1997

“If you die before I do— I don’t think it’ll happen, but anyway. If you die before I do, just wait there in heaven or hell or vacuum for a while. I’ll follow you in a minute.”

1997

“You know what I think? You’re the last person that I would imagine to have a regular job and family.”

“Thanks, Al, that’s a really nice thing to say.”

“You’re getting me wrong. You see, I know you since we were 12. I look back and think that you, from all people, would be the last person to have this kind of normal life, if you know what I mean. People trust you. You have a nice wife and kids.”

“Isn’t that good, then? I could have ended up much worse than that.”

“It’s good indeed. That’s the weird part. I feel that you could have done it so much better.”

1988

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“I ordered some wine.”

“Okay.”

“…”

“…”

“I guess I owe you some apologies. A bunch of them, actually.”

“You don’t have to think about this now.”

“People don’t just leave others the way I did.”

“Yeah, but… I guess I always knew this would happen. Someday you would leave, for some reason.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, it just seems like something you would do. Your logic is weird.”

“It doesn’t make my… flee less cruel.”

“I know, but it doesn’t matter now. Will you stay in London this time?”

“No, I couldn’t. I don’t know if I… if I can get through this if I stop working.”

“But Jimmy will stay.”

“Yes, he’ll be fine with mom.”

“He seems to be a good boy.”

“He’s great, indeed.”

“…”

“…”

“Look… someday I’ll explain everything to you. Probably when I understand it too. Then I’ll be able to say why I left, why I went back to Russia and… well, all the madness I did after this. Even getting married. But now I don’t know all the answers and, to be honest, I barely have balls to be here with you. I’m embarrassed. I wanted to be back here, but it hurts. I packed my stuff and fled in the middle of the night for no reason, years ago. I just can’t run from it. You’re probably the best person I know and will say again that it doesn’t matter now, but it does to me.”

“I know it does. I just want you to understand that you don’t have to say these things now. You just lose your wife and kid, it’s not like you need more than that in your head.”

“It never gets out of my head, actually. None of these things will ever do, I think.”

“…and, well. I guess I’m just not ready too.”

“…”

“…”

“Do you think I’m getting what I deserve?”

“What you mean?”

“For being such an awful person all this time. I just lost everything I had, you know? Every single thing. Actually, it would be more accurate saying every single person too.”

“You’re not an awful person, right? You’re just… a messy one. I never thought of you as a bad person. No one did.”

“…”

“Are you counting me in the people you lost?”

“Yes.”

“Well, but I’m here, ain’t I?”

1982

“And this is your room.”

“Lovely.”

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just… Isn’t that weird? We, living together. I mean, it’s not a bad weird. Well, forget it.”

“We’re not exactly living together. We’re sharing a flat, with different bedrooms and all.”

“Yeah, I know, forget it. But remember I can’t pay too much.”

“Let’s consider that you’re paying for the bedroom and for the gigantic amount of food you consume.”

“I don’t eat that much.”

“Yeah, tell me about it…”

“Look, thanks for doing this. I’ll make an effort to not explode your flat.”

“I would appreciate this.” 

-x- 

“Morning.”

“Hey.”

“What’s that?”

“Eggs for me and… this thing for you.”

“You made it?”

“Yeah.”

“For me?”

“Yep.”

“And you didn’t sabotage it with milk or something?”

“No. I just don’t like your food, I’m not that mean.”

“Well, thanks then.”

“You just don’t get used to it. There’s coffee over there. No, I didn’t put honey.”

“Okay.”

“What?”

“Nothing. But you’re so kind today, I’m not used to it.”

“You think I’m a monster.”

“Oh, not a monster. You just don’t care…”

“Don’t care to what?”

“To all sort of things.”

“You’d be surprised. I care about you, for example.”

“D’ya, really? I thought I was just a good fuck.”

“You’re a great fuck, indeed. Not just that, but still. It’s just that you have this stupid habit of spoiling good moments saying things, you know? Like now, you’re just about to ask me to move to your bedroom.”

“How you…”

“You’re predictable. I know the way to your bedroom and that’s enough – we are not married.”

“No, we’re not even close to married. But you’re the one who’s making a fuss over it, don’t you think?”

“Maybe. I’m just anticipating the facts.”

“Look, I like you being here, seeing you everyday, and when you make an effort to make me something, like today, or sneak into my bed in the middle of the night. Okay, it all has a price, you’re completely insane, but I can deal with it.

“I’m not completely insane.”

“Of course you are, dear. You’re a hurricane.”

November, 1982

“What do you like about me?”

“You mean in general?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ll get embarrassed and you will laugh at me.”

“Well, you might want to remember that I am the seventeen years old one here.”

“Funny you, but didn’t convinced me.”

“Okay, then I’m starting.”

“May I know how?”

“I’ll tell you my part, and then you tell me yours. For example, I really like the way you take care of people you like.”

“Well… I like the fact that you simply relax in every place you are. You just sit anywhere and take your shoes off and that’s all, there’s no problem in the world anymore.”

“I like the way you don’t care for your hair, and it’s beautiful anyway.”

“I like the way you don’t care about anything. And your hands that can never stop moving. And the fact that sometimes you look just like a child seeing the world for the first time, and in the next moment you can look just like an ancient spirit that knows exactly how it all will end.”

“And I love the way you tell this. As if you were in love.”

“Well, it’s not exactly an ‘if’.”

December, 1982

“You are a romantic, you know?”

“Yeah, I suppose. It’s funny, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“Every time you call me a romantic, you use it like an accusation.”

“Do you think so?”

“Yeah.”

 -x-

“I don’t think it’s a bad thing, being a romantic. Not at all. It’s just… not my cup of tea.”

“Yes, ‘cause you’re a heartbreaker.”

“Oh am I?”

“Of course you are.”

“Did I break yours?”

“Not yet, but you’re just in the way to it.”

 -x-

“What about yours?”

“What? My heart?”

“Yes. Has it ever been broken?”

“Uh… No. Not in a romantic way.”

“So there are any others?”

“Oh dear, of course there are. That tree over there could break my heart right now. You know, that leaf falling down, I could remember something… My mom could break my heart. I could break my own heart. It’s not that difficult, you see.”

“I had this boyfriend once, when I was in school. We were like… sixteen or seventeen, I think.”

‘That’s my age.”

“Yes. It’s a little weird, you know, thinking that’s such a long time since I was seventeen.”

“Almost ten years. This is more than half of my life.”

“Okay, I was talking about my boyfriend.”

“Yeah, let’s distract you from your own age.”

“Anyway, I don’t even know what I was talking about… Oh well. By that time I think I already was a romantic. We kind of dated for some months and then he went away for the US.”

“…and? Your history ends at that point? Boring.”

“It’s not a history to be told, it just came to my mind.”

“Do you know what’s passing through my mind right now?”

“Tell me.”

“Hannah, from school. She simply doesn’t want me, it’s a horrible thing to remember.”

“Oh.”

 -x-

“Do you really like girls?”

“You ask like it was an impossible thing to imagine.”

“No, I don’t. I just want to understand, that’s all.”

“Do you dislike them?”

“Dislike? No. I just don’t like enough – sexually speaking, I mean.”

“I see. I like some of them. They’re fine.”

“They’re fine. You know, that’s exactly why I can’t believe when you tell me you’re not gay.”

“Oh c’mon. You’re being superficial.”

“Yeah?

“Yeah. You see, it’s not like… like a switch or something that you can turn on and off when you’re born.”

“That’s not what I’m talking. Let’s try another question: do you like men?”

 -x-

“It’s not that easy, you know.”

 -x-

“I’m sorry if I’m pushing too hard. Sometimes I just… forgot that this is just starting for you.”

“Well, I’m sorry if I can’t give you the proper answers. Let’s— let’s face the true: you know me long enough to know that it’s almost impossible to me to have an exact answer for anything in the world. Wouldn’t be different about sexuality.”

“Forget it, I’m the wrong one here. You don’t really have to rush, these things happens on its own time.”

“You spoke like and old and experienced man now.”

“Yeah, perhaps that’s what I am.” 

It’s such a heavenly way to die

It’s a strange feeling, you know. Being here, dead, absolutely dead, and knowing this. I mean, I’m not in a coffin, but I’m dead. I can remember the feeling… as if my brain was being melted. But now I’m sitting in this place, I think it’s a cafe, and there are a lot of people wandering around. I can’t see their faces. Maybe I’m in hell. Or maybe I’m not. 

But the point is: I’m sitting in front of myself. I’m – I mean, he is – looking at me with this funny smile, as if he knew some important things that he’ll never tell me. Fuck him, I don’t like this smile, it’s pretty annoying. 

This… well, this me is seventeen at most. And he’s talking to me. His voice just doesn’t sound like mine. I’m starting to wonder if we really are the same person. 

“Hey ya. Stop wondering and look at me. We’re gonna be there in a minute.” 

“Where?” 

“The cemetery, of course.” 

“You mean my funeral?” 

“Oh, look how clever you are. I’m so proud of ya.” 

“Stop doing this, okay? Who are these people?” 

“Why should I know? I’m here for you, that’s all.”

“What’s this place?” 

“You stop thinking I’m an angel or something. And stop being dumb, this is a cafe, don’t you see?” 

“I know it is a cafe. I just wanted to know why the hell I got in a café when I died. Doesn’t make any sense.” 

“Oh God, this is so you. Looking for sense even when you’re dead.” 

“So that’s it? I die and meet my old self…” 

“…I think you should consider saying ‘young self’” 

“Whatever. Meet you and we go to my funeral and that’s it? What kind of death is that?” 

“How many kinds of death you know, uh? Don’t be so exigent. I bet some people would die again for not being alone now, and you’re there complaining. ” 

I felt ashamed and looked around. They still have no faces, or defined forms, but were definitely people. My young self was waiting. 

“I think I had a stroke, haven’t I?”, I said then. 

“Yes, you had.” 

“But I’m thirty-two.” 

“And I’m seventeen. Sad world, uh?” 

“But you’re not dead. You can’t be, because I am, and I’m your future self, so… God, my brain will explode.” 

“Your brain is already exploded, I’m sorry. If we were in a sci-fi movie I would give you an amazing explanation, but we aren’t, so be happy with something spiritual or supernatural you believe.” 

Silence. The silence of the death, maybe. He’s so young. How could I be so young once? And I’m not that old now. Or was. It’s kinda difficult conjugating verbs when you cease to exist, you know. 

“Is it normal? I mean… I’m not really concerned about my life. I’m concerned about what will happen now, but not about Gwen or the kids or something like that…” 

“I think it’s okay. Well, I’ve never been dead, so don’t trust me. But you really have a lot of things to worry about now, so I guess it’s better to focus on that.” 

“Yeah, I guess…” 

Silence again. I think we have time. It’s a strange thing, time. When I thought about death, I was sure that I would die very young. Before the thirties, I mean. And then… this. I was starting to think I would have a lot of time, and then… I died. Doesn’t seem very fair but I’m not exactly angry. I’m just… sad. Yeah. Sad. 

“It’s awkward, isn’t it?”, he said. “I always thought I would die very soon. And there you are.” 

“Yeah.” 

“I wonder… if wasn’t better to die sooner.” 

“Why?” 

“Look at ya. You’re so fucked up, I don’t know if I want to be like this.” 

“Oh, shut up. I don’t really need to be insulted by myself right now.” 

“You’re so bitter and unhappy and…” 

“You are bitter too. But you are young, so people think you’re just sarcastic.” 

“Maybe. We both know that we have enough reasons to be like this. But it’s not an excuse, is it? I mean… I’ll be you. And I don’t want to be, ‘cause it’s sad. You’re an unhappy man, always complaining about everything, running away all the time of who you were. Sorry, mate, but I don’t really want to be like you.” 

“So don’t be.” 

“It’s not like a choice, you know? You’re already me. And you’re already dead, so all this conversation doesn’t even have a point.” 

“I was happy when I was you.” 

“Well, thanks. You know, I really feel sorry for you.” 

“This is not a nice thing to say now, is it?” 

“Whatever. You died alone, on the kitchen floor. You agonized. Your children cried over your body. Your wife’s still crying right now. Your friends are with that blank stare, you know? That one we have when we don’t know what to do or think. Yeah, this one, you’re doing it right.” 

“Tell me the truth, this is really hell, isn’t it? I’ll be here forever, with you. This is definitely hell.” 

“I don’t know anything about heaven or hell. And I think you can just leave whenever you want. But you won’t. You’re afraid of the outside, of being alone, of these people with no faces… It’s pretty scary, I feel you.” 

“I’m afraid I’ll die again if you keep talking to me.” 

Oh, he’s with that smile. I’ve forgotten that I could smile like that. I forgot so many things. 

“How you wanted to die?” 

“I don’t know. Sleeping, maybe? No, I didn’t want to live so long. And die in the sleep is the kind of thing that happens when you’re old. Actually, all the beauty of dying this way is being very old. It’s like… you know, rest. In peace.” 

“I know… But you don’t want to be dead either.” 

“No. It’s complicated.” 

“I know…” 

“Can I get back?” 

“And you’re asking me? I don’t know.” 

“I think you know much more than you tell me.” 

“Don’t be that paranoid. I’m here just as a companion, not as your direct connection to God or something.” 

“But am I really dead? Or that’s just happening in my head?” 

“You know that this is a line of Harry Potter, don’t you?” 

“Shut the fuck up, I don’t like you.” 

“Oh, the poor guy is getting angry! How cute.” 

“Sometimes I just want to kill you.” 

“Don’t worry, you will. I’m kinda dead now, you see? You killed me. Every fucking day of your life, you killed me.” 

“Oh no, you’re gonna start this shit all over again? You think you’re so superior, but you started all this.” 

“Me?” 

“Yes. You fucked the things up, you were the first one to run away.” 

“You can’t even insult me properly? I haven’t done this yet.”

 “Shit.” 

“I forgive ya.” 

“Stop. Laughing. I don’t wanna hit you.” 

And then he stopped, arms crossed. Like a sulking child. Ridiculous, but sweet. Oh yes, I was a sweet boy. Didn’t seem like one, but still. 

“I think it’s time to go.” 

“Already?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I don’t really wanna go.” 

“But you have to.” 

“What’s the point in watch my own funeral?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe we’re not going to watch your funeral, maybe we are. Maybe when we walk through that door some white light will show up and we will be consumed by the grace of God. Maybe you’re really on hell and I am your particular torture. Maybe you will wake up in a hospital bed. Maybe you were just sleeping. Who knows?” 

“Does it make any sense?” 

“No, it doesn’t. Nothing does, didn’t you noticed it already?” 

“Okay then. Take me to my destiny.” 

“You are being ironic, aren’t you?” 

“You’re such a genius.” 

“Wait… that thing you said. That I was the one who fucked the things up.” 

“Yeah, but you haven’t done this yet.” 

“So I really will? This will be my fault?” 

Poor boy. I was really happy when I was him, but I think he doesn’t believe me. And now he’s going to mess everything up, and he knows that. I think it’s not a good sensation. 

“Not you. You’re not a real person. You’re just a… I don’t know, an agent from my past, aren’t you? Or some spiritual or supernatural thing?” 

“Yeah, maybe… I don’t know. Funny thing, uh? I don’t know. I’m here because of you, that’s all.” 

“Okay then. So let’s go, let’s see what will happen.” 

“What if it’s not a good thing?” 

“I don’t really care about it now. Do ya?” 

“No, it’s okay. Now I don’t know if I really exist, you messed up my head. So I think it’s good enough to exist for a while.” 

“C’mon then. Let’s exist.”

So… I don’t write in english very often but when I do I’d like to post somewhere. I created the writing banana for this, my other tumblr is banana daiquiri, and my english is not very good. But come on, it has to start somewhere. And it’s kinda awkward writing a presentation post on tumblr.