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The Man who Gave Up - Tea

For his first break-up, Lior gave up vanilla ice-cream.

It was their thing. It was how they met, in an ice-cream parlor. Two strangers facing the same display freezer, the only patrons there to crave simple vanilla ice-cream out of all the special combinations and flavors. One thing led to another, and they got to talking, and reached the agreement that it was one of the most underrated flavors, and for no apparent reason. They exchanged numbers and, more importantly, smiles. For their first anniversary, he brought her a pint of ice-cream, and an equal amount of nostalgia. Her name was Karin.

It was no big deal, really. They were young, barely over twenty; she was his first true love. But two years later they were no longer right for each other, he explained to her, and they both cried, and hugged, and talked and talked. And she had only one request: that he never eats vanilla ice-cream without her. That was theirs alone, and she didn't want him to meet someone else the same way and forget about her.

Lior loved vanilla ice-cream. But he had also loved Karin once, dearly, and he hadn't the heart to refuse her request, which was spoken through teary eyes and quivering lips. He asked for nothing in return. Maybe he'd assumed the promise was automatically mutual, maybe he just couldn't think of anything to ask for.

Years later, when he would enter an ice-cream parlor, he'd look at the vanilla vat, and miss her. Karin always insisted they eat 'real' vanilla ice-cream. They had a private game, he recalled, where they used to quiz the ice-cream vendor to see whether he knew if his was made of vanilla extract or of synthetic vanillin. He never forgot the flavor, all of his memories were saturated in it.

For his second break-up, he gave up parks. He actually met Maya at a party, and at the time hadn't even expected to see her again. But their third date was at the park, the first place they had sex at. And since they were both still living with their parents' back then, it was also where they spent most of their time together.

She didn't like being home. Her parents had just gone through a rough divorce. His parents' house was too small to spend an entire day there, and he preferred to be alone with her anyway. With Maya he discovered the amount of pleasure to be gained in silence. They'd walk the paths, among the green lawns and trees, doing nothing apart from holding hands. They had a usual spot by the lake, and they'd watch the ducks, tossing them bread they had brought for that exact reason. When they'd talk, they'd do so quietly, lacking the playfulness he experienced with Karin, but with a kind of pleasant serenity.

Such was Maya, a silent kind of woman. An older man would have appreciated it properly. Lior was young, and needed a passion to equal his own. They broke up at the park, he remembered. Maya did not cry, did not yell, or sob. Even her tears were silent. Her whispered request was a modest one: that he reserve the parks to his memories with her. Lior promised that he would, his voice shaking. He didn't like going there without her, anyway.

In later years, he came to regret the rushed promise somewhat. Serenity had become a rare commodity, and the green lawns and vibrant trees of his past seemed suddenly more alluring than anything else. Sometimes he would walk their paths in memories, accompanied by Maya. Silently, always. He'd sigh when he thought of it, recalling the feeling of her delicate fingers in his hand.

His third break up was from Noa. He was passed his mid-twenties at this point, she was barely more than a teen. She was passionate, spirited, and he found that incredibly alluring . Something about her reminded him about his own, not-so-distant youth. She loved sweets, cookies and pastries. One of his favorite pastimes was taking her to a café and watching her eat a dessert by herself. Older women, he thought, worry too much about how they are seen, and about their weight. Noa possessed a wonderful complacency, which helped ease his own self-conscious concerns.

He loved her body, which was young, agile and sprightly. Her skin was still slightly spotty, not overly so, but her body had just begun to blossom, and what a striking bloom it was. From the curve of her collarbones to the curve of her hips, her long legs, her perfect posture. She moved with the grace of someone still ignorant of their own beauty. One day, he knew, she would realize she is far too attractive for him.

Noa never did, apparently. They broke up a year later, when she had just began to fulfill her hidden potential. But Lior grew tired of her incessant talking, and bored with her chosen topics of conversation. He was developing an interest in a fellow student, and the depth of her words drew him away from his young girlfriend.

He said nothing about the other woman, nothing about his fear of faltering and cheating on her. Instead, he gently explained that the age gap was too big for the both of them. She cried for quite a while, and he felt immensely guilty. To calm her, he promised never to eat deserts without her. Not ever. That way, he will never forget the time they spent together, and if they meet again – when they did, he quickly corrected – they could share what they had again, over a chocolate soufflé.

She made him swear to it. And he promised. They kissed, and slept together one last time, in his rented apartment in Tel Aviv. She tasted sweet, but he was full. And still, at times, he would miss her, and desire her, with a fiery passion. As hunger is destined to always return. But she moved on, along with the years, and they hadn't met again, and years later he heard that she married.

The name of the student that caught his eye was Tali. She had auburn hair, green eyes, and was tattooed from her shoulders to her lower back in Maneki-Neko – cat-shaped figurines, lifting one paw, found mostly in the Far East. She wore glasses, and was prone to deep thoughts which appealed to his intellect.

For six months he pursued her. She studied philosophy and East-Asian studies, and always seemed to be one step ahead of him. She agreed to meet him, but avoided his attempts at a kiss on their first date, as well as on the second, third and tenth. She never refused him explicitly, merely smiled to herself, and moved back slightly, out of his reach. With her, he knew, it was true love. He only had eyes for her. When she'd initiate a conversation with him, his heart leapt excitedly. When she was too busy to see him, he'd sink into a deep, brooding melancholy.

He'd won her over when he was already convinced he never would. He'd given up calling her unless she had first, given up on trying to kiss her. All he could do was enjoy her company when she occasionally agreed to grant it. One day she appeared on his doorstep with a cat figurine. He looked at her, puzzled, and asked why she had come. In response she flashed her faint smile and said it was his lucky day. Then she kissed him, teaching him how sweet defeat could be. He never forgot that kiss.

They lasted three years. She was the first women he moved in with, the first he imagined the rest of his life with. She taught him much about the Far East, about the customs of different cultures, about the countries and the differences between them. They travelled there together several times, backpacking from guesthouse to guesthouse, broke and eager to see the world.

The years cooled Lior's eagerness, though, and he'd began thinking of a career, a home and a family. Foreign countries no longer held the same fascination. Her way of thinking, which before had seemed so deep, now seemed banal, trite. Complex notions about the nature of the world suddenly struck him as the foolish musings of a girl who refuses to grow up. She wanted them to spend all of their savings on traveling the globe, instead of pooling them to buy a house.

The got to talking, and quickly after that to arguing, and fighting. Day by day, the tension between them grew thicker. Despite this, when he broke up with her, they were both surprised. One moment came the question: Do you even want to be with me? And the next moment came the unthinking reply: no.

With Tali he left the Far East. He will never travel again. But neither could he taste green tea, eat sushi, watch Chinese, or Japanese, or Indian cinema. He left it with her, anything related to the countries they travelled together. It was not something she ever asked from him – rather, he could no longer stand to see those things without a lump rising in his throat.

He missed her dearly when he remained in their apartment alone. She moved abroad, and he remained in the country. Sometimes he thought he saw her, walking down the street, and his breath would catch in his throat until he took a closer look. The one oriental remnant he kept from their time together was the small lucky cat she gave him on the day of their first kiss.

A year later he met Limor. She was several years older than him, a level-headed banker, in a body which maintained its slenderness despite the years it has borne. Lior didn't think he could love again after Tali, but Limor managed to change his mind. They met through mutual friends, and something about her small, clever comments brought a smile to his lips. She wasn't cynical or snide, just witty, and quick to respond.

She was the one doing the courting, this time. At first she'd arrange gatherings in which they'd 'happen to' bump into each other, and when they became slightly more familiar, she invited him over for coffee. He agreed, because she could make him laugh, and because he hadn't been capable of being with a woman since Tali. But Limor slept with him that night, and the nights after that.

He thought it was temporary, just until she tired of him. But her soft cheek, pressed against chest at night, caused him to reconsider. This grown woman, who seemingly knew exactly what she wanted, possessed a fragile side, as well. The contrast captivated him, completely. The fact that he could provide her with security, and receive the same in kind, restored some of the happiness he had lost. After a month he moved in with her.

Their love was not fiery, but full, well-rounded, and satisfying. With her he learned to love museums, quiet evenings at home together, the company of good friends, and the joy of cooking. Under her influence he began reading more, and in in turn he taught her how to swim, and how to ride a bicycle. She was born and raised in dry, mountainous Jerusalem, he learned upon meeting her family, and therefore never got around to it.

This all ended two years later. Lior knew that she was waiting for him to propose, that she wanted children. But life drew him elsewhere. He was just entering his thirties, a handsome man, who seemed to get more so with age. Women still looked at him, and he at them.

He had begun to notice delicate crow's feet around Limor's eyes. He realized then that, once he started a family with her, this would be his life. Quiet, peaceful, and mediocre. He had a stable job, a stable companion, and a stable glass ceiling. And although every day was, in itself, pleasant, looking forward at the years to come arose a terror in him, a clear, undeniable aversion.

The break up was hard. The grown, level headed woman suddenly shattered between his arms, asking him not to leave. After she restored his ability to love, he had become a fixed point in her life. Stay, he asked, just stay. She was never this happy before him, never will be once he was gone from her life. They had a whole life ahead of them, she urged, children, small evenings in front of the television, family trips to the beach. But every word she said just pushed him further away. And Lior really loved her, with a tenderness he had never before known, but he wanted more from life, he said.

Lior left the following day, leaving a broken woman in his wake. He heard that she married several months later. Possibly she had settled for a life of compromise, now that she believed the love of her life had left. He left with her their mutual friends, the museums, the peaceful nights, the soft cheek pressed against his chest. He had lost northern Tel Aviv and Jerusalem, all at once. It was the only way he knew to leave people's lives.

He met Michal on the internet, eighteen months after Limor. There was a seven year gap between them. She was twenty-six. A talented illustrator with a fierce love for comic-books, she stormed into his life. She had ambition, determination, and a real drive to be the best at what she did. He fell for her instantly, just from their late-night Facebook messengers conversations.

She had short brown hair, mischievous eyes, and she postponed their first date for a month. But once they had met, all hell broke loose. He had never been so captivated by a woman before. He delved deep into her hopes and dreams, drawn after her burning desire to accomplish her goals. He became her agent, seeking out contests to send her art to, finding her work in the field. Each of her successes became his, as well. They lived in southern Tel Aviv together, in a small apartment paid for by his salary. He was happy. Their meals were small, but excellent, because Michal loved to cook. Their means were meager, and their shower ran only cold water. His days were spent watching her leaning over a tablet connected to her laptop, illustrating with her tongue peeking out of her teeth in concentration. When he looked at her, his heart flooded with emotion.

They lasted a year. Michal was making steady progress, working odd jobs and booking exhibits. Her salary began to equal his, and concurrently her need for his help diminished. The better things were, the more Lior's interest in her faded. Her art no longer astounded him – while her talent was evident, her style was beginning to bore him. The fight that broke between them was about something else entirely, something trivial. The words that followed, however, cut deep. She left the apartment that very night, and Lior was relieved, more than anything.

Now his life was vacant from any type of art. He could no longer cook, walk through parks, or eat desserts at cafés. He gave up on Facebook and the Far East, on small evenings at home, on Tel-Aviv, Jerusalem and vanilla ice-cream. And still he persisted, into the next relationship, and the next. He lost reading, riding bicycles, drinking in bars. And for every relationship he gave another thing up, because that was his custom, his way of remembering the women who passed through his life. It was the least he could give them, after breaking their hearts. A small part of himself, left behind. Until one day he found himself forty years old, or perhaps nearer to fifty.

He met Lilac sitting alone on a street bench. He was living in Kfar-Saba at the time, not too far from the mall. No longer a young man, but still handsome, with a smile that only became more charming with time due to the lines formed around his eyes, looking at the darkening evening sky. She was younger than him, a bit over thirty. She had warm brown eyes, and a puzzled look. She was curious about him, as she'd noticed him sitting there before.

As it turned out, they were neighbors. And they shared the hobby of observing the night sky. For a while, they were content with meeting on that bench and exchanging some words. At first, Lior mostly kept quiet – but once she began questioning him he opened up, and replied with questions of his own. He discovered that Lilac is a graphic designer, loves to read, adored chocolate, and enjoys cooking as well as long walks and travelling. The more he listened, the more he realized how little he had to offer her.

After some time, during which they'd only meet on the bench, she offered that they head for a café. They lived near the street market, the weather was getting chilly, and a persistent, irritating drizzle had begun. He agreed, as this was still within the realm of his possible actions, although two relationships ago he was compelled to give up coffee, and after the last one, tea. So there they sat, Lilac with a cup of tea and a chocolate soufflé, Lior with a glass of water and a ponderous gaze.

Her curiosity was piqued when she noticed his refusal to taste the soufflé, of even look at it. She inquired cautiously at first, then insistently, then eagerly. Lior tried to avoid answering, change the subject, ask questions of his own, but Lilac's dogged curiosity prevailed. Eventually he subscribed to telling her about Noa, her appetite for chocolate, and his promise to her. She laughed at first, and then realized that he was serious. Slowly, like peeling off the layers of an onion, or perhaps a bandage off an unsightly wound, she asked about the other women in his life. And bit by bit, he revealed them all to her. He'd never forgotten a single one, and spoke of them with sorrow-tinted affection. Remnants of fossilized love preserved in chunks of life. He spoke of long walks in the park with Maya, of traveling the Far East with Tali. He sighed sadly through his tales of his days with Limor and Michal's art. He revealed to her the people he once was, men who'd adapted to transient women, men he was forced to leave behind.

Then he smiled, as that was still his privilege, and the lines around his eyes deepened. And Lilac breathed deeply, and invited him to her place. He conceded, although there were many positions, by this point, that belonged only to others. But she was skilled, and encompassing, and her touch was gentle and firm, and brought out the passion that was still concealed within him. And when they were finished, she lay over him, her legs still wrapped around him, and her arms pressing his head against her ample chest.

He had little left to offer, but he offered it willingly, joyously. And she settled for the things he still could do, as if he were a much older man, well past his prime. She exposed every side and corner of him, and revived the past through her questions. They spent most of their time at that same café, in the Kfar Saba street market. They spent the summer sitting on that same bench, and at night they'd always head for her place, making love in a fashion that, while limited, left them both satisfied.

He knew their time together was limited. It always was. It didn't stop him from loving her. Over the years his emotions flowed with less turmoil, but more depth. From the well of his experience he drew love for everything she was. He no longer knew what would remain of him when he decides to break up with her. He never expected that she would be the one to end it.

One day she took him to the café, and when he noticed she was playing with her soufflé, he asked what was wrong. Her words were gentle, but clear. She saw no future for them. Lior was too shocked to respond, or argue. But when she said she had one request from him, he was all ears. This was familiar ground. This he could hold on to. He wondered what she would like to take from him. Kfar-Saba? Cafés? The bench, the sky? His speech? He smiled inwardly. No matter, no matter. This was always the deal he agreed to when he met someone new. He blinked upon hearing her request. Twice. Once from disbelief, twice from the tears it incited. For the first time, he was asked to give up something that truly pained him. He had difficulty breathing, talking. She repeated her request, and he sighed.

"Lior," Lilac asked softly. "Let's go have some vanilla ice-cream."

Time to give up the past.

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A story from the book: "On Love and Other Fables", by Tea. Available for purchase on Amazon at: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06WLKYHTY

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