sajnos kerry means “unfortunately” in magyar. eve learned it when we visited her relatives in székesfehérvár, where we drank mulled wine in a room covered in rugs and tapestries, pictures of her family on the walls, a little white dog named ilka that looked like a mop. the word became a joke between us. “i burned the rice,” eve said, and sighed. “sajnos.” “the bus is late, sajnos,” i said, antsy, fidgety, hopping from one foot to the other. i was surprised by how frequently that word unfurled from my mouth, how often we smirked, rolled our eyes, and chuckled: sajnos, sajnos. i still hear it echo in my head, but eve is far away and i have no one to say it to. she’d buzzed her hair like i had the year before, said it had been so long it used to reach her breasts. she was starting fresh, she said. i wanted to start fresh but forgot how when i received an unexpected love letter from will. (that never panned out; it was too late.) eve and i swapped clothes, stumbled home in the dark together, took 12-hour train rides, went to the bathhouse where people stared at eve’s unshaven armpits and old men played chess in the pool and the water was so hot it took my breath away and turned my toes to strawberries. we didn’t have internet at home, did our work at szimpla, our second home. we became regulars at the israeli cafe, ate falafel and hummus in the annex. turned in glass bottles for change at the corner store, hung out at the anchor bar until 3am when we were the only ones left. she’d come from ohio with a case of winstons and tons of clothes while i wore the same few outfits over and over. she had a habit of falling asleep sprawled out like a starfish with the light on, and i slept on the living room floor on a mattress that unfolded from an armoire, murphy-bed style. from our balcony in buda we could see the river, the lights of pest. from my window we could see the castle. one night in june we were all drinking and toasting the semester at a beer garden sparkling with fairy lights. i squirmed a bit when tyler slung his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close to his side, and eve told me i didn’t have to let him touch me. i don’t remember what i said--i was 21, blissed-out, drunker than i’d ever been--but it was glib, unkind. becky put me on a night bus and crossed her fingers i’d make it home, and eve wouldn’t speak to me in the morning until i’d vomited all over the sidewalk on my way to buy milk from the corner store. “sajnos,” she said when i came back to the apartment, sour-breathed and sweaty. “everything was fine until i saw this side of you.” 211202 what's it to you? who go blather from