Tongue-in-Cheek

We said we'd only come for a day. Towards each other, then turn back to where we, matter of fact, started. Of. Fact. We started with a pirouette, but crossed our teeth and stayed like this. Two tooth-gap kids, catch crone's evil eye and paint the walls red in our parents' absence. Used to tell everyone he was my twin, while he told everyone he was adopted. A terrible miracle. Like all of them, in fact. In. Fact.

Summer came. I started sleeping much, and he, to dedicate himself to a secret sculpture that would make his name. Drilled it two freckles on either cheek. That evening, we had our first fight. I told him it won't work like that. That he would get nowhere, while he chided me for not knowing him. How could I forget he was a nobody, and all his life, a long short toward becoming.

As protest, I stopped eating, and him drinking. We used to spend long hours, staring through the keyhole at each other, but also at strangers. Of course, when I wasn't busy sleeping, and him humming interbellic shanties, and hammering. I threatened him I'd cut off his words, and when that didn't work, I sliced off my tongue instead, and nailed it to his bedroom door. I waited hours on the hallway, waiting for him to go out for pee. He didn't. Meanwhile, my daredevil tongue broiled and began to dry, flay itself.

It would, from time to time, let out the occasional errant cuss. but from this distance, I'd maw my hand around my ear, and still end up not laughing. I started to wonder how much longer I could wait. When evening fell, I got up off the floor and went to pack my bags. It was my last night at the children's home. From the morrow, I too would have a mummy. I hadn't gotten her cheap. From morrow.

My mummy was called Sister Christina. She wore her dress done up to her neck and the early warnings of a bald patch. Hormonal, by all accounts. She sang much, though typically, in a language I didn't understand. A while, she tried teaching it to me, but she'd never tell me the name or where it was spoken. I understood late I had no need of knowing, why should I since I was never going to end up there. Of. Why.

When he first came to see me, his left arm was in a cast and his eye was black. He hadn't managed to close the door in time one night. In whispered notes, he told me he was binding his time before he grew. Feared I wouldn't understand, yet told me anyway, knowing I had no one to tell in turn. In. Turn. His turn, though only sometime, at certain crossroads.

The next time, much had passed. His arm had been free for weeks. He showed me pictures on Sister Agnes's phone of his sculpture. With her help, he'd been able to send them to a contest in Paris and now they were waiting to hear. I didn't ask. I was suddenly afraid of sounding like a child. Apparently, I should've known who he meant, or what Paris was.

My lessons with Christina rarified, then stopped. I realized I was hurrying her in vain, that she didn't understand, that what I thought unmoved inside me had long ago been lost. Long. Ago. There had been several massive losses at a sacro-cranial level, they told her, and in turn, Christina told me back, as though she expected me to understand. And I, reproachful, that she should've told me in foreign tongue, else how was I expected to learn?

The last time, I almost didn't recognize him. His red hair had been cropped short. He wore clothes I didn't recognize. Told me he was going to leave. For Paris. With the Sister? Without. He was his own man now. And yet, he was all shaking when he handed me the matchbox. Flame. I knew it. All the fires ever started inside the sanatorium had started with one tiny flame. I opened it and blinked a few times before remembering who I am. You hold on to it till I get back? I wouldn't want anything bad to happen to it.

That night, at bath time, I asked Christina what would happen with my tongue afterwards. It wasn't what I meant to ask, but I didn't want to go into too much detail about how quick it had dried and fossilized, or how quick I would. Christina blinked a few times, hesitated, then continued washing me. Later, I heard her tell another mummy how they horrified her, the grotesque, garbled noises I made, and how she hoped her next child would be only blind or something. Isn't it enough we have to wipe their cancerous asses, they stick us with the loonies, too.

I told myself on the morrow, when my mummy wasn't looking, I'd go down to the back yard and bury the box on the lip of the last acacia. And then I would leave. Someone, somewhere, must know what's Paris.

! [Original Romanian Version]
Am zis că venim doar o zi. Unul către celălalt, apoi ne ntoarcem de unde am plecat de fapt. De. Fapt. Am început cu o piruetă, dar ne am încălecat dinţii şi uite c+am rămas. Doi copii strungăreţi numai buni să se uite babele câş şi să pictăm pereţii+n lipsa părinţilor. Le spuneam tuturor că+i fratele meu geamăn, iar el le spunea că+i adoptat. Un miracol teribil. Ca toate, de altfel. De. Altfel.

A venit vara. Eu am început să dorm mult, iar el, să se dedice sculpturii secrete care urma să+i lanseze cariera. I+a dedicat doi pistrui pe fiecare obraz cu bormaşina, iar seara ne+am certat. I+am spus că nu merge aşa. Că n+o s+ajungă niciodată nicăieri. Mi+a reproşat că nu+l mai cunosc. Cum am putut să uit cum că+i nimeni, iar toată viaţa, o lungă scurtă către a se+ntrupa cineva_

În semn de protest, am încetat să mai mănânc, iar el să mai bea. Petreceam lungi ore, holbându+ne prin gaura cheii, când la străini, când unu la altu. Asta, bineînţeles, când eu nu dormeam şi el nu îngâna refrene interbelice şi dădea ciocane. L+am ameninţat c+am să+i tai cuvintele, iar când n+a ţinut, mi+am tăiat limba şi am pironit+o în uşa camerei sale. Am stat apoi ore întregi pe hol aşteptând să iasă la pipi. N+a ieşit. În timp, limba mea obraznică s+a scofâlcit şi a început să se usuce, să se jupoaie singură.

Îi mai scăpau, desigur, din când în când baliverne perverse, dar de la distanţa asta, făceam palma căuş la ureche şi tot nu râdeam. Am început să mă întreb cât îl mai aştept degeaba. Când s+a lăsat seara, m+am ridicat de pe gresie şi+am pornit să+mi fac bagajele. Era ultima zi la internat. De mâine, urma să am şi eu o mamă. O luasem scump. De. Mâine.

Pe mama mea o chema Sora Cristina. Purta rochiţa încheiată până+n gât şi+avea un uşor început de chelie. Pe semne, vreo dereglare hormonală. Cânta mult, dar de+obicei într+o limbă pe care nu o cunoşteam. O vreme, a+ncercat să mă înveţe, dar nu+mi spunea niciodată numele limbii sau unde se vorbea. Am înţeles târziu că n+aveam nevoie să ştiu. De ce, când eu n+aveam niciodată să ajung pe+acolo. De. Ce.

Când a venit prima oară să mă vadă, avea mâna stângă strânsă+n ghips şi ochiul vânăt. Nu reuşise să+nchidă uşa la timp. Pe+un ton şoptit, mi+a mărturisit că trage de la un timp să se facă mare. S+a temut că n+am să+nţeleg, dar mi+a spus oricum, ştiind că n+aveam cui să spun mai departe. De. Parte. A lui, dar doar câteodată, pe la câte+o răscruce.

Data următoare, trecuse mult, iar braţul era liber de săptămâni întregi. Mi+a arătat poze pe telefonul Surorii Agnes cu sculptura lui. Cu ajutorul ei, reuşise să le trimită la un concurs în Paris şi aşteptau nerăbdători veşti. Nu l+am întrebat. Mi+era teamă să nu par copil. Pe semne, trebuia să ştiu despre cine vorbeşte şi ce e Parisul.

Lecţiile cu Cristina s+au rărit până au încetat. Mi+am dat seama că o grăbesc degeaba, că nu înţelege, că ce credeam neclintit în mine se pierduse de mult deja. De. Mult. Se produseseră nişte pierderi masive la nivel sacro+cranial, i+au spus, iar la rândul său, Cristina mi+a spus mie. Mi+a ca şi cum aştepta să înţeleg, iar eu i+am reproşat c+ar fi trebuit să+mi spună în altă limbă, altfel cum se aştepta să învăţ_

Ultima oară când a venit, aproape că nu l+am recunoscut. Avea părul roşu tuns scurt şi purta nişte haine+n care nu+l mai văzusem niciodată. Mi+a spus ca urma să plece. La Paris. Cu Sora_ Fără. Era bărbat de+acum. Şi totuşi, tremura tot când mi+a întins cutia de chibrituri. Scânteia. O cunoşteam. Toate incendiile izbucnite vreodată în sanatoriu porniseră de la o Scânteia. Am deschis+o şi+am clipit de câteva ori până să+mi amintesc cine sunt. O ţii tu până mă întorc_ N+aş vrea să i se+ntâmple ceva.

În seara aia, la ora de baie, am întrebat+o pe Cristina ce se va întâmpla cu limba mea pe urmă. Era altceva decât ce voiam s+o întreb de fapt, dar preferam să nu intru+n detaliu despre cât de repede se uscase şi se scofâlcise şi dacă aşa urma să păţesc şi eu. Cristina a clipit, a ezitat pentru o secundă, iar apoi a continuat să mă îmbăieze. Pe urmă, am auzit+o spunându+i unei alte mămici cât o îngrozesc horcăielile groteşti ce+mi ies pe gură şi că speră că următorul ei copil să fie orb doar. Nu+i destul că+i ştergem la cur, mai ne vin şi toţi scălămbăiaţii ăştia.

Mi+am propus ca mâine să profit cât nu se uită, să cobor în curte şi să+ngrop cutia la buza ultimului salcâm, iar apoi să plec. Cineva, undeva, trebuie să ştie încotro e Parisul.

I don't know why I write things sometimes, but this asked to be written. I only wanted to share some songs because it's Tuesday. It's #threetunetuesday, to be specific, and it's time to honor this lovely little tradition started and carefully managed by the equally lovely @ablaze.

Fair and appropriate. Even the scariest of wolves in time lose their teeth, if you live long enough to grow up enough.

This is pretty rad.

Still against war. Always against war, but in a different key.

Somebody born when somebody dies,
Outside my sky weeps, though somewhere there's sun.
Somebody born when somebody dies,
No war has forgiveness.