A Pianista (English Version)

I was born in a weird situation. My mother had just been abandoned by her boyfriend (as told, he was my father) and her family obliged her to work. I grew up in that environment.

When I started going to school, I had to attend to public schools, as my mother’s pay as secretary could not cope. Before finishing the first grade, my grandmother decided that my education had to take greater care, and from the 2nd grade, I started studying in the private school next to where I lived.

On the day my grandmother died, my mother got desperate. But my grandmother had thought of everything (I believe) and made that even after her death, the school fee was paid.

Throughout my life, my mother had several boyfriends. Most were "astonished" by my presence. But when I turned 14, she brought home a boyfriend who kept drinking and drugged, and usually would hit her.

When this story happened, I was about 16 and was as inconsequential as any other girl. If not for that month, I'd still be in a neighbourhood that saw me grow up and made me depressed and unhappy.

On the first day of school that year, I went to school reluctantly, not wanting to see those infernal boys and hysterical little girls meeting again after two long months of separation. The day would be pathetic if it weren't for that boy.

He walked funny, and seemed to be walking for months. His straw-coloured hair and his old and baggy clothes didn’t help him much. He cast a series of nervous glances around him. When his thin and pale face turned to me, I felt a chill. That kid looked anaemic or something.

It was no wonder that all the other students stared at him. He was new, strange and weird. And nobody wanted to tarnish their reputation alongside the weird. Since I already had a disgraced reputation as the pothead and wretched offender, I went after the boy. When I approached him, he entered the school building. I followed him up until I reached him. His smell was good. In a strange and highly familiar way.

When I touched his shoulder, he nearly jumped in fright and began cursing in a language I learned to recognize as Arabic.

"Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you." I said "My name is Melissa. Welcome to ..."

"I'm William." He cut me off "Don’t give me a welcome. I've realized that this school I need to be beautiful and futile to make friends." the boy answered dryly

"Well, not quite. I hate these guys" I pointed outside "And I want to be your friend, and not think you're shallow, but I found it beautiful."

"I don’t want a friendship out of pity. Once I had to move because of it. I don’t want to repeat my other life in here."

He walked towards the office. I shivered again. He did scare me. And I didn’t even know him properly.

"William, do not wanna be your friend out of pity. Seriously. I have no friends in this school. I know how bad it is to have no friends. Study here since I was 8. If it was for pity, you think I'd offer you a friendship? You have to know me. I hate no pity friendships."

"Okay, Melissa. Got the message. Let's move that I still have to take my time and figure out which fucking room I'm in."

We walked to the coordination. As in every year, a bummer of 'how did you spent the holidays, Melissa, darling?' 'You look beautiful' of the older employees who always saw me after a fight with one of the hysterical girls. They looked at me with an air of laughter when they saw me coming in with Bill. After all, even they knew I had no friends at school. You could notice the whispers and rumours that would roll around school during the next few days.

I know it's kind of sad not to have friends and be seen as a delinquent. But is not my fault if in my class had only hysterical and snob preppies. And stupid folks. So stupid they didn’t understand a few sarcastic words. Nor did know anything in life. Most are preppy who have everything in hand and parents are rich. And don’t listen to good music. Only those awful songs.

"Melissa, my love, do you want anything? Still have your time table?" Said Jamille, a very nice, but gossipy lady on the coordination.

"I still have my time table. My mom would not let me lose it." I replied with somewhat of a bad mood "Just to watching the foreigner."

Okay, I haven’t commented before, but Bill is really had the foreigner face, accent, clothing, finally, everything. And no use pretending that he wasn’t, because I never missed a shot. Melissa Andrade never failed. That perfume he was using, it wasn't sold for a very low price. And Brazilians never wear those kind clothes to go to school.

Bill and I left the coordination and stayed in the yard to await the bell to ring that requires us to go to our classes.

"What is your class?" Asked, trying to be friendly

"607. And to be clear: where I come from, that scene, "he pointed to the hysterical preppy girls embracing falsely "is a source of shame. I can see that I'm going to go wrong with these people. "

"Do you still have a doubt? I study this shit since I was 8, never made a friend and I made out a fight with at least three of these girls. And where do you come from, huh? Why do you only talk to 'where I come from this' 'where I come from that' ..."

"You do not want to know the truth. Many people abandoned me because of where I come from. "

"Sorry, but I do not fit in that list. I never rejected anyone for being from anywhere. But I rejected a lot of people by their personality. "

"Beirut. It does not spread around, alright? It's bad enough having fled from prejudiced assholes to do it again in here. "

"To whom would I spread? To my hand?" Raised my hand and looked at it "Yeah, I guess not. Like I said, I have no friends here. Even if I wanted, I wouldn’t have to tell this. "

Hmm ... A Lebanese classmate that’s sort on the run... Cool, huh? That would bring me nice things to do during the school year... That if I had completed it, which I didn’t.

To be honest, I'd accept this guy even if he was Hitler’s son. He's hotter than any asshole that school. And he seemed to be interesting from the start.

And ignore the guy just because he’s Lebanese? Seriously! It's called stupidity and I am not, nor ever was an adept to this sort of thing.

Besides, who judged him by looking at the first day, had no idea what could happen. And oddly enough, me neither. Just thought it was a friend, one friend to say he was my sidekick. But he became much more than just a pair. Much more than just a friend. What was supposed to be the preparation for the terror of the senior year, became merely two or three months of poorly attended classes and maddening rehearsals.

That Monday’s classes became mere blur in my memory. All I can remember was that Bill had a difficulty pronouncing some words. When the teachers asked him to introduce himself in front of the class, he’d always give a lame excuse not to do it. At first I thought it was shyness, but throughout that week I discovered that it was just a way to avoid attention.

The following week, I became his best friend. We knew all about each other’s life. POB, cities where we passed, schools where we studied, everything.

And he confessed that he had joined a band in Lebanon, but had to take a break as he was moving to another country and wouldn’t be able to go to Beirut at least once a month. What really intrigued me was: if he had a band in Lebanon, why on earth he was on an exchange? I asked and got an answer I didn’t expect. He said he was not in an exchange, and that he was only there because his brother, who had his guard, was transferred there. I thought it was a lie, but I saw it was so true.

A few weeks later, he asked me if I still practiced piano. I said that obviously had not given up the piano, as it became my only way of peace and rest. He also asked me if I’d agree playing for money, especially because pianists earned quite good money when pro. I couldn’t answer, once I’d never thought about playing for money.

I remember having spent the whole day thinking about what Bill had asked me. I didn’t understand why he would be interested in piano. Once his interest was virtually all to classic rock. And only a few songs had piano. And fewer still had piano solos.

The next day, he insisted on going home with me to hear me play. It was a strange request, but I accepted. The day had been stressful with all those stupid questions: ‘Are you and William dating?' 'What did you see in William? He's not that attractive. '. I decided that I deserved a round of piano, even with an audience. And Bill also deserved. As I lived right beside school, we got there fast. I threw my bag on the couch and told him to do the same, once my mother wouldn’t be home before 7 pm.

We went to the piano room. I got my favourite music sheets that I was memorizing. I played for about 15 minutes, until I thought Bill was asleep. I was surprised when I saw him open-mouthed and wide-eyed staring at me. At first I thought he’d hated. After all, I had begun the previous year, and was still playing by the sheets, but when he started to speak, he said it was fantastic and I didn’t expect that from me. And he asked me to play for him once he was looking for someone he could play with.

For me, that proposal seemed unreal. Mainly because it was a guy that I had just met. I agreed, but said it would be temporary. The idea of ​​a duo with him at that moment seemed completely surreal. I was never been the type of person that would draw attention of people in a crowded room.

Bill began to repeatedly thank me for accepting the request to form the duo. I replied that it was nothing, that it would make me a little happier. Suddenly I had the absolutely not bright idea of​​ going to the bakery down the street to buy candy. The day was overcast and we were only equipped with hooded jackets. We arrived at the bakery and bought everything we allowed ourselves. When we went back home, it started raining. We've been running that no two retarded. But we didn’t care. We arrived home soaked.

We laughed like children. Immediately offered him dry clothes. I promised I would get pants and shirts that could serve him and that would not look like a fag. He laughed, amused, until he realized that I was serious. I let him take a shower and grabbed a dry shirt and a pair of dry pants. Clothes, which, were from my "stepfather."

"Melissa, do you have a nickname you like to be called?" Bill asked me out of nowhere

"Well, my crazy mother calls me Missy, but I'm not a big fan of that nickname. I prefer to be called Mel." I said, handing him the dry clothes and picking up the wet.

I hanged the wet clothes while Bill got dressed. He became the friend I needed. After him I got to be a little happier, willing to live.

When I came back, he looked like a little lost boy. I couldn’t help myself but notice that he was quite handsome like that. He didn’t force me to anything, respected me all the time. I approached him to straighten his hair. We stood with our faces so close together they were almost touching. We were only separated by a few inches.

Months of a growing friendship resulted in tension between us. Our breaths were unstable, nearly breathless. In that small distance, we felt like kissing each other. Bill took the initiative. He hugged me around the waist, in a strong way. He kissed me passionately and I responded. It made me feel like going to bed with him. We went in deeper and undressing. Didn’t care about time.

I led him to my room. I could see that he wanted. He threw me on the bed and climbed on me. He started to penetrate me. At first it hurt. It seemed as if a knife was cutting me. But it didn’t scare me. I knew it was a new step in my life. I was losing my virginity to a guy I had known for a few months. But I didn’t care. At any moment I did.

Bill was very kind to me. Began to accelerate. It was getting stronger and better. And I couldn’t handle. It was getting hard not to moan. I moaned. Loudly. And each time he penetrated me, the pleasure was replacing the pain. He proved increasingly enthusiastic. Whispered sweet things in my ear. There came a time that he asked me to stay on top. I was. I could be losing my virginity at the time, but I knew very well positions. And I understood what Bill wanted. I spent a few minutes riding.

He moaned. And I was doing faster. We finished kissing and I laid on her naked torso. He looked at me in a way I had not seen before.

"Melissa, you've dated before?" He asked

"Well, no. I had an interest in anyone. That school does not offer much choice of decent people. Actually, you were the only decent person who showed up in that place. "

"So you mean I'm the first guy in which you fall in love?"

"Basically that."

"Would you date me?"

"You’re really waiting for an answer?" Gave him a long kiss.

I rested my head on his chest.

"Thank you for appearing in my life," he said

We just dozed there, naked and happy. Suddenly I woke up with a scream. It was my mother who had just arrived with her drugged boyfriend and saw me in that scene with Bill.

"Mom, I can explain."

"Melissa Andrade, I didn't expect this from you."

"Mom, listen."

My mother wasn’t listening. She talked, talked a lot. Complained that I shouldn’t have slept with a stranger.

"Now you listen to me, Santana. Firstly: William isn't a stranger. He's my boyfriend. Secondly, in case you haven’t noticed, the boy’s here. Unless you want to maintain an image of a hysterical mother, shut the fuck up and only open your mouth to apologize."

"Melissa, I'm your mother! Everything I do is for your own good!"

"And it's for my own good that you have this asshole you call boyfriend as  my stepfather? It's for my own good I don’t know who my father is? I'm done, mom."

"Do not talk like this about your stepfather! And speak right to me! I'm your mother!"

"An irresponsible mother that lets any imbecile come here to beat you up at your own home. If you want respect, give yourself a little respect."

She slammed the door between us.

Yes, most times, I acted up as the mother and she, the daughter. She worked, but I managed the money. Occasionally, as on that day, I gave myself a treat. But my mother was exaggerating things. When I did the tattoo that I carry in the back, she gave freaked out. I hated when she did that.

The gesture of the door being slammed in my face haunts me to this day. This changed much my relationship with my mother. I knew I’d hurt her, but I never knew how to deal with this kind of feelings.

That day I was very sad, but also excited. I had lost my virginity to a guy who always treated me well. I was invited to form a duo with the same guy. But I had a serious fight with my mother, which cost me a lot because I’d never go home or have her words of comfort when I was sad.

After the deplorable scene between me and my mother, any guy would run and would never want to know about me, isn’t it? Well. Bill was not, nor ever was, a normal guy, that's the truth. He stayed to give me support. He proposed to explain to my mother what had happened. He talked to her, explained that it wasn’t properly my fault, but there wasn’t a very positive development. She only made it clear that she was disappointed with my attitude and that Bill wasn’t to blame. His attitude made me happy and served me as proof for his love.

You should be asking, 'Why is she talking in the past?' 'How’s that? Bill loved her and doesn’t love her anymore?' The hole is deeper than you think. If I have to tell this story to you, I have a reason. Hear it to the end to understand what I want to tell.

Continuing in that moment I was sure that I could count on Bill for all I needed. He would be my sidekick.

The days that followed showed me that perseverance and determination are incredibly important. My afternoons were no longer one lazy routine after school. Began to be hard, with rehearsals and auditions that left me a wreck at night. If I hardly ever saw my mother before that, in those days, I didn’t even have a glimpse of her. My life had only one meaning: improve and pass an audition.

The hearings consisted in getting in a studio carrying all the electronic paraphernalia, organize everything, and play one or two songs. Invariably Bill and I heard 'no' as an answer. The only difference was how the 'no' was said. But Bill and I went from audition to audition to see if this time would be different. It was easy to see that the more the days passed, we were getting better, more synchronized.

Our last attempt was the weirdest. The audition was in an almost abandoned theatre in the centre. A good amount of stuff was mounted on the stage. There was a piano, amplifiers and all the electronic things for the candidates.

In front of the stage, standing, were three men. A serious-looking one was wearing a suit and tie. He gesticulated a lot, but spoke softly. His face showed anger. The boy in a t-shirt and with blond hair beside him tried to calm him down to no avail. The last man was wearing an outfit that was clearly Asian. He seemed the calmest of the three.

Suddenly, the three stopped to face and looked around the nearly deserted theatre. As we watched the scene, the man of Asian clothing called us. We went there. The men looked at us seriously and young man said that Bill and I were the only ones subscribed for the audition, but they’d still test us. He told us to play a song of ours. We explained that we didn’t compose, but we tried through parodies. Then he said he wanted us to play one of our parodies.

We climbed on stage in arranged the things and started playing. I remembered all the afternoons when we made jokes about school, the acid sarcasms that we told our classmates. I couldn’t control my emotions at the end of the song. I started shedding silent tears that at the sound of the last notes of the song, turned into crying. I got up and searched desperately for the bathroom. I knew that attitude was not professional and that guys would cut us for that. But I didn’t care.

Once I found the bathroom, washed my face, I looked in the mirror and tried to smile. That was the Melissa Andrade that I judged the true one. Distant, without apparent feelings clear beyond clear disdain.

When I returned to the theatre room, I saw Bill talking with the three guys. I did not see nor hear Bill, but I knew he was the one talking. I thought we had failed the test. Little did I know that that conversation was a confirmation that my life would never be the same. At that moment I also didn’t know that within three months I would abort the fruit of my relationship with Bill.

I got anxious near the boys. When I got closer, I realized that they spoke in English, and they had to take care of things as visa. Paralyzed with excitement, barely noticed Bill´s warm hug.

"Honey, did you hear? We’re going to London!" He said cheerfully. When he saw that I didn’t react, he got desperate. "Melissa, you alright? You're pale. What happened?"

At that moment I got really sick. The scent of the Asian dressed man was too strong. My legs buckled and I fell on my knees. That way I vomited. Bill held me by the waist, worried. I'll never forget the terror and fear in his eyes.

Once I finished throwing up, I felt a rush of shame come over me. In the only audition that I had got through, I went through that shameful scene. The men promised that it would not be taken into account, once they knew it was sheer nervousness. They did not know how much they were mistaken. That was a warning that a child is on the way.

If, at that time, I knew that I would be pregnant with Bill, I wouldn’t have slept that day. Not that I think that two pure people taking each other’s virginity’s a bad experience. I think it’s even more constructive than losing your virginity to someone who isn’t. And I guess I should have taken care on that day.

After the audition episode, I only had time to go to court with my mom take my letter of manumission. Or rather, the document that said I was emancipated. I packed my things, with what I enjoyed most in my room, like pictures, posters and books. Besides clothes, of course. My head was spinning. I had been hired to be launched by a foreign record company, which would give me the opportunity to meet at least one more country that wasn’t mine.

Arriving in London after almost a whole day traveling, I almost fell with excitement. It was all much more beautiful than I imagined. I looked like a fool looking from one side to the other, pointing to everything was a little different routine for me. No, traveling abroad was not a routine activity. But what was vaguely different from anything I expected.

Days passed, and with them, the initial euphoria that I had. I started to have to rehearse every day, go to school to finish the school year and having to take care of my body. Initially, I was puzzled by the excess sickness I had. I thought it was the change of climate and food.

Once the frequency was increasing and my cycle was not coming. I wondered the possibility of being pregnant, but I ignored because I only had sex once in my life. When I actually got to accept the fact of being pregnant, it was too late. I was in the ambulance on the way to hospital in case of miscarriage.

What happened to my professional life during those early months wasn’t so important. I managed to win a humble public around London and not much else. Of course, every performer wants to win a huge legion of fans crazed by their sound. But I've always been realistic. To win half a dozen fans is difficult and complicated. Not to say a huge quantity of them.

After the miscarriage, I became more careful, was finally focusing totally in my career and the label said that they wouldn’t admit if I’d appear pregnant again.

We spent a few months working in Hamburg, Vienna, Prague and Paris. Bill and I got even more close. With each passing day, the bond between us only grew. Until one day, he asked me to marry him. On that day, we were on tour, opening for a band bigger than ours. We were tired after a few sleepless nights. I clearly remember how it was.

It was late December. The café was packed with people coming from all over the city. Luckily, we got a table near the heater. Bill seemed nervous since we had left home. I thought it was because of the concerts that we were doing. We spoke of amenities until we got on the subject family.

He told me that family always had a well-structured, even traditional. He grew up as the only son and grandson, despite having his brother. But when his parents died, he and his brother were alone, so was to that day. I explained that my family was a mess. My mother was a single mother, I had never got to meet my dad because my mother wouldn’t tell and all that blah - blah – blah of only-child of a single mother. Until a moment when he asked me I tell how I wanted to build my own.

I thought his request a little strange, after all, Bill was never the type of person that’d speak about the future, he thought that the future was a vague matter, that no one had enough property to predict what would happen. He took something from his pocket and placed on the table, but didn’t remove his hand from it.

"When I take my hand off, I want you to answer the question that I guess I won’t need to make."

So when took his hand to reveal a royal blue velvet box, I understood everything. The conversation about family and the future... It was actually a pretext to ask my hand.

For a few seconds I didn’t know what to say. To me, that situation was completely unreal. I always had based my life on work and pursue. I didn’t plan to marry so young, but didn’t expect that I’d be where I was.

I feared that my life would become a pain in the ass just like my mother's. I knew it was difficult being a single mother, thanks to the relationship that I had with her. And I wanted to focus my professional life first. But, hey, I've had a child... I accepted and we were married four months later.

In June, we received the news that we’d have to go to college or we’d lose our job at the label. We were desperate; after all we hadn’t finished high school. We tried to justify that we hadn’t finish high school and, thanks to that, we couldn’t go to college.

They sent us to a traditional high school that was near where we lived. It had all that girls-in-skirts-and-tie and boys-in-suits. In September, classes began. For me, it was a nightmare. For two reasons: language and other students. Every time I caught myself speaking Portuguese again and people just mocked at me. Until I found a way to sort of stop this attitude from the other students.

There was a high school choir, which was stuffed with the most popular student in the entire school. I tried to join. In the tests, everyone was impressed with my performance on stage and backstage calming my colleagues, who almost fainted from nervousness. They put me as the female lead and a boy who was already a senior as male lead. Rehearsals began the following week and we became a wonderful choir.

The other students didn’t go on with both me and Bill, thing caused by xenophobia. We graduated easily, unlike the kids who spent their time making fun of us. We left to college and put career a little aside, after all couldn’t give enough of ourselves while we were in college. We didn’t do traditional courses, since neither I nor Bill had a vocation for it.

When we returned to active, were one more duo in the market. Nothing extraordinary. We started parallel careers to make ends meet. One day, the record company decided to fire us. We sort of expected it to happen. It was obvious that sooner or later it would happen.

We used our college degrees, but there was nearly no use. My job as a photographer yielded good money, thanks future models and future mothers. They wanted to take as many pictures as they could. Bill got a job as a singer in a pub near to home. We both worked on things that we liked and we earned enough to go on living. We had great luxuries.

Until one moment I started getting really dizzy and almost every morning I puked. I didn’t say anything to Bill; after all, I didn’t want to worry him. I suspected I was pregnant. I made three pharmacy exams and a lab one. The day I went to get the lab exam, I was completely nervous. Why two of the three tests pharmacy had given positive.

Arriving at the lab, the receptionist asked my name and got my exam.

"Congratulations, Mrs Ajram. You will be a mother. "

I was speechless. I thanked the friendly receptionist and hurried to catch a cab. I really wanted to tell Bill the news, especially because we were trying to get pregnant since we got our actual jobs.

When I got home, ready to tell the news to Bill, I found him writhing in pain on the floor. I ran to help him. I called emergency and begged for an ambulance.

Bill began to howl of pain. I tried in vain to calm him stroking her hair. The first tears flowed from my eyes. Couldn’t bear losing my husband so soon. Especially with a child on the way.

When we reached the hospital, the doctor asked me to wait outside the office. Bill's brother came to support me and try to find news of his brother. It took a few hours until I received the news that Bill was out of danger. Once in touch of this information, Bill’s brother left.

"Mrs Ajram, your husband is out of danger, but he’ll need help and will also need to stay here for observation only until tomorrow." Informed the doctor

"Doctor, what’s on with my husband? I need to know. I’m pregnant with our first child ..."

"He has a brain tumour. If you want, I can indicate you a nurse, once you may not be fully present."

"Thank you."

The doctor referred me to his office. He wrote down on a paper the name and phone number of a nurse. Within a few seconds, another nurse knocked on the door.

"Doctor, the patient on the room twenty-seven is desperately asking to see his wife."

"I'll take her."

I went to see Bill. He had the top of his head bandaged, muffling his straw-coloured hair. He looked weak and was paler than usual. I sat on the bed, careful not to hurt him.

"Honey, I have news for you." Started, stroking his hair

"Say it."

I took his hand and put it on my belly. A radiant smile sprouted on his face. It looked like a kid who won the best present ever.

"Since when do you know? I mean, that's wonderful!" He could not help himself

"I knew it today. But I've suspected for some weeks, though. I’m almost in the third month."

Bill's smile widened even more. Got an interminable speech about how it would be coming from our child, if it was a girl or boy... I had only seen him excited like that twice. That were when we’ve passed the audition and when we got married.

For me, what mattered now was how would my life from then on. I was no longer that little innocent and inexperienced girl I was when I had first arrived in London eight years earlier. I was a householder with a sick husband to care of and with a child on the way.

My pregnancy had many taking care and was full of laughter and joy. When we found out it was a boy, we were delighted. We laughed with the crazy names that our friends suggested.

Bill took the portions of medicines that the doctor recommended and got consulted regularly. He knew he wouldn’t live long, but he knew that if he took all the drugs and did all the treatment, he could live to see our son born.

By February, my anticipation grew increasingly, after all, my son was to be born and my husband's life was nearing its end. I was dying to meet this little boy growing inside of me ...

February 25th, I could never forget. Early morning, Bill and I went to a bakery 'round home so we could have breakfast and go on a ride that my body would allow. When I finished breakfast, I remembered I had forgotten my purse at home and begged Bill for us to go home before we left.

The second I put my feet in the house, the water broke. I looked scared to Bill and we rushed to the hospital. As strange as it sounds, I didn’t feel that famous pain in childbirth. It ended up being relatively easy. Tiring, yes, but easy.

Bill helped me a lot in the first few months. He was a great father and I had no complaints about his attitude. He was helping with our son, Gregory, and was taking care of himself. Even though I knew Bill was already an adult and everything, I couldn’t help myself but worrying. After a while he would die. When we received the doctor's prediction of his lifetime, we tried to do everything so that Gregory didn’t realize his father absence.

Few days after, when I was preparing myself to take Greg for a ride, the phone rang.

“Hello?” I said in English

“Hello, is Melissa there?” asked Daniel, my stepfather, in a bad English. I barely recognised him. His voice wasn’t cracking from his drinks. It even seemed he was crying.

“Daniel? What’s going on? Nor you nor mom ever called me in all these years.” I asked in Portuguese

“Melissa, Santana…” he sobbed loudly “Something terrible happened  with her”

The sound of my mother’s name made me shiver. As people used to say ‘your mother’ for me instead of her name, so I always associated the sound of her name to trouble.

“What happened to my mom, Daniel? I’m getting scared.”

“I swear it wasn’t my fault, Melissa. I did my best to save her. You don’t know what she means to me. And now…” another loud sob “She’s gone.”

“I won’t tell you how much she meant to me and what I think about what you did for her. But I really expect you learn something from this. I promise I’ll be there for the funeral and burial. Now I need to take care of my son.”

Then I turned off the phone to let the first tears flow from my eyes. I really missed my mom and really felt her death. Even though I hated my stepfather, I have to admit that in his inconsequential, twisted and selfish way he loved her. As soon the noise of my sobs became loud enough to be heard, Bill came to embrace me.

“What’s on, honey?” he asked

“My mom…” this was all I managed to say

            He hugged me stronger as though to protect me from something. He promised me he would pay my ticket to Brazil so I could say a last goodbye to my mother and that he would stay with Greg in the meantime.

I returned to my hometown and attended the funeral and burial. I stayed until the seventh day mass. After all this, I returned to London, fearing that Bill died soon. A few months after Gregory’s first birthday, in one weekend, I came home expecting to see my husband ready for another round of childish games and laughter with our son. But what I saw when I opened the door was Bill writhing and screaming in pain. In no time he had the disease writhed or screamed in that much pain.

With a few silent tears and my whole body shaking, I called emergency. When I knelt near Bill, Greg jumped out of my arms and headed to his father's lap. Greg gave his still hesitant footsteps and started making a clumsy tenderness in his father's face.

At the hospital, I could breathe a sigh of tranquillity for a few short moments. Bill had been in the ICU at an advanced stage of cancer and had had a mild improvement. A few weeks later, during one of my visits - which ended up being the last - Bill already starting to make plans for when they leave the hospital.

"Love; when I get out of here we'll take our kiddo to Brazil." He said

"Bill, don’t get too excited. You aren’t well. "

"But I feel great"

And so he insisted.

I tried to contain his enthusiasm, without much success. Greg watched the whole scene and kept repeating a word or two. Suddenly, Greg began to rock violently in my arms, making sure I understood that he wanted to stay in the bed with Bill. Bill made a sign that the company of his son in the bed with him wouldn’t be trouble. I looked astonished at the scene of the two together. With a weakened voice, Bill asked me to take a picture of them two. As soon I took the photo, Greg turned to his father and said a resounding ‘I love you’ in his childish voice.

A few minutes later, the sounds in the room changed. The machine that once had been doing repetitive noises, was now a constant whistle. I quickly sounded the alarm, calling the nurse. Greg looked stunned for all places and began to cry. I took him on my arms and began to repeat that everything was fine. I’m still not sure if that improvised mantra was to convince me or to comfort him.

With Bill’s death, I was afraid that I wouldn’t stand to watch Greg grow, as he is much like his father, but I managed to overcome the pain of loss and look at my son without being sad or upset. And, actually, Greg, every day that passes; becomes more and more like his father in many aspects and makes me proud every time.

What I want to spend telling this story is that:

·         Not all dreams, when realized will actually last. Especially those that come too easy.

·         Do not pass over your family for a dream. Then you might regret.

·         In most cases, appearances can be deceiving. If I hadn’t believed in that ‘weird’ boy, I wouldn’t have become what I became.

Thank you for your attention,

Melissa Ajram