that appealed to him. He was fascinated by the pattern of the ebbing and flowing of the water as he wondered what lay at the other side of the horizon beyond what his eyes could see.
His love for the sea had started just after his mum left with Emre. After spending some days holed up in his room, crying and repeatedly questioning his dad about what had transpired and when they would be back, he'd taken a long walk along the coast.
Setting out early in the morning, just after sunrise, he'd wandered further up the coast, to the rockier parts, where few dared to venture. He'd sat there, just looking out at the vast expanse of sea. Despondency erupted inside him, oozing out of his eyes in rivulets. A deep sense of despair and loneliness overwhelmed him. Try as he might, he couldn't dislodge the thick lump in his throat. Rocking back and forth – teeth clenched, back hunched, shoulders slumped – he 'd thrown his head back and wailed.
Tormented by thoughts of being abandoned by his mother, none of it had really made sense. His young mind was racked by puzzling questions to which there didn't seem to be answers. Why had his mum left? Why had she taken Emre but not him? Would they ever come back?
But soon, mesmerised by the foamy spume frothing along the surface of the water which reminded him of a cappuccino, he'd found solace in the comforting early morning silence broken only by the swishing of the waves. Ever so gradually, his rapid heartbeat slowed, his pale face took on a ruddy hue and the tension seeped out of his body. The sea looked so promising, so full of possibilities. He'd been certain it could grant wishes, just like a wishing well.
It was only when the crepuscular rays of the waning sun had stretched across the horizon and his anguish had somewhat abated that he'd set out for home.
The next day, despite the squall of sorrow swirling around inside him, despite the bulbous clouds blotting out the sun, plunging the city into a canvas of sepia misery, he'd headed towards the city's shoreline. This time, armed with a pencil and a sheet of paper tucked securely in his trousers' back pocket.
Undeterred by the wind which screeched like the tormented souls in Hades, he'd pushed forward, head down, shoulders hunched, wrapping his coat tighter around him. The tears streaming down his face mingled with the giant droplets of rain bulleting down from the dark blanket above. Grief gripped his heart in a vice grip but still, he'd pressed on.
Pummelling and pounding, the waves relentlessly crashed into the rocks like a battering ram. Lashes of lighting clawed across the slate sky and thunder cackled overhead. Poseidon was in a mood. So was Can.
Like the thrashing waves slamming against the shore, pain rammed against his heart over and over again. His legs buckled under him, he'd doubled over and sobbed hard.
Just when he thought his insides would turn to mush from crying so hard, suddenly, Mother Nature called a truce and a silent calm reigned. His deluge of tears ceased and his breath returned to normal. The serene sea, which mere seconds ago had been a seething mass, swelled with promise once again.
Can stood, wiped his face and, rummaging around, found some twine that the tide had deposited on the rocks. He fastened it to the end of a long twig, fashioning it into a makeshift fishing rod.
He ripped the paper up into thin strips just like his heart had been ripped into shreds, inhaled deeply, then let his heart bleed through the pencil lead as he'd scribbled his wishes down. He'd tied each strip to the string, and closing his eyes, he'd let hope rise in hisheart, before tossing the line into the sea. When he pulled it out, the paper was gone.
In Can's puerile fantasy, it was like making a petition to the Ministry of Fish. The strips of paper had been eaten by the fish who would then go on to grant his wish for his mum and brother to return, and for his fractured family to be made whole again. Relief had washed over him.
One day, as he made his way towards his vantage point on the rocks, strolling past the loading dock, he noticed a man struggling to haul the crates off his trawler. Without waiting to be asked, Can reached out and grabbed a box, helping the man with it.
Grateful for the young boy's assistance, Tahsin Abi thanked Can and offered to take him out on the boat for a ride should he wish to go. Excitement had bubbled up inside Can and he'd asked if they could set out right that minute, but Tahsin Abi explained that fishing trips could last a few days and so he needed his parents' permission. He asked for their numbers. Can wrote his dad's on a piece of paper and gave it to him but he'd known the older man was just trying to humour him. Grown-ups did that a lot.
Two weeks later, while they were having dinner, his dad told him that he'd received a call, and subsequently, a visit from one Tahir bey. Can's eyes had widened. He couldn't believe it, moreso when Aziz had given his blessing for Can to join Tahir and his crew on a three-day fishing trip. Thus began an annual tradition for Can.
Akif's voice calling his name brought him out of his reverie.
Can downed his drink and sighed. "I have to get her back."
"Can, I don't understand you. Sanem told a few lies, although she didn't want to. So you said awful things to her and broke up with her. And now you want her back?" Akif snorted, shaking his head.
"I was just so angry. I wanted to hurt her the way she'd done me."
"She made a mistake and you overreacted. You lashed out at her. You didn't give her a chance to explain herself. You ended the relationship. You can't just expect to waltz back into her life." Akif glared at his friend.
"Akif!" Can growled. "I warned you not to lecture me."
Quirking an eyebrow, Akif's gaze pinned Can. "If you didn't want a lecture, you shouldn't have been so pig-headed. You have these impossible standards of morality that no one, not even you, can meet. I really don't understand you sometimes."
"There is nothing that you can say to me that I haven't already told myself a million times." Can muttered, massaging his temple. The fight seeped out of him like air out of a deflating balloon. "I have replayed the scene over and over again, wishing I could go back in time and react differently."
Not one to hold grudges, Akif sighed. "What are you going to do?"
"Whatever it takes," Can replied, a thin film of moisture glazing over his eyes. "I will do whatever it takes, Akif. I can't live without her."
***
Turkish translations:
Iyimisin? – How are you?
Sacma – Nonsense
Raki – Alcoholic drink
Naber? What's up?
Abi – Brother / a respectful form of address for an older male who is not a blood relative