Potrait Of Two Boys

I can't believe I spent an hour in the bathtub. Aside from the fresh lemon scent, it must be my body overtired. I don't think I've had much to do all day. Just drive for six hours round trip, stand in the hot sun, jostled by a crowd of sour and weepy days, and finally wrestle with the old dust. Well, I suppose it is my fault for underestimating everything. It didn't seem tiring, but it turned out I was able to almost drown from being asleep in the bathtub.

The digital watch on the counter is zero-thirteen, so it's after midnight and I haven't closed my eyes at all. Bathing always brings me back to my senses, even though my eyelids were too heavy to lift. Water works best to keep me awake, like caffeinated beverages.

Now, after a battle with the thick dust in the upper loft, fatigue encourages me to lie down on the bed. I swear, this bed is not the most expensive brand sold in my town, nor is it new because I've slept on it for the last five years or so. But now I feel a different sensation. So soft I thought I could get into the bubbles inside. Like all magicians do, I get sucked up. The deeper I became, the more my consciousness disappeared.

Ended up slumbering like a baby.

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Time flies when you're asleep. The dreams that arise seem too real to be ignored, and so do I. Although it seems so random —a cow that drinks coffee while reading a newspaper— seems more entertaining than what the world really is.

The noise from the real world made its way into a dreamland, where I was still trapped. It awakens the focus of the brain, making it further and further away from this pseudo dream world. Moving around was so gaudy, I didn't realize the sky was no longer dark out there.

Even a bright light managed to shine through the room. Illuminates naturally but more effectively than the top lights on the ceiling.

Just like most people, waking up from sleep is in the beginning by moving one or the entire limb. I did the same thing. However, as soon as my body began to move, I felt muscles stiffen as the pain metastated every time it moved.

This is why I don't like spending time out. Lying down all day under Air Conditioner sounds the best option for spending the summer. The biggest reason I drive three hours straight is of course the blue-eyed man shappire. It may sound stupid and childish, but to me it's the only thing I've been waiting for. One day is more special than 365 days.

Now after a few meetings, nothing was satisfactory —because I wasn't brave enough to speak face-to-face in person— yesterday my efforts paid off. A signature along with the name of the blue-eyed pira.

Ah, right. Yesterday, I was so excited I forgot to replace the contents of the frame with an inlaid paper. As far as I can remember, the last time I left that frame on the nightstand, before my body was too tired to remember any details I missed last night.

The brain has a very rapid response even if you just open your eyes, but the body and the nerves take longer to process the information sent by the brain. The most visible effect is the body becoming unsteady when forced to wake up just after the eyes are open. Therefore, I sat down first, leaning against the head of the bed, breathing deeply.

Fresh morning air slides through the ventilation ducts above the closing Windows. I didn't have enough strength to walk out of bed and open a frame of window. Between the shift of oxygen and carbon dioxide, a handful of scent stirs my sense of smell. Something that stings but is able to make the stomach sound really loud.

This morning is different from the earlier morning. One awkwardness got me out of bed to check out the room. Curiosity has apparently succeeded in filling my body with energy.

A cold sensation immediately greeted me as the soles of my feet fell on the cool floor of the room. The rest of the night air was still there, the early sunlight had apparently not been able to remove the cold. Not bad, actually, because the cold sensation is really starting to kick in. The limbs were more riveting, especially in my eyes.

There, on top of a stack of textbooks that I had forgotten to redo since I last read —three days ago— I could see the wood in black. It's shiny thanks to my steady washing. The thick, unguided dust has vanished like smoke from the burner. Without leaving a trace. Anyone who looks at it might think it's been recently purchased, instead of having lain down in the attic. I deserve a smile of pride from my hard work, to dirty my clothes.

I turned around, instead of walking toward the bedroom door, and instead approached the frame where it lay. My body went on its own, as if the frame had controlled the tendrils of muscles and nerves. Pulling it closer.

When I was right in front of the nightstand, the frame was lying facedown. The glass was pressed against the frame body and the surface of the book cover. I couldn't see it with, like, math maybe, because it had red and orange accents in some places.

My fingertips touch the edge of the black wood, and then flip it inside a touch. Last night's efforts to clean did not betray results, as the glass covered with thick dust was now perfectly clean. Even if you look at it from a distance, it won't be visible if it's covered in a sheet of glass. The portrait of two boys, approximately 7-8 years old overnight, shows only the underparts of his body, now making his face perfectly clear.

One white boy who when exposed to too much sunlight can turn pink wearing a blue tank top with a dirty front full of brown sand. Then one of them was darker and shirtless with a pink bucket next to him looking over at the side, looking exactly at the tank top.

I recognize everything. The dark skinned boy is Lucas, and the other one is me.

That part of the past is sometimes very hard to remember. Especially if it's too far. In fact, it occurred to me that it was Lucas —the annoying boy in my book— who smiled as sweetly as he did in this photo.

"Why does this cute little boy turn into a jerk when he's an adult?"

The door chime came across behind me, before I turned around to check if it was the wind or if a street cat had snuck in, another voice said hello.

The heavy voice of a man.

"I thought you were still sleeping.."