Chapter XV.
Oksana did one kind deed for me on my second trip. She washed my clothes in my bathtub, with detergent that I had brought from the United States.
Then she rang out all of my clothes and handed them to me. I hung them all over my apartment for the better part of thirty-six hours.
Some would dry, due to the fact that the wet clothes were placed on top of his heaters. I had some other clothes that stained on the varnish of the closet.
On the same day, Tuesday, March 24, 2004, the day prior to my final exodus from Odessa, we ate at Mario's together for the last time.
Oksana was wearing her sunglasses, and did not look towards my eyes. Her blue eyes were pure ice; her lips shot straight across. Sure enough, I broke down and cried. Oksana refused to shed a tear. She exhibited a cruel, villainous portrait.
Oksana had a bad habit of ruining the March trip by shutting down all of her inhibitions, and turning herself into an emotional piece of furniture. Metaphorically speaking, of course.
No sensitivity, self-centered, sordid, and hostile towards me. She did not foster enough gravitational pull, or any yearning to return to Odessa.
We returned to the apartment, one last time before my departure. I knew this would be the last time I would kiss her, touch her, or look her into her eyes.
Oksana said to me in clear English, “Real Men Don't Cry.” Those four words broke my heart in one-hundred small pieces. I managed to give her one final goodbye kiss.
The love that was supposed to last a lifetime was cut short. However, I was thankful that we did not make it to the alter. She would never be my lifeblood or my sustaining essence.
My return flight home presented me with no tears once I reached the airport. On Wednesday, March 24, 2004, I was starting a new Chapter in my life.
Oksana left me between the Odessa Central Airport front doors, and the trunk of the Mercedes that we came there in. I got all of my own luggage out; all her pretty gifts were pushed to the side.
I received no farewell kiss, no words conveying gratitude, no loving smile. I looked back into her eyes, one last time, after I had cleared passport control; I just saw blue glass, and her pouty frown.
I was told on his July 2003 trip to Odessa that Ukrainian's express their emotions more with their eyes than with their smiles. The interpreter (Ludmila) conveyed this. I remember telling the customs official that final day I had nothing to declare (very candidly), because my fiance’e took it all (with a smirk).
The Greek word Koinonia, meaning Sharing something in common, would adequately describe the love I felt for Oksana during our first visit. However, I felt bitterness in my heart where there was once genuine love and trust.