Just a Monumental Summer: Girl on the train (14 page)

My father surprised me: talking with the police in that manner, was like signing your own death sentence. Courageous. I remembered the police guys smiled and told my mother, whispering, that they would like to see the movie as well. We let them in, we brought them some cold aperitifs, and we treated them with respect. They become our forced friends. Sometimes they would knock at the door and let us know not to do any viewing:

“It’s for your own safety. Only today, until the big boss leaves town.” They would say with a conspiratorial tone. We knew the real reason behind their visit: more bribes. Not much. Maybe a package of Kent or Marlboros, some real coffee, or only to see a new movie. It was obvious the “big boss,” in case he existed, never cared about us.

There were good days, which were quickly gone. The bad days were always present.

After a short time, my mother sold all the merchandise my father had brought, and the money raised was spent on paying the bills and debts. The routine took over. My father had to face the everyday stress of going to the harbor offices and trying to find another ship he could be assigned to. The usual routine for any sailor, but hard for my dad.

My father was obese. No captain wanted to have him in his crew. The risk of getting sick in the middle of the ocean without a doctor on board was high. The commercial ships were dated, and the crew had no international medical insurance.

Because of his size back then, his sailor’s career lasted only two years. Afterwards, my father continued to gain weight. Diabetes and adjacent diseases overwhelmed him, and he retired because of illness. Scandals might have stopped, but there were always quarrels. What always surprised me was my mother’s behavior. She never lost her temper, and she continued to deal with his scenes. Meanwhile, we grew up, and we fought with him all the time, asking him to leave and never come back.

But my mother would take us aside and tell us, “Leave him alone. You know he has ‘nerve problems.’ The fat presses the nerves in his spine, and it’s not his fault he cannot control himself.”

But his behavior was the least of his problems. My father was turning into a wreck in front of us, day by day. He could not bend over to tie his shoes. He could not wash himself. He wasn’t able to sleep in a horizontal position because he would suffocate in his sleep. This is how he started sleeping in an armchair. He became ill, with no hope of a cure. Gout, diabetes, heart problems, and maybe cancer were the words the doctors would tell us. He was in pain five days a week with one or two days, pain free. We would call the ambulance, and the doctors would send him home after a week or so, telling my mother there was nothing they could do to help him.

My mother was desperate. “Those stinky doctors. Why did they choose this job if they refuse to help him? Of course, there is something you can do. Even give him an overdose and put him out of his misery, but don’t let him suffer like an animal. Period. Stinky doctors.”

We were always short on money and were unable to bribe the doctors. The struggle to buy a single painkiller prescription was abominable.

I remember the days when my father was in deep pain. He was crying and banging his head against the walls, begging us to kill him, to make the pain stop. His left leg had a smelly, rotting hole that became bigger and darker, month by month. We suffered. We couldn’t do anything to help. All the hate we had against him was fading, soon to be replaced by pity. My father was not a drunk anymore; he was simply a sick person.

This was when I started leaving home, staying overnight at friends’ houses, and later looking for lovers — jus to be able to leave home. His screams and crying were robbing my life inside me. I began to hate life. And when I didn’t hate life, I was indifferent to it.

I became a teenager full of venom. I didn’t know what to feel. Hate against my mother because she didn’t divorce my father and instead put us through all the drama? Hate against my father for being a drunk? Or love for my mother who loved us? My mother who protected us. My mother who took care of us and took care of him while he was sick. Sometimes I would decide to hate the town, which smothered me with its ugliness, lowness, and littleness.

I was in torn apart, watching my father slowly die and seeing my gorgeous mother growing old.

By the time I was eighteen, I was an old woman. I thought life and God owed me something.I hated the whole world and God, and I declared war against them.

Wishing to get away from home was my only way of coping with the misery inside my home and my twisted thoughts. That was the time during which I was jealous of every normal person, and I felt sick being around them. That was when I become aware of my demons. My demons hated the doctors who refused to take care of my dying father and the teachers who judged me without knowing my despair. They hated the guy who raped me, and they hated the neighbors who considered my family trash.

One day, I had realized I didn’t have Alin’s keys from his place. I was away from home with a girl I’d just met who probably would never become a friend. Where was my home?

What if I get sick?Who will take care of me?
I thought. Why do I keep running from my parents’ place? Was happiness a matter of geography for me? They say home is where your heart is. My heart was never there. I was homeless. Homeless, with a comfortable life.

It was a sunny day. The sun was shining, no clouds in the sky; the crowd was colorful and loud. I was together with Ema, enjoying the beach. She was lying on her belly. I admired her long legs. I sighed and looked at the sky again. It was a beautiful day, a sad day. Then I heard Alin’s song. His powerful and unique voice was in the air and I knew him. Ema turned around and smiled at me. Then she waved at someone. I noticed George T. trying to find us.

He saw us. He looked ridiculous.
Who are you trying to impress, man?
His shorts had too many colors. He was old. He didn’t fit in with the young crowd. His legs were hairy and too skinny. Ema stood up and kissed him.
Girl, what do you see in him?
I didn’t say it out loud, of course, but it had been a question lingering in my mind constantly. I’d known a few good looking older men, but her obsession with George seemed so – strange, weird. Alin didn’t want me to be judgmental, but Alin wasn’t allow to tell me what to think.

He was carrying a big beach bag, and he was wearing brown leather sandals tighten up with metal buckles and white socks. He opened his bag and pulled out a huge, colorful towel. We made some space for his towel, and then he put sunscreen on his hairy chest.

Ema told him about Maria eating the cookies.

“Is it true?” he asked me, bursting into laughter.

“Of course it’s true. Do you think I am lying?” Ema seemed annoyed.

“She probably needed it, especially after the mess we left for her to clean.” I said, still feeling guilty.

“That’s her job,” Ema said, distracted.

Out of the blue, I lost my temper. “That still doesn’t give us the right to behave like pigs.”

They both looked at each other, confused.

“That’s why I don’t party at my place. They are all pigs.” George T. smiled at me.

“Have you ever wondered? Maybe no one wants to come at your place. Maybe it’s the other way around,” Ema said annoyed.

“Like I give a shit.” George T. laughed and winked at me. “I thought you knew me, sweetheart.” His tone was cold. “People are morons! They piss me off. I don’t need to socialize. I don’t need to listen to their crap about their lousy lives.”

“But your show is about them. You care so much.” I was confused.

“Different story. I love my show, and I am a professional. It has to be perfect. I am a perfectionist.”

Ema interrupted him, rolling her eyes. “We all know!”

He ignored her. “My show has to deliver the best talk, the best entertainment, the most accurate information.” His voice began to rise with passion. “And besides, when I am on air, I don’t have to
see
those morons.” He tried to laugh.

Out of the blue Ema declared she’d had enough and was ready to leave. I didn’t know where to go or what to do. I didn’t know where to find Alin. I wasn’t ready to go to my new apartment. I couldn’t tell Ema that, so I lied to her and said I needed to meet some friends. She told me she’d catch up with me later, grabbed up her things and walked away.

I lay back on my towel for a time, until I couldn’t stay in the sun anymore. I decided to go to Dana’s place, but found the bistro was packed. Then remembering the Forum Hotel, I walked across the beach and arrived, exhausted, at the hotel. The air in the lobby felt nice and cold. I picked a private spot on a couch with a pool view and sat down on the cozy armchair. I needed to take a shower because the salt from the ocean was making my skin itchy.

Where is your home?
It kept playing in my head, like a song that won’t leave your mind. It was only four o’clock. I realized it had been a mistake not to go straight to my new apartment. I felt tears in my eyes. I tried to read my book. I couldn’t focus
. Where is your home, Mona?
I closed my eyes and tried to catch some sleep. After a few minutes, my book dropped to the floor.

When I woke, a blond girl about my age was sitting across me. She offered a friendly smile which I politely returned. Feeling a little embarrassed. I picked up the book and looked at my watch. I’d slept ten minutes.

“Party last night?” she asked me, smiling. I first noticed her cute dimples and her pearly-white smile. She had beautiful, light-blue eyes and mid-length, curly, ash-blond hair—its effervescent, small and bouncy spirals and strongly defined curls reminded me of a doll’s hair. Curvy and large-breasted, she was probably just below average height, I judged. The large sun hat she was holding and the excessive amount of jewelry – a ring on almost every finger and some old-fashioned gold chains around her neck – announced her economic status.  Her blue, baggy, old-fashioned dress matched her eyes. Her nails were too long, and their color was too bright.

“Yes indeed, a party. I was able to get some sleep but not enough,” I lied and stood up.

“It must be the sun or the breeze that makes you tired,” she said. “I’ve been here for one week, and I had to take an afternoon nap every day. Crazy, isn’t it? I’m Vera.”

I instantly liked her uncomplicated, brutally honest, and full of life manner. She told me she was from Bucuresti and staying at the hotel with an Italian. I lied saying I was about to meet some friends, and they didn’t show up. We talked for a time then she invited me up to her room.

When we arrived, I thought the general condition in her room somehow fit her carefree personality although most of the mess looked like guy stuff. Clothes, shoes and unopened shopping bags were scattered across the floor. Italian fashion magazines were piled on the small table, under a tray of fruits and cheese. Vera was probably accustomed to having a maid or mother clean up after her. Apparently, Vera’s Italian boyfriend didn’t hook up with her for her neatness.

The Italian guy, Giovanni, came in later. He was at least twenty years older than her. He must have never heard of razors as his body was almost completely covered by dark hair. A short, thick, tri-color gold necklace was bouncing on his hairy chest, making his sunburned neck look thicker and shorter, almost disappearing into his torso.
Jewelry is only for women, you dummy!

He was short and fat, with a comb-over. He kissed my hand and told me his name while scanning me from head to toe with a wolfish smile. I was polite to him, but he seemed a little creepy. Vera took my hand and brought me into the bathroom.

“I know he is not an Adonis, but I like him,” Vera said. “I like men. A lot. And he is a good guy. He’s funny and generous, and he is there for me.”

Not knowing what to say immediately, I just shrugged but avoided telling her about the way he’d looked at me.

I invited Vera and Giovanni to join me later to see Alin perform live. Vera seemed quite impressed that the lead singer of Silent Delusion was my boyfriend. When I told her, her eyes lit up and she told me how cute he was. Giovanni’s brows lifted but his reaction was less passionate. He still agreed to go with us to the concert. The backstage was busy and stressful. Geta was the first to see me. It felt good to get a warm hug from her. After I introduced Vera and Giovanni, Geta complimented Vera’s hair and tried to convince Giovanni to cut the fringe he still had. Vera told her in a low voice: “He is trying to hide his baldness. He is so sweet.”

“Che dice?” Giovanni was trying to catch up with their conversation, asking Vera in Italian.

“He doesn’t speak Romanian, but sometimes he understands. They’re both Latin languages, practically the same language,” Vera tried to warn us and then turned to Giovanni and started to rub his head. “She said we need to shave your head.”

I spotted Alin and went straight to him. My heart soared; was it attraction or more? I hurried over to him, and we kissed passionately. It hit me then. I wasn’t homeless any more - I found my answer:
Alin is your home.
It was so obvious that I wondered why this revelation hadn’t come to me before.
You have too much emotional baggage Mona. I should be more like Vera.

“Alin, I didn’t have your keys.”

“My poor baby,” he interrupted me, running a finger down a lock of my hair.  “We’ve been together all that time, I didn’t notice as well. You will get yours tonight. I am so sorry. I didn’t think about that.”

“Me too. How stupid is that? Anyway, I don’t like my new place, I may not stay there at all,” I told him sadly.

“You don’t need to. We’ll get you your own keys, and mi casa e su casa.” He looked deep in my eyes. He gently touched my hair and told me, “Don’t worry. Smile and enjoy.” He looked around, then, finally noticing the others. “Are these your friends?” He looked amused at Giovanni. I had to admit he didn’t fit the crowd. I pulled Alin toward the others to make introductions.

Vera said to me, like Alin was not present, “You were right! Where did you find him?”

Ema entered the room; George T. was with her.

Why do you have to look like a damn Goddess, Ema?

She had a long gold dress, in the Roman Empire style, and a black scarf on her new loosely braided hairstyle. The scarf idea was great.

Why didn’t I think of that?
I asked myself, feeling less...something. I was always comparing myself to her and finding myself lacking.

Vera tugged on my arm, laughing as she said, “I don’t like her. Let’s hate her together,” she said, laughing.

“We could, or we could keep her closer.” I winked at her. We walked closer so I could introduce them. Ema seemed distracted, scanning the place.  “It’s been five days already,” she said to me.

I was confused.

“Since we’re together, without any breaks. Me and George. We went to his place, took a shower, made love, ate together, came here.”

I was trying to make sense of it. “And?”

“Exactly! He is doing it on purpose. He felt I was about to break up. He knew I was worn out and I was ready to get out of this relationship.” She closed her eyes and began rubbing her temples.

Meanwhile the band was introduced and started their first set. Ema dragged me outside. I knew Vera won’t mind if I will ditch her.

“Ema, you are not happy. All he does makes you miserable.”

“I know,” she admitted. “Because it’s too late; and now…”

“You don’t enjoy it. Do you want to leave him?” I was trying to form a connection; there was so much about Ema I still didn’t understand.

“Of course. Since I met him. I am not an idiot, but I love him. It’s complicated. But my mother gave me an ultimatum. She made me choose. If I am not done with him, I am not welcome in her house. I think he knows me too well. It’s like he’s reading my mind. I’m like his brainwashed follower, like a cult member.”

I was drawn to this Ema – the Ema who is flawed, not always perfect. Her vulnerability with George T. made me think we could be friends. She was opening up to me – you don’t do that with strangers, or with rivals – that is something friends do. Feeling close to her, I wanted to hug her. Something prevented me from taking that step – was I afraid of being rejected?
So much for being friends.
I was afraid to hug her. I felt awkward and walked a few steps away. It was nice to be outside, away from the chaos of backstage. I turned back to her and asked, “So, what’s next?”

“I don’t know. I need to end it. If I stay, I will make it too easy on him. I have a life, you know. George T. is not the only person in my life.” She seemed to be trying to convince herself.

“Good. I am proud of you.”
This is where we’re supposed to hug, bitch!
I was yelling at her in my mind, hoping she would take that step toward intimacy. Neither of us tried to move in for what seemed an obligatory embrace.

She became distant again. “What’s up with the tacky girl? Is she your friend?”

“I just met her, but she’s cool.” I wanted to tell her I like Vera a lot. To take a stand, explain myself. But I didn’t.

We came inside and watched the show with the rest of the group. Watching the band perform, I felt in love with Alin again.

Later, Vera asked me about Ema again. I explained Ema’s relationship with George T. and that she seemed unhappy.

“Then it’s her own fault.” She made it sound so simple. I think I liked Vera right away because she had a simple interpretation of love; maybe love is as simple as Vera believed it to be. Maybe happiness is a matter of choice. I squeezed her hand and promised myself to relax – to let love be, and to try not to force my happiness.

Before Vera left with Giovanni, I made her promise to meet me again. I was drawn to her in some inexplicable way. She agreed to meet again as long as Ema wasn’t going to be there. I laughed, agreeing to the plan. As we hugged goodbye, Vera whispered in my ear that she wanted to fuck Jony.

The show was over by then, and we all made our way back to the house, ready to call it a night.

Alin and I walked arm in arm to our bedroom. Feeling apprehensive, I whispered, “You know I am not perfect.”

“I’m not perfect as well,” he said and walked to the dresser.  He opened the drawer and looked for something. “Now, let’s get you those keys.”

“I’m your girlfriend now?”

“Yes, you are my girlfriend. It’s official.”

“I warn you: I’m messed up,” I confessed nervously.

“We’re all messed up, Mona,” he replied sadly.

I fell asleep asking myself again,
Who broke your heart, Alin?