As long as I’ll still live

July 8, 2023

“Don’t stay away too long, honey... we’ll drive at six tomorrow, right?”

Jessica, efficient as ever, had everything prepared to perfection. The packed suitcases were lined up in the hallway, all I had to do was stack them in the car, ready for the Costa. She had arranged everything routinely. A woman in a million.

The weeks before the vacation had been a madhouse at the office again. The last piles of work were done and then, stiff with stress, she was gone. It was l’Estartit, Jessica’s favorite, for the third time. If Jessica enjoyed it, I enjoyed it too.

During dinner, a pizza in front of the TV, I had remembered that I had run out of razor blades. Quickly to the supermarket.

“OK Jessie...” I called back, before closing the front door behind me. “I’ll be right back!”

Unlike my usual, I decided to walk the one kilometer to the supermarket. It was a sultry summer evening, the end of a sweltering July day. I enjoyed the sounds of the summer evening and the smells of barbecues from the gardens and felt the stress disappear. I should do this more often, just get out for half an hour in the evening.

The birds in the giant oak trees were, against their habit, completely silent. In the distance the sky was starting to darken. It was inevitable: a thunderstorm was coming. I decided to take the risk and to quickly walk on.

I had quickly bought my razor blades in the supermarket. I wanted to go outside again, when I suddenly stood there, petrified.

At the other checkout, a woman was paying for a roll of peppermints. She put her wallet away, brushed a lock of her curly blond hair out of her face, turned around and looked at me with her bright blue eyes.

Silence... like in a stopped movie.

“Erik...?”

“Anja...”

“What... how are you?” I finally managed to say. My God... her face. I would have recognized it out of a thousand. She had become a bit fuller. Her unruly curls now in a shorter cut. Fine lines around her eyes, which suited her well.

“I’m fine, Erik,” she replied after some hesitation. “And you?”

Well, what do you say to someone you haven’t seen for 24 years?

“Shall we... catch up? A cup of coffee in the espresso bar next door?” I asked finally.

“OK…” she said, smiling. “Sounds nice.”

“You look great, Erik,” Anja opened, after we had sat down by the window.

“You too, Anja... you look great.” The maturity of a woman in her early 40s suited her well.

“Tell me, Erik…” she said encouragingly, looking at me again, sipping her coffee in the meantime.

I started to tell. My studies, Jessica, the children, my work. Everyday life, career struggles and successes. 24 years in a nutshell.

Outside, the thunderstorm broke. The rain lashed against the windows. I thought about the past decades in a nutshell. I certainly hadn't done badly.

Or so I thought.

Until today. For the moment, I didn’t know anymore.

"And you, Anja..." I felt an irresistible urge to know what life had brought her.

She looked at me. A smile, in which I saw something despondent.

"I stayed in Singapore for sixteen years. Got married there too. Not a bad life, Erik... but it just wasn't going well. "Her eyes slid outside, somewhere in the distance.

"Singapore is rich. People work, buy expensive things and live their successful lives in their little country." She stirred her coffee with the spoon, which contained no milk or sugar.

"It didn't work out. We were partners, but not lovers. Brother and sister. And with your brother you try to arrange everything on good terms.  We succeeded in doing so. We parted ways almost on business terms. There wasn’t even any grief. And that's how it went with Singapore. Sixteen years, but it never became my city.”

“I was almost 35. My family had been back for years, so the Netherlands was a logical choice. I found a job at Unicef. It gives me a lot of satisfaction.”

Silence. Once again I bridged a quarter of a century in my thoughts. I was confused, wanted to go back to 1999 for a moment.She guessed my thoughts.

“It was the most beautiful summer of my life, Erik,” she whispered.

I actually had to go home. We would leave early tomorrow and I would really need my night’s rest. I apologized, walked to the toilets and called Jessica.

“Where are you, honey,” she asked. “It’s raining cats and dogs.”

“I just went into the espresso bar, Jes,” I answered, at least not telling a lie. Later I would tell her ‘honestly’ that I had had coffee there with a former school friend. Or should I say ‘classmate’? I didn’t want to hurt Jessica’s feelings.

“Just wait until it’s dry, honey. I’m going to bed. See you later...”

From the half-open door, I saw Anja dabbing her eyes with a napkin. I didn't want to embarrass her and closed the door audibly before I walked back to our table.

There were silences, in which we were each alone with our own thoughts. Thoughts of how differently everything could have turned out. Soon we would each go our own way again. Maybe keep in touch. Or maybe it would be better not to.

 Anja saw through me. "Let's not spoil what we have had together, Erik. It was so beautiful. Sometimes I can still drift off for a moment. And I always will. As long as I’ll still live."

We knew it was time. Outside, there was the inevitable goodbye. She took my hand.

"Nice to have talked to you for a moment, Erik. Good luck." A soft smile. Soft, but still, something unfathomable.

"You too, Anja... good luck... take good care of yourself."

I stroked her cheek; wiped away a tear. I remembered my last words 24 years ago: "Good luck." Something stopped me from repeating those words.

I walked away, turned around one more time. I waved, Anja waved softly back and I walked into the gathering twilight.

July 8 - 22, 2023

During our vacation I slowly came to rest. Jessica was worried. I promised that I would take more rest from now on. Sun, sea and delicious food did the rest. We enjoyed ourselves to the fullest.

On the last evening, we had a nightcap on the hotel terrace. In the twilight the sea was peaceful. We snuggled up close to each other and enjoyed the silence.

Around eleven we walked back hand in hand. In our hotel room we passionately said goodbye to l’Estartit.

A wonderful vacation, were my last thoughts, as I inhaled the salty sea air from Jessica’s hair.

June 1999

In the fifth year we became classmates. With her unruly head of light blond curly hair, I liked her right away.

During Creative Education she cut her hand with a razor blade. Someone screamed terribly. Then deathly silence, like in a paused movie. She just looked at her hand, where the blood was gushing out, her face deathly pale. I digged whatever I could find out of the first aid kit and started dabbing blood. In First Aid class we practiced with fake wounds, but this was so horribly real. I managed to apply a pressure bandage. “A car!” I screamed. “We got to go to a doctor!”

Mr. Meyer, our math teacher, drove up. I led Anja to the back seat, sat down next to her and we left for the first aid post.

 She started to cry softly. I didn't know what to do. Comfort her? Put an arm around her? As always I had no text. I found a pack of tissues and clumsily wiped her tears from her cheeks.

“Thank you,” she said softly, sobbing. Through her tear-filled eyes I saw a faint smile. With her good hand she took mine.

After an hour the wound was stitched. I had managed to convince Mr. Meyer that we would be fine. A taxi to take Anja home seemed like a good investment.

We sat in the backseat again. I searched desparately for words.

“You okay?” was all I could manage.

“Hold me, Erik… please…”

July-August 1999

That summer holiday we were inseparable. We often cycled through the area or wandered for hours on the heath, enjoying the long summer.

One Friday evening we lay lazily in the grass at a quiet spot by the water, hand in hand, enjoying the falling darkness.

“I have to tell you something, Erik,” she said suddenly. I half straightened up and looked at her questioningly.

“I’m moving, Erik. Three more weeks.” I saw her eyes get moist.

“To Singapore.”

The following weeks we were together, whenever we could. It seemed as if we wanted to make the most of those last weeks. Not wanting to realise that this summer holiday would ever end.

Three weeks passed. It was a balmy Saturday evening at our favorite spot by the water. As the sun set, we sat against each other, drinking the last bit of a bottle of wine we brought with us. This time the silence was different. A silence that meant that we were both thinking about the same thing. Next Monday. The countdown had begun.

I turned to her, grabbed her by both arms and wanted to blurt it out: how terrible I felt that she was leaving. She put her index finger on my lips. “No Erik... don’t... please don’t...”

I saw her eyes get moist, but she wasn’t crying. She pressed herself against me. “Erik...” she whispered in my ear. “I want to share something with you, Erik... I never want to forget you...”

I looked deep into her eyes. Her lips parted slightly, barely visible.

“Erik...” she whispered. “Come here… with me...”

I laid on my back, my arm around Anja. She laid close to me, her warm skin against mine, her head on my shoulder. It was almost dark. A serene silence, except the quacking on the water of a last duck.

I listened to Anja’s regular breathing, wishing I could stop time.

“Are you happy, Erik?” I heard Anja whisper.

“Very happy.” I stroked her curls.

“Me too, Erik... I’ve never been so happy in my live.”

The next day was Sunday, the day before we left.

After spending a while at her house that evening, it was time to say goodbye. Anja walked with me into the backyard, where my bike was. She looked at me, her eyes moist. She took my hand and held it for a moment.

“Goodbye, Erik. Good luck.” A soft smile.

“You too, Anja... good luck... take care of yourself,” was all I could say. She kissed me softly on the mouth.

I caressed her cheek, wiped away a tear.

“Have a good trip... and... all the luck in your life...”

I got on my bike, a final hug. Then I rode away, into the dusk.

September 10, 2023

It was a lazy Friday. In the park next to my office, I was sitting on a bench enjoying my lunch break, when a woman stopped by me. Her pale eyes gave her a sad appearance. Her hands were intertwined. She was having a hard time at that moment.

“Excuse me... Mr. Molenkamp?”

I hesitated for a moment and nodded in agreement.

“Do you mind if I sit down for a moment?”

I felt my throat go dry. I pointed to the empty seat with my hand.

“Mr. Molenkamp... I am Trudy Veldhuizen...

... a sister of Anja.”

I couldn’t say a word. I felt the blood gushing through my temples. A sister of Anja. And she came to tell me something bad. I could see it in her posture. I heard it in her voice, even though I had never met her before.

“Mr. Molenkamp...”

“Just call me Erik.”

“I’ll just get straight to the point… Erik…” She paused for a moment and then looked straight at me.

“Anja is sick.”

I remained calm. I wanted to shake everything out of her, but I held back.

“What’s wrong with her?” I whispered, too hoarse to speak.

Trudy looked away.

“She has only a few weeks left. One or two months, maybe.” Silence.

“She’s going to die, Erik.”

We sat next to each other, speechless, a strange dissonance in the sunny park. A tear rolled down Trudy’s cheek. I didn’t dare ask her what was wrong with her, probably already knowing the answer. What kind of illness does a young woman have who only has one or two months to live?

While Trudy continued to stare into space, she suddenly said it, her voice flat and measured.

“Stomach cancer.”

Anja hadn’t wanted to believe it at first, but had just had to accept it. She hadn't wanted to give in, had even started living healthier just to have another chance. In vain.

I thought back to the look in Anja's eyes, a few months ago. The constant staring into the distance, when we were sitting in the espresso bar.

With a shock I remembered what she said that evening:

"Let's not spoil what we had together, Erik. It was so beautiful. Sometimes I can still drift off. And I always will. As long as I'll still live."

As long as I'll still live. Not: as long as I'll live', but: as long as I'll still live. I felt the blood drain from my face. She had known that she was terminally ill and yet she had been reminiscing about our adolescent memories. I felt like I was going to fall to the ground.

Trudy nudged me. "Are you feeling okay, Erik? You look as pale as a sheet."

"Yes... I'm okay," I answered as I came back to reality. “Sorry. I didn’t want to upset you. It’s no coincidence that I met you here, Erik. I waited for you at your office, then walked behind you. I talked to Anja about this for a long time. It was her wish that I visited you.”

She took an envelope from her bag and handed it to me.

“From Anja. She told me about you, Erik. About a month ago. And she asked me...”

“I want to see her!” I interrupted her.

Trudy slowly shook her head.

“Sorry, Erik. I had to swear to Anja that I wouldn’t tell her where she is.” She couldn’t control herself anymore and started to cry. I grabbed her arm and tried to comfort her a little. I was still numb myself.

“Sorry Erik... I really have to go,” she whispered after a few minutes. She got up and walked back, towards the road, leaving me with an envelope and a thousand questions. In the distance I saw her running for a bus that was just arriving. She got in, and the bus drove away. I walked slowly back to the office.

Arriving at the office, I closed the door of my room behind me and sat down. With trembling fingers, I opened the envelope. I drifted away from reality when I read her letter.

My dear Erik,

I have thought long and hard before writing you this letter. Now that you have received this letter, you have heard from Trudy that I am ill.

After we met last June, I had a hard time making a decision. What was best? Parting like old friends... a farewell... keeping our good memories? Or playing it straight, telling you the truth, which might hurt you a lot?

I have never cared much for predestination, but it is strange how differently you look at things when your life changes so drastically. Our last meeting may have had a reason. Maybe to say goodbye to you?

I could not bring myself to tell you last July, but I was not at peace with it. Didn't you notice something anyway? And imagine if you had to hear it later from someone else.

Now that I am writing this letter, I know that this is the right decision, Erik. You have the right to know what is happening to me. If you don't deserve it, who does?

I wish you all the luck in your future life, Erik. You deserve it like no other.

Good luck,

Anja.

December 31, 2023

The atmosphere at the office has traditionally been exuberant. We have hardly worked. We have mainly drunk coffee and eaten doughnuts. I have seen the fireworks go off online in Sydney and Tokyo. At three o'clock we ended the day with a modest New Year's Eve drink. Everyone wanted to get to family, friends, or the pub on time.

***

Four o'clock. I am the last to leave. I look into the dark office one more time and activate the alarm. A car drives out of the parking lot, honking loudly. Then deathly silence. A wave of melancholy washes over me.

I drive out of the parking lot, into the twilight. A nostalgic New Year's Eve melody sounds on the radio.

I don't want to go home yet. Instead of turning right, I drive straight ahead. After 10 minutes, I turn into the parking lot, get out, and continue walking. The gravel crunches under my shoes. It is getting dark quickly now. I dive deeper into my coat. The mist of my breath dissolves in the windless evening air.

I sit down on the bench and stare at the inscription. ‘Anja Veldhuizen. May 28, 1981 – November 14, 2023.’ Simple, as she probably wanted herself.

I close my eyes. While the chill of the evening moves up my limbs to my chest, the warmest moment of my life plays out in my head.

It has become dark. The cold has taken possession of me. It is time to go. I am going to give my family an unforgettable New Year’s Eve. As a truly loving husband, son, son-in-law, and father.

I walk to my car and start the engine. As I slowly drive away, the gravel crunching under my tires, the heater starts blowing warm air and warming my feet.

On my way home. On my way to 2024.