In this life, you don't have time
Cause it always hit you from behind
It’s not alright but it’ll be fine
It’s nothing, just an ordinary life

I walked out of the center, two days after that, with all my belongings in hands: a bag of clothes and a box of books.
“That’s all?” asked Oracio looking at my luggage.
“That’s all.” I said. Why would I have more anyway?

The day was sunny and terribly humid. I gazed at the facade of the Center one last time, thinking how I stepped outside under everyone’s jaded eyes. No comment, no cheer to see me leave. I had been at the center of their game for weeks but in the end, I was a total ghost. And strangely, I didn’t mind. I turned away, feeling absolutely nothing toward this chapter closure.

Oracio didn’t lie, his studio was cramped. Same surface, but smaller in volume than my previous room; partially due to how low the ceiling was; mainly because it was full to bursting with crap. But it was also different. It was alive.

The peeled-off wallpapers were patched up with old posters. Food boxes and clothes were covering the floor, the chairs and mostly everything that the gravity allowed to use as a stand. And the bed was so messy that I suspected trash bags to be hidden under the duvet… Or a corpse. However, the place attracted me. The mishmash unaesthetic furniture had a familiar tune; the heavy opaque curtain pinned on the wall; the damaged table with its rusted portable electric hotplate; and that impressive collection of dirty saucepans that made me wonder if Oracio had the habits to buy a new one each time he needed to cook, because he was too lazy to wash his dishes. That wouldn’t have surprised me at all. The sea of garbage was strongly pointing in that direction. Everything was just filled with such a personality. It was telling me more about Oracio, in one glance, than I could ever have retrieved from him in a conversation. I couldn’t understand him but that room was speaking to me.

“Yeah, I guess it’s a bit messy”, said Oracio next to me, scratching his head.

“I’d say” I couldn’t help but reply. I went to sit on the bed and tested the mattress. It was soft but I felt something oddly hard under the quilt. I passed my hand underneath and pulled out – I’m not even joking – a brick. Don’t ask me why it was there…

“Ah-uh… sorry, I…” He squeezed his lips. “I’m gonna clean everything out. Just give me a sec…” he started on pulling everything together.

“No, don’t sweat it… I’m fine”

“Oh please, don’t give me the polite shit! You can barely walk in here,” he barked before mumbling something about Dorothy.

“Seriously, dude, I’m fine” I insisted. He stared at me with his sharp eyes, unsure if I was joking or teasing him. But I wasn’t. I was dreadfully serious. There were so many things in that place that amused me. But what really sold it was the bathroom: it had a tub. A moldy small one with just enough space to fit my body in, no curtain, and a loose dripping faucet but who cared? It was like a four star palace. So I repeated: “I mean it. I’m fine… It’s…” I made a pause. “I like it in here.”

Oracio stayed quiet. I was as well surprised as about my sudden confession. Wait, do I? Oh yeah... I do. “OK…” he said and turned back to his rustling.

In the end, we spend the day cleaning his place.

Oracio helped to reorganize the furniture so it would be functional to study. He actually got really worked up about that and took it as a personal quest to find me a desk. But, for lack of anything better, he put one together, with scraps he found around: a table, a shelf resting on two concrete blocks for my books, an electric lamp and an oil one he told me to only use for emergencies.

We pushed the desk between his bed and the left window, and gathered the kitchen under the right one, which didn’t take much space as it was only a minibar-sink, a small table and the hotplate. It was Spartan, but it was enough for me. Or so I thought.

My first night there was a real unrest. Lying in that foreign bed, I was unable to sleep. Was my arrival at the Center the same? I tried to recall it. But nothing came. Not even a flash. I remembered my first all-nighter and the first storm. The clacking windows and the dancing lights. But my first night was somehow lost in oblivion. Probably because I didn’t want to hold on a futile detail. If possible, what wasn’t necessary to me or my survival, was not recorded in order to keep my head as clear and quiet as possible.

But now, all my senses were on high alert. The softness of the used linen, the noises in the street, the smell of musk around me. My brain was on them all, feeding off any information like a starving beast. I thought I would go insane.

Exhausted, I zonked out at dawn and awoke at noon, refreshed and rested, having no recollection of my dream.

Since I was left with no legal tutor, Oracio stepped in to secure my re-inscription and ensured that I returned to school, giving the contact of his girlfriend’s family to complete the paper. Dorothy joined us that day and pushed the longest high pitch whine when she saw my bhikkhu head.

This was the first time we met since the shooting and I could still see the aftermath of the incident on her. Her foot hadn’t fully recovered, forcing her to walk with crutches. Yet, even in that state, she was full of energy and hugged me tight when she stopped wiping on my lost hair.

I think her embrace was stronger and lasted a bit longer than it should have. I think she realized it too when she released her grip for a second before returning to it with more determination. I didn’t break it.

In the following days, Oracio retrieved little by little his remaining possessions, leaving only a few things behind, like clothes that he couldn’t take to his girlfriend’s. It didn’t really bother me. It was his place after all. But it did intrigue me a little. Why couldn’t he bring them home?

I got my answer two weeks later; when, during an afternoon, he rudely rushed in, saying: “Hi. I am at work. Can’t go home, need a shower. Won’t take long,” and went to the bathroom without waiting for my reply. I wasn’t really sure how I felt about that; but it did surprise me a little on the first occurrence. Anyone would have, I guess. Although, I have to say, he did everything he could to get me used to it. Not by changing his way or explaining it, of course. Just by repeating that scene, over and over again.

So, every once in a while, Oracio barged into the apartment, in the afternoon, to take a shower. He had his habits, like a calculated ritual. And it was actually fun to witness.

First, I learned to hear him coming which wasn’t really hard; he always climbed the stairs loudly, whistling. Then, with no grace, he would open the door, as if he already knew I was in.

“Don’t mind me,” he would crack quickly, catching some clothes in the closet, and disappearing in the bathroom. “I’m just passing by. Need a shower and don’t have time to go home.”

“Sure,” I took the habit to mutter. On the first occurrences, I waited until he closed the bathroom door before going back to my study, but after the fourth time, I stopped bothering myself to up my nose and just let him deal with his business.

And for a few minutes the sound of water would run in the apartment, soothing me. Once, he got out, he always stopped at the bathroom threshold, rubbing his hair with “my” towel, to observe me reading. I could feel his eyes running on my neck. And the more he came to the apartment, the longer his gaze was becoming. It was giving me the chill, so I learned to break the silence. Like a ready-made scenario, it was the same chat, with the same awkward empty words.

“How’re things going?” I asked, keeping my eyes on my text.

“Fine”

“Dorothy?”

“She’s fine too. You?”

“I’m fine…”

“Good!” he always concluded. Sometimes he switched his habits for “Cool”. And occasionally, he would add “Oh, got something for you” and take a book out of his back pocket. He would throw it at me, with the same slow nonchalant gesture, saying: “It’s from my boss. He told me that it was good. I hope you’ll like it.”

Each time, he mentioned his boss, I couldn’t help but glanced at his left shoulder’s tattoo: a black seagull. I couldn’t say if I liked it or not, but it was bothering me. Why on his arm and not on his back like the other members of his gang? Also why a black seagull? One day, I think Oracio became conscious of it because he started putting on his shirt before stepping out of the bathroom.

“OK, kiddo. I gotta go. If you need anything, just tell me and I’ll bring it next time,” he would say while taking his leave.

“I’m fine…” was my customary reply.

“Cool then, see you. Keep studying. Don’t miss school. And… Uh… take care.”

And so, he would close the door hastily and I would stay on my chair for a few minutes, staring at the entrance, dazing off.

It was weird, having someone telling me those words: “Take care”. The one that actually took care of me was him. And I felt like I couldn’t ask for more. It wouldn’t be fair of me. So never once I told him I needed something. Though, that didn’t stop him from bringing me things on his own. He was acting like one would call a big brother which was, in some extent, weirdly enjoyable with a hint of guilt. I wasn’t sure what was coming from his genuine actions and from his debt repayment. Stopping him might have been ruder than accepting his help. So I let him do whatever he wanted and never complained.

But I was intrigued by his rushed visits, his fidgety manners and the fact he didn’t want to shower at home. I told myself he was working nearby and hadn’t much free time. Until I once watched him undress. Then it poked me.

“You’ve got a gun?” I stared at the grip sticking out of his pants while he was sneaking into the fridge.

He turned to me, with a beer and stuffing a piece of vegan ham in his mouth. “Uh?” He looked on his back. “Oh! Yeah! It’s for work.” He mumbled, pushing in the fake meat with his finger.

I immediately glanced at his tattoo. “Are you a dealer?”

He sipped with a slight hesitation. “Let’s say that…” And leaving his answer hanging in the air, he vanished into the bathroom.

It didn’t really shock me. Somewhere I already knew he had an active role in his gang. Though, from that moment, each time he came, I saw his habits and his jumpy attitude differently. Instead of embarrassment, I saw stress and tiredness. I could tell, by the black ring under his eyes that he spent all his nights up. I knew that it was related to his gang work because he was always carrying his gun. And I knew the darker his complexion was, the more there were troubles.

Although, following my first winter at his place, he started to show up at night too. Those visits were different. He stayed longer so we could talk and he was more relaxed then. We sat on the bed and chatted for hours, about my classes or what I was reading.

But he was quieter about his life. And when I said quiet, I mean that he never even started mentioning it, unless it was something related to his girlfriend. He told me once it wasn’t worth it and that he was more curious about the new things I learned. Surprisingly, I slid on it and proceeded in satisfying his curiosity. And the more he showed up, the more I learned to open up.

I spoke and spoke like a words factory, forgetting sometimes about everything around me. And he listened quietly, lying on the bed and smoking weed, asking me new things when I was done with my topic. It took me a while before starting to find it weird. I had to wait the day he brought me to the mobile library – a travelling truck that came in town every week – to understand the whole situation.

I needed to extend my books collection. Since Magdad City was under cybernetic restriction and the last public library had closed its doors before my birth for lack of funding, my options were pretty nonexistent.

When I mentioned it to Oracio, he let me know about the truck and walked me there. It was a large lorry you could walk in to explore the merchandise. It belonged to a benevolent organization from Tarramine that had a special authorization to get in and out of the city.

On our way back from my first expedition, we met some of Oracio’s friends who started to tease him, after seeing him with books. They called him “Brainiac”, stating it was its new nickname in the group because for the last few months, he was always with a book in his back pocket, though, the so-called books were, in fact, the one his boss was lending me.

Later, they tried to force him to introduce me but Oracio made them understand they were rude and didn’t want them around. In three words exactly, that suggested some social coitus practice.

They left us, laughing at Oracio and his new reading habits, telling: “Don’t dream too much, Mad Dog. We all know that it’s wasted on you.” Once alone, I pointed out the “wasted” part, wondering what the guys meant by that. And with his usual neutral face, Oracio just answered me: “I don’t know how to read…”

For the first time of my life, I sensed the gap between us and felt guilty to have something that someone else didn’t have. “Do you want me to teach you?” I asked hesitantly.

He gazed at me like a kid who would have met a fake Santa. Happy and doubting at the same time. “S-sure!”

Thus, I ended up giving reading lessons to a weed smoker mobster, four years my eldest who was caring, day and night, a mamba pistol in his rear pants. And he was… desperately awful. After a few essays, he just told me to give up and not to worry, that he was “already fucked up anyway” and there was nothing to save in him. So we went back to my customary reading except that, instead of resuming my book, this time, I was reading the real text to him. Unfortunately, I am a shitty actor and my reading turned into a bad comedy show. At least, I made him laugh.

Eventually, we became sort of used to each other and had our habits. He came, we talked, I read, he smoked, we laughed and we got back to our personal life, like if we didn’t know each other. After a few months, I joined in with the drinking and smoking part.

I was fine with him not around. I was fine with him around. Life with him and life alone were two separated things that I both enjoyed. And I couldn’t even tell why. It just felt really nice, even if, aside from a few instances, we never shared more than my studies content and the book I was on.

Because that was all he was interested in. Always caring about me not skipping school and keeping on studying. Scolding me when I was stealing his weed, when he was the one who initiated me in the first place. Telling me to stay focused, to not kill my brain with that shit. My brain… He was obsessed by it. Like if it was something valuable. And each time, I puffed on the joint, I could feel his annoyed stare. I could tell that he was bothered by it.

Thus, I blew the weed smoke on his face and burst out of laughter while he rubbed my head, snorting me a “Fuck you, brat!”