“A world could be made
in five pages, and one that was more pleasing than a model farm. The childhood
of a spoiled prince could be framed within half a page, a moonlit dash through
sleepy villages was one rhythmically emphatic sentence, falling in love could
be achieved in a single word — a glance. The pages of a recently finished story
seemed to vibrate in her hand with all the life they contained.” –Ian McEwan,
Atonement
I closed my copy of Ian McEwan’s Atonement to take a sip of
chai tea latte. And there it was – a glance. Leaning back against his chair, he
lifted his eyes from the tablet he was holding. The man sitting across me looked
at my direction and smiled. I was
shocked. I stared at him for what seemed like several minutes before I thought
of smiling back. Of course I returned the gesture, but it came too late. It was
just a glance. He looked back down at his tablet, his baseball cap concealing
half of his face. I took a sip from my
drink, and continued reading my book.
But unlike Briony Tallis, I was not writing a story; I was
living my life. I have seen greens and blues and the silver disc that is the
moon. I have been excited and elated, and have felt the rain touch my skin as I
danced in the puddles outside our house. I have experienced anger and pain and
heartbreak, and have caught my ex-lover sleeping with another woman in our
apartment. I was in the real world, and falling in love could not be achieved
by a gesture as simple as a glance.
I stared at my book and pretended to read, while I allow my
deepest thoughts – those thoughts I force myself to overlook – rush into my
mind. The breakup. Tipsy nights. Drunken
fights and drunken mistakes. Friends fighting. Awkward kisses. Impulsive
confessions. Bridges burning. There were even problems about college and
family. After just a few seconds, it
was already too much. All those thinking had made me feel queasy. I took
another sip and thought of my friend who was seated across my seat. It would
take more than a glance to fall in love, more than a few dates and gifts, and
more than a few silly fights. It would take more and more. Him, finding
himself. Him, proving himself. Him, getting over history.
It was a lie that changed Cecilia Tallis and Robbie Turner’s
lives forever. A lie which separated the two until their deaths. I put back my
cup on the table and took a glance at him. I felt nothing. No butterflies that flutter by and perch on
daffodils in the meadows. No birds chirping in a singsong melody. No fireworks
in a dark, evening sky. Nothing. And there I said it – the lie that changed our
lives forever.