Chapter 4
I don’t know where I am going, I am running just to get away from the place where I have lived till today.
When my cell phone rings it startles me. I suspect it’s my mother, the person who calls herself my mother. She has the habit of calling me in the middle of the day for no real reason, making up a different excuse every time. I am tempted to smash the cell phone, but then I read “Joshua” on the display.
I stop running.
“Joshua. I’ll come over”, I say before he gets a chance to speak
“Sounds good. See you in a while then”, Joshua replies, and hangs up
We don’t need too many words to understand each other, Joshua and I. Joshua is the only real buddy I have. We love each other and we do so freely, we are lovers when and if we please. He never got offended when I went missing in action because school imposed its meat-grinding pace on me, and welcomed my return when I went back to I knock at his door. And I always went back as soon as I could. There are other people crossing my life, it happens all the time, but after a while they disappear because I don’t have the patience and time to keep any of my relationships, except for the one I have with Joshua. Joshua lives in a half rundown place, he is an artist but what pays his bills are the small jobs he does – he is a pizza boy one day, a plumber another and a pet sitter the next. He takes any job and doesn’t stick to any for too long.
I could take a streetcar but I decide to walk.
I keep going till my feet get sore and my hot skin grimy with the dust of the road. Then I jump on a streetcar, and let it carry me to the outcast street where Joshua lives, right behind a respectable community, like a prank in the middle of a good day.
“Hey”, Joshua says after opening the door when I reach his flat, and disappears in the kitchen as I throw my bag in a corner and flip off my shoes.
He comes back with two lemonades and hands one to me.
“So?”, he asks, plunging in the couch
“So I don’t know who my mother is”, I reply and Joshua bugs his eyes
“Ehm?”, he goes, the hint of a smirk on his lips
“Not a joke”, I say, and start to explain
Joshua listens to me, and I can tell that he is processing the information fast, that he has something in mind. He doesn’t interrupt me though, and when I’m done with my story he remains silent for a while.
“Have you ever considered getting your DNA analyzed?”, he then asks
“No, but…”, I say, pondering the possibilities I would open up if I did
“Well, maybe you should. If your real family members did the same, for any reason, then you could find out who they are”, Joshua tells me
“Well, if you want to know…”, he adds , interpreting my silence as hesitation
But I am not hesitant, rather I am imagining what will happen. I picture my real mother and my father happily welcoming me back.
Would they?
Perhaps they are dead, perhaps they never wanted me. Why would they welcome me if they decided to give me away? Still, I want to know. I need to know.
“I do”, I tell Joshua
“I can show you the lab where I got my DNA analyzed”, he says
“You got your DNA analyzed?”, I exclaim, because this is all but expected
“Yes, when my mom died. I wanted to know the odds that the same could happen to me, at some point in life”, he says, and bows his head
I am still standing with the lemonade in my hand, while Joshua is sprawled on the couch. I leave my glass on the floor, take Joshua’s and do the same with his. Then I cuddle on the couch, balling up against Joshua so that our lanky frames are one tight bunch of bones. It’s hot and we’re sweaty, but still it feels more comfortable to be tied up like this than to stay apart.
“Do you want to go to the DNA center now?”, he says after a while
I nod yes, and Joshua pulls me up gently.
“Let’s go then”, he says smiling
After being squeezed against the couch Joshua’s head is a blond mess. I laugh, running my fingers through his hair. He shakes his head, like a dog after taking a swim in a lake, wild and carefree.
The ride on the streetcar is long, and for a stretch of time we sit without speaking. Then Joshua looks at me, and I can tell from his face that he has been thinking all along, but that the thoughts struggle to translate themselves into words.
I look back at him and wait for him to phrase his thoughts.
“Your dream, the one you keep having. You always tell me the face you see resembles yours. But it’s not yours”, he starts
“It’s not mine…no”, I say
“So it’s your mom? Your real mom, I mean…”, he asks
I think about it for a moment.
“No…there’s a small face, a face as small as mine”, I continue
“Small? Is the dream about your childhood?”, Joshua asks
“There are two faces. Yes! Yes, there are two faces! The small one and another one, a big one”, I exclaim, my voice rising
People eye me for a short instant, before going back to their business
“You’re right, it’s a dream about my childhood!”, I exclaim again, my tone rising into a joyful pitch
I’ve realized something which was always there in front of me and yet invisible.
“Where are you in the dream?”, asks Joshua
“I don’t know…”, I say
“What do you see?”, he asks again
“Colours. Bright colours”, I start to remember
“Which colours?”
“It’s like a mosaic. It’s a mosaic sprawled through my tears”
“Why are you crying?”
“Because they are taking me away”
“From whom?”
“From the faces”
“Who are the faces?”
“It’s a big face and a small face, like mine”, I repeat
“Your mom and your sibling”
I start crying
“What do you see through your tears? The mosaic, what it is like?”, Joshua insists
“It’s hot. The mosaic is hot when a big hands holds mine and I touch it”
“It’s summer. What’s the mosaic like?”
“Like a lizard”
“You see a mosaic coated lizard?”
“Yes”
“Describe it”
“I don’t know…”
“Try”
“It’s blue”
“What else?”
“It’s climbing”
“On what?”
“On a rock”
“A big rock?”
“I don’t know…”
I grab my head and cover my ears
“No!”, I scream and the crowd turns again
Joshua hugs me as if I were a kid
“Let’s paint when we go back”, he says
We often do. I don’t paint in the place where I live, where my parents live. The flawed perfection of my family’s luxury is uninspiring. It inhibits me.
But I didn’t expect him to come up with this now.
“Paint?”, I ask, wiping off my tears
“Yeah. Lizards are nice to paint”, he says, and I understand his plan.