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Okay. Sad story part two.

My mom kicked me out of the house, we stayed there, well, after that I spent some time on the streets, a lot of time on the streets surrounded by my friends and everything that includes (you understand, right?). Two weeks later, or three, it’s hard to define an exact date because time passed without me noticing… some time later my mother called on the phone, the first call since the night of pizzas. She called to tell me that father had been admitted to the hospital in the emergency room at night, a car accident left him seriously injured.

It’s not that I really wanted to go to the hospital, especially considering my condition, but I did it anyway. For mom. She deserved to have a shoulder to cry on. And boy she did.

You have never seen your parents, or couples on the street and found yourself wondering if they really love each other?, I mean there are couples that, at first glance, just don’t fit. My parents were like that, mom was very loving, affectionate and warm… dad was strict, orderly and liked his coffee bitter. I always wondered about the real reason for their union and, seeing her that morning lying on the floor crying the sea after we were informed of his death, I no longer had any doubts about it.

Mom was devastated inside. I returned home that day, a house where there was no music in the day, where the refrigerator remained empty for months and where you could hear the cries at night. It was horrible.

Something changed at the funeral. Her friends weren’t many but they were trustworthy. They comforted my mother in a way that I couldn’t, they even made her laugh a little with their stories of the past. I felt a little envious.

-Elian, you must take care of her from now on- said one before leaving-, you are the only man at home. Act like one. For her. If you need anything you can count on us, your father always spoke of you with so much affection and love, he loved you, you must know that.

-He never said it- I whispered. My last memory of father was about pizza night, and I didn’t remember much affection, or love there. Since then, when I remembered it, I evoked my memories of childhood, just before the changes, that way it was better.

I got away from the streets, from my friends, it was a logical move to cope with the absence of father. Every morning I made sure to wake up early, with the first rays of the sun, I played music, went outside to get the newspaper and, in case it wasn’t there, I stole the neighbor’s. I left it in his place, even though no one was going to sit there anymore, I liked to think that his ghost appreciated being aware of the news in the world of the living.

I learned to cook by looking for recipe videos, wasting ingredients and the occasional food poisoning. Mom improved when she got a job, in reality, the money in the family account was enough for a few years, she just wanted to get out of the house, avoid seeing empty spaces and, as she didn’t want to tell me so as not to make me sad, it was better to pretend that the money wasn’t enough.

I followed her with the money theater. I got a job in a shopping center, a men’s clothing store. My pay was little, I only works in the afternoon and that allowed me to take care of her in the morning. Sometimes they let me choose some clothes as part of the payment, that was good.

Everything was going well, the hope of living happily, clean and happy with mom was attainable, but I promised you the second part of the sad story, so…

My friends found my workplace, possibly some of them just passed by and recognized me because that place was not their style. From then on they took turns coming in, checking clothes, asking a few questions and leaving, or so I thought, but when I left at night they were there, waiting for me on the block across the street. Most of the time I ignored them, I was focused on Mom. It worked for a while, until the calls and texts started.

They appeared in my nightmares like demons, black figures that moved around me trying to drag me down with them into the hole. I won’t lie to you, the transition was difficult, when you get used to a lifestyle it’s hard to change it overnight like I did. I smoked when I felt the need to consume, or when my thoughts reminded me of the feeling of it, or when my feet were heading to the same places as before. I smoked a lot, but that was better than the other thing. I didn’t want to disappoint Mom, not again, not being the only support in her life.

One night they followed me home, there were four of them. It was the first time they followed me and I considered it a game. Stupid me. One of them grabbed me by the neck, so hard that I wasn’t even able to scream, another one of them hit my legs and I fell to the ground. The last one stuck the syringes into my chest.

-You are not better than us- I only remember those words, whispered in my ear.

I was not. I never intended to be, by ignoring them I was not trying to establish a space, I was not trying to see them as inferior, by pretending I did not know them at the store I only did it to avoid problems, by ignoring the calls and messages I wanted to forget the past.

I was not better than them, but I wanted to be. For me. For mom. For the future.

I remember their feet running away from me. I remember the neighbor’s screams. I remember mom’s screams, I will never be able to forget them. I remember the lights of the ambulance, the hospital hallways, the thin hoses on my body. And I also remember the pain, as if my bones were breaking every second, as if thousands of insects were eating my muscles.

The dose was too much, of several components and they all mixed together inside me. I was lucky not to die. The doctors said I would need time to get better, I could barely move or say anything to reject it when they offered a rehabilitation center close to home. I didn’t want to leave Mom alone. But she agreed for me, signed the papers for me, packed my bags for me, and set up my new room for me. She did all of that while crying.

In rehab I met Freya. I had been there for a few months when I saw her. The place itself wasn’t bad, it had a sleeping schedule, a meal schedule, and they made sure we ate every last grain of rice, I’m serious. There were also visiting schedules, training schedules, and talk schedules, and at the first talk schedule I went to she was there.

-I’m Freya, I don’t like to eat- was her introduction. I discovered that, along with me, in that same house, there were other demons and struggles that I didn’t know about.

I saw her again in the afternoon, when I was going for a run (we had a set schedule for that and a marked path and they knew when you strayed). She was in the yard, on the grass… playing hockey on her own. I approached without thinking.

-Do you want to play, Elian?- she asked smiling, I was so surprised that I couldn’t answer her-, I know everyone’s name. You’re not special- she laughed, then coughed and hit her chest hard, I was afraid she would break some bones.

-I don’t know how to play- I answered-, Freya.

-Safe zone, neutral zone, attack zone- she named pointing at each one-, stick… puck- she smiled throwing a black disc into the air several times-. You have to get this in the net over there. Easy, right?

-It seems so.

-Okay, choose your opponent- I always found it strange the way she smiled, as if she wanted to do it and feel happy about it but she couldn’t feel it completely.

-You, we’re alone here- in my eyes it was obvious, if two people agree to play then one will be the rival of the other.

-Wrong, Elian. I won’t be your opponent. My opponent is life, I fight against it every day- that time she didn’t smile-, what is yours?- what she called opponent I called demons.

-Drugs- I whispered.

-Say it louder, I didn’t hear it- she lied, she was right in front of me, she heard perfectly.

-Drugs- I repeated louder- and… cigarettes, and…

-And?, you’re a little bundle of trouble, aren’t you?

-I’m gay.

-That’s not a problem- she rejected, waving her hands in the air. It was the first time I admitted it out loud, the first time I said it to someone voluntarily and she, instead of looking at me like a weirdo, instead of yelling at me like a father, or worrying like a mother, said “it’s not a problem.”

-Let’s play- she left the puck on the grass and began to explain the rules of the game to me-, you have to push it, slide it gently but quickly.

-Im trying, it’s hard to do this on the grass.

-I know. Life isn’t easy and there won’t be ice until winter- we were there for three hours and I didn’t manage to score. On the other hand, she did. Right at the last minute, when the lady called her name, as if all this time she had been able to do so but she waited until the last second.

-I won- she shouted, picked up a small white board, erased what was there and wrote:

Life: 15. Me: 15

-We are tied after a long time my friend- she smiled running into the house. Later that night I didn’t find her at dinner, nor in the yard. Days later I found out: it was late for weigh-ins. Every week they weighed her and noted her progress. The reason why she played every day became clear: it was her way out.

I saw her again weeks later, a little paler, a little thinner, a little more defeated. But her smile was still there, shining. I played with her day after day and got to know her very well.

-What are you writing?- she kept a journal and wrote in it every night diligently. And, when I tried to read she always hit my head and left.

A year later she was hospitalized. Chronic anemia. I visited her every week. The last day it was snowing heavily, I remember it well, it was cold, she was wearing heavy coats, gloves, hats and even with all that her body was shaking. She looked out the window without saying a word and, looking at me, I think she knew it as well as I did: it was her last day.

-I wish I could skate one more time.

-Let’s go.

-I don’t know how to ice skate. And they won’t let me out of here- she smiled as a tear ran down her cheek.

I gritted my teeth and ran out of the room. I returned hours later, with new skates, I hung them around my neck as I locked the door. She didn’t protest when I took the blankets off, nor when I sat her down to wrap them around them and put two more coats on top. I hesitated whit the IV.

-But what a bad influence I’ve been on you- she laughed as she took it out herself. I allowed myself to smile.

-Ready?- I asked when she was on my back, she wrapped her arms around my neck as a signal-. I’ll run.

We arrived at the field twenty minutes later, it was one of those small ones that are used more as attractions and not to actually play there. I left her on a seat while I put my skates on.

-It’s beautiful- she whispered looking at the ice. She came back to my back minutes later-, don’t make me fall, Elian- she joked.

-I wont.

And I didn’t, I skated for hours and hours. And I didn’t stop when I could no longer feel her tremors, or the heat of her body.

They found us several hours later. According to the stories, I was out of my mind, pacing in circles. I don’t remember any of that, nor how they brought me back to the center, but I do remember going to her empty room every day after playing hockey.

They tried to accuse me of murdering her for taking her out of the hospital, but her caregiver stopped them. She knew us well. And it was she who gave me her diary.

“How dare you read a lady’s diary? I’m kidding.

So, I’m dead right? Okay. I guess I lost.

I don’t have much to say to you but you’ll probably be the last person to see me alive so… it’s not your fault. Whatever you did, whatever you said, even if you weren’t there at the time I would have died anyway.

Live, and find a good man to stay by your side and protect you, someone who sees your insides and with whom you can fight and defeat your demons.

I don’t have many possessions, but you can have my puck… throw the rest away, I mean it, don’t wear my clothes you fucking madman.

I’ll be watching you, Elian.”

She put the puck away in the dresser drawer, hoping it would still be there and there it was. Worn, beaten and, on the back she wrote whit white ink: “Light the lamp, Elian.”

In the game between life and me, she was my first victory.

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