I Love You, Elian Belt

A modern day Romeo and Juliet with fewer sword fights, more cars, and plenty of kissing.

Her hair couldn’t be controlled; it whipped around her tanned face and stuck on her lips, courtesy of the blue lip gloss she was wearing. Her sunglasses made it impossible to see her eyes, but I knew if I pulled them off, I would see how the blue irises shone in the reddish-orange light of the sun. I had one hand on the wheel and the other around her shoulders. We were taking a road trip along the Pacific Coast Highway, a winding road stretching nearly the length of the West Coast. My 2004 Pontiac Aztec, (also known as the ugliest car in the world,) was barely up to the task, having wheezed along slowly the entire ride. I was no stranger to the sounds of horns behind us, usually from cars sick of tailgating at forty-five miles an hour. We had started the trip in Newport Beach, where we both lived, and I was currently driving north. Elian said we should aim for Portland, but I think she was kidding. I hope.

The Pontiac, also called Phil, had started off well-stocked with granola bars, apples, energy drinks, books, and Elian’s ukulele. The snack supply had dwindled since, and I knew the scenic parts of the drive, like we were on now, had fewer convenience stores. I was forced to curb my habit of eating when bored, and turned to other sources of entertainment. Elian had spoiled the plots of all of the new books I had brought along, which inspired my conversation strike for a few hours. She melted my resolve with a rendition of the full Wicked album, accompanied with the ukulele. We had played games too, slugbug, alphabet, rock-paper-scissors, etc.. Elian mostly just wanted me to drive with her hands over my eyes or roll down the windows to take pictures. Her polaroid camera had made me the subject of a few photos, but Elian always made a face when they developed. I asked her why after a particularly flattering cross-eyed photo of me flipping off the steering wheel emerged. 

“The camera never captures how incredible you look,” she said matter-of-factly. 

I never believed her for a second. Elian was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my life, and I could never believe she was mine, and our lived were shaping up better than I could have ever imagined. We were both attending UC Berkeley in the fall, I was planning to major in biology, and Elian was… still deciding. Her thoughts on the subject were actually something like, “I don’t give a damn,” but I was hoping she would be a writer and publish some of the poetry she wrote. I had never been the subject, she told me writing poetry about the love of one’s life was positively the most cliche thing one could do. 

The drive had been stunning so far, offering views of sprawling forests and detours to the ocean and museums had made it even better. I checked in with my parents every couple days; they were mildly concerned about letting me go on a multi-week road trip with my girlfriend, (and no one else) but they were always into free-range parenting. I’m kidding (mostly). My parents had always trusted me, and they loved Elian almost as much as I did. The first time she met them, she brought over some of her mother’s famous pies, talked about her volunteer job at an animal shelter, discussed her plans to travel around the world, and by the end of dinner, had my parents thinking she was the perfect girlfriend in the world for me. While my dad and I were setting up the first Star Wars movie to watch in the den, (while my mother and Elian did the dishes) he asked casually, 

“So are we going to be seeing more of Elian?”

I obviously hoped so, but didn’t want to jinx anything, so I noncommittally shrugged. Later that night, when Obi-Wan is offering Luke his father’s old lightsaber, my phone lit up. It was a message from Elian. 

E: So I guess I might be seeing more of you? *shrugs*

Me: I can’t believe u saw that. Eavesdropper…

E: “ wasn’t eavesdropping, I was bringing popcorn to the den, but then I heard your dad ask about me and then I saw you shrug. What’s your actual answer?

Me: I didn’t want to jinx anything…

E: Superstition is your excuse? :(

Me: I’m not superstitious, just didn’t want to make u feel trapped if u want to leave

E: So you’re giving me a way out?

Me: Do u want 1?

E: HELL NO. I’m in it for the long run. 

Me: <3 

Elian’s hand snuck under the blanket to mine and entwined it. I turned my head and smiled at her. Illuminated by the screen, she looked luminous. When the credits rolled, my parents left the room to clean up the popcorn, and I looked at her proudly. 

“Did you like the movie?” I asked. 

“It gets better the more you watch it,” she replied. 

I shifted my weight closer to her and rested my head on her shoulder. She smelled clean, like laundry detergent, but not too much like chemicals. Just clean. If angels could smell like something, it would smell like Elian Belt. I took a deep breath and brought my head up to hers.

She asked “Are you trying to make a move?” 

“Um…” I said, as my brilliant response. 

She started to say something, but I pressed my mouth on hers and she shut up. 

The first time Elian coughed up blood was during a picnic. We had taken a hike in Crystal Cove State Park, which left her out of breath and coughing. 

“It’s just my asthma,” she reassured me, “it acts up during the allergy season.” 

It was November, one of the best months for allergy sufferers, something I knew because of my sister, who suffered from grass and pollen allergies almost year round. I didn’t want to press the issue though, and just offered Elian some water as she tried to hack up her lungs. The tissue she held in front of her mouth was spotted red. I almost laughed. That was the most cliche sign of sickness. The spotted tissue. 

“Why is this funny?” Elian asked. 

She sounded annoyed. I hastened to apologize and explain. Elian started to laugh. This brought on another coughing episode, but I was glad she could see the humor. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I have to do something else cliche-esque. It’s lung cancer. Small cell.”

“Small cell. The type of cancer your aunt passed away from?” I inquired. She nodded. “Are you going to die?” I asked. 

“Yes,” she answered. 

Me: How’s the hospital treating you?

E: Oh, you mean besides the chemo?

Me: Yeah, just the general overview. What they would put on a brochure of the hospital.

E: Newport Children’s Hospital was the best thing that’s happened to me since my diagnosis. I’m fighting this disease with qualified nurses and specialists from everywhere around the world! They even hold back my hair while I puke up breakfast! 

Me: Not a good day then? :(

E: I feel like crap. When are you visiting?

Me: I can’t, remember? At my cousin’s wedding. 

E: S**t, sorry. I forgot. Stupid freaking cancer, must be spreading to my brain. 

Me: Don’t say that. 

E: CLICHE JAR FOR YOU! 

Me: D****t. 

E: I’ll forgo the normal donation to the jar if you bring me a new book when you come to visit. 

Me: I see what you’re doing, trying to rope me into visiting more. 

E: Nope, just guilt tripping you. Poor me, poison dripping into my veins. Can I get my best friend/lover to visit please?

Me: Any suggestions when I stop at the bookstore?

E: Nothing with vampires or angsty teenage narrators please. 

Me: You’re an angsty teenage narrator. 

E: At least I’m cute. 

Me: I’ll see you tomorrow! 

Elian’s funeral was by-the-book boring. Yes, criticizing a funeral is awful, but it wasn’t what Elian would have wanted. Fortunately, I was spared the angst. Her instructions for a proper funeral were enclosed in an envelope she gave me the last time I saw her. 

Elian looked haggard. Her skin was mottled with bruises as a result of the tubes and wires digging into her skin. The chemotherapy took away her appetite, and she had lost weight. Her bones were trying to dig themselves out of her skin. My eyes teared up at this woman, the love of my life, reduced to a bag of bones in a hospital bed. Elian could see the horror on my face and flipped me off. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” she said bitterly, “everyone does it now.”

I rushed over to the bed and kissed her forehead. I stroked her hair and kissed my way down her face until my lips met hers. 

“You are the most beautiful woman in the world. I will love you forever,” I whispered. 

“It’s not fair,” Elain said, her voice wobbly, “we never even had sex.”

I couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up out of my throat. 

“We don’t need sex,” I protested, “it’s just the cherry on the sundae, no virginity pun intended.”

Elian kissed me. 

“I’m sorry,” she breathed. 

“Don’t you dare apologize for making my life meaningful,” I told her.

The details of our goodbye weren’t special. Elian was drained from fighting cancer, and I didn’t want to spoil the moment. We kissed. There wasn’t crying or proclamations of eternal love. I simply told Elian I loved her, said goodbye, and walked out of the room. I couldn’t stand the idea of being there when she died, and Elian shared my sentiments. There was to be no 3AM phone call that would spur buckets of tears. It was better this way. 

Elian’s instructions for her second funeral were simple as well. I came back to the cemetery the day after the funeral. All the cards and flowers were still there, but I placed an envelope in-between two bouquets. It contained a letter and a ring. The letter read:

Dear Elian,

Contained in this envelope is a letter and a ring. The following sentences are the ones I would have said had I proposed:

Elian, 

The first time I saw you was at a school function for new students. You were wearing a white dress, with a flower crown I pronounced “very hippie.” I asked you to dance and I was a goner. You are the love of my life and I thank anything and everything for every experience I’ve had, good and bad, because it led me to you. You are the center of the universe to me, and I want to spend the rest of my life making you the happiest woman alive. The years you have spent as my girlfriend have been the happiest of my life. I would like you to give your permission to make us wife and wife. I love you, Elian Belt. Will you marry me?