The Books They Gave Me

Duras.

She gave me her copy just before moving in, telling me how it haunted her. She was studying abroad for the year, more exotic and energetic than anyone I knew. During the day she studied drama and in the evenings we’d read aloud, quietly. She let me see things through her eyes and we thought we were in love. I was too young to understand nuance, too dim to see how little she got back from me. I was away traveling when she started an affair, bringing someone else back into my bed. In my rage I burned this book at my kitchen sink, leaving a scar in the countertop. Years later and she lives in my country, while I live in hers.