Memorable B-Sides: Andrey Romanov’s “The Window”

The Memorable B-Sides series spotlights writing and art submitted to us that weren’t selected for print, but that are fantastic in their own right. Each introduction tells you why we returned to the piece. As a disclaimer — we aren’t experts, only fans offering possible interpretations.

“I told you, I know nothing. I know books, and I know how to string words together — it doesn’t mean I know how to speak about the things that matter most to me.” — André Aciman, Call Me by Your Name

There’s a certain silence that some of us aren’t quite ready to break, or to break out of perhaps. The long, cold night looms; fantasy remains fantasy. “The Window” by Andrey Romanov is a sparse, poignant piece of fiction about the silence of a young man, John, who loves another young man — from a distance. I am particularly moved by John’s interior battle: “He wanted to run away, to stay, to talk to somebody, to keep his feelings to himself, to get up and move, to remain in the couch…” He cannot find the courage to breathe a word. In many ways, this is sheer realism, based on the stigma of such love, even now — and it breaks my heart. Having just watched Call Me by Your Name for probably the eleventh time or so, in which Elio and Oliver fall in love with each other one idyllic summer in Italy, I read Andrey’s story and recognize that some individuals are stuck in a sort of winter, still unliberated. Not everyone has an Italian summer home or even parents who will listen and understand. “The Window” calls attention to a struggle many people, regardless of their gender, silently sit with.

“The Window”

John was sitting in his couch and looking out of the window. Only one light was on in the living room, and it was rather dark, but very comfortable. He was looking at the snowflakes that were slowly falling down on the ground giving a great performance while conducting the flight; they were dancing, and moving, and showing all of their great sides and patterns.

It was not very long until the holiday dinner, but John did not care a bit for Christmas, or for the people around him, who were preparing for the upcoming occasion. A book by one of the classic authors was open on the third page and left flipped on the small table; he did not care to read it. All he wanted was to be left alone for once.

The break at his school had just started, and he was thinking of the upcoming days. He thought he knew what he was going to do, and where he was going to be, but it all seemed unclear at that moment. His thoughts were blurred, and he could only think about him.

***

John lived in a rather big city, in a small apartment on the eleventh floor of the building, with his parents and a sister. It could not be said that he was too happy with his family. His father was rarely at home, his mother was always busy taking care of his sister. He did not get to talk to them often, even when they were all home.

He did not have many friends; in fact, he had none. He was an intellectual: he enjoyed reading and writing. He did not care much for school, although his grades were all passing. Homework was not very important in his school; he just had to pass the tests.

The only motivation to attend school regularly that John had was that one guy in the school; his name was Chris. John had never before experienced anything like what he was feeling now. He felt as though they were connected on a different level than just a conversation or an exchange of looks. In fact, he had never talked to Chris before.

Chris was an athlete, a good student, and a popular kid in the school. He was obviously in the company of the “good old students.” He had never paid attention to John, and thus had never had any contact with him before. He was a rather tall person, and so was John.

***

John had thought of girls before. He had dated a couple in his old school, when he lived in a very rural area of the state. He had never felt anything like what he was feeling now.

***

It was a cold night then. He was sitting in the couch in the living room and looking out of the window. His mother was running around the apartment in search for the presents that she had purchased earlier for her daughter, John’s sister that is. His father was away getting food for the Christmas dinner.

John was sitting in the couch and thinking of nature, of life, of snowflakes, and of Chris.

He had thought before that it was just an odd feeling that he could overcome. He had always thought that he was straight, that he liked girls. He was now thinking of his feelings towards Chris. He decided that it would be, in essence, a useless exercise to try to reject what his own mind and heart were telling. He decided then that what he had felt towards Chris was nothing else but strong affection, or even love.

***

His father returned late that evening with many bags full of meats, salads, deserts, and many other foods for the so very awaited dinner. John did not care to get up from the couch. He was still thinking and looking out of the window. He wanted to run away, to stay, to talk to somebody, to keep his feelings to himself, to get up and move, to remain in the couch… His mind was full of thoughts.

***

The family was all ready to conduct the very traditional ceremony of sitting down together and consuming food. They were ready to say out loud the so necessary prayer to thank the Being for the food that It had given to them. The father called John twice and received no answer. He was irritated by that. He went to the living room, but he did not find John there: the window was open.

Only one light was on in the living room, but it felt cozy and comfortable in the room. The snowflakes were still dancing, and enjoying the flight down to the ground, where they would meet face-to-face with the warmth of the road, with the heat, which would kill them in a matter of seconds, but they did not care: they were just frozen drops of water falling from the sky to find the end of their existence down on the ground.