Floors

From here I can only see 9 floors. Cristiana lives in the fifth.

My chest feels heavy. It always feels like I have an anchor inside it, pulling it down and making it beg for air. Well, not always, just in those times. I walk, I talk, I am and from time to time I need

to take a deep breath; to arch my back to the front, somewhat it feels better. How am I going to act when I see Cristiana? Where do I place my hands? She has agreed to see me, but does she even want to, will she even listen. She used to sit with me whenever I felt like this and talk about all the facts in this world, or simply her day. Hearing her would calm me down and make me slowly go back to normal. And she knew that.

Ugh, the door is open, I can’t even. I can’t even ring her door to let her know I’m coming up.

I’m in the First floor and hear laughs.

‘You’re mad! How come he didn’t see you doing that?’ ‘I’m sneaky innit!’ ‘Say nothing, next time I fancy a guy, I’ll go for your advice.’ ‘You’re already seeing that Portuguese guy, relax!’

I smile unconsciously. ‘Yeah he’s alright.’ He speaks Portuguese but he's not Portuguese. Born and raised in Guinea-Bissau. Drew him with my speech: ‘His hair is long and very thick with curls that coil in a circle. He’s my height, 5’4. Of a smile of impeccable happiness and eyes as dark as skin – both hug me every time with or without touch.’

We both laugh. ‘You should tell him how you feel.’ ‘How? I’m not sure if he’s up for dating. He’s mad active, always planning his next step into his future, I don’t want to be a distraction.’ ‘Are you done? You sound like a wannabe romantic, who gave you that tongue? Are you a poet now?’ ‘Alright stop taking the piss innit, this is serious!’ She laughs again, I do too. ‘Just tell him how you feel Amândia.’ This conversation finished with me staring at my phone.

Stopped in the second floor. My chest is still heavy. Please stop freaking out, you know why it’s heavy. I just need to keep going up. Looked around and as always, here I am noticing things with absolute no importance: the left door of the second floor is slightly open.

‘Go throw the bins out Fatú!’ ‘In a bit!’

I don’t want to. It’s late and dark outside and by the looks of these clouds thunder and lightning approaches. I’ve told her before that I’m scared, but all she says is that I should be scared of her if I don’t go. Why should I have to be scared of my own mother? Now I’m both.

Of her.

And the thunder.

‘Fatú I ain’t telling you again, GO.’ She shouts “go” and I shiver. My whole skin texture feels like as if of an orange and the heat comes up, from my legs to my face and it focuses. There.

Epicenters – as if a verb - there.

Epicenters in my cheeks and lips and chin. The adrenaline makes me grab the bins and leave the house

and the door slightly open.

I should just get to the fifth floor already. What am I going to tell her? “Hey Cristiana I actually love”. Ridiculous. This girl approaches the second floor, looks at me and enters the slightly opened door, closing it. She was running up the stairs crying, so I was expecting her to slam the door… but she closes it softly as if she didn’t want to bother anyone.

Third floor. Fourth floor. Why doesn’t this building have an elevator? I wonder what third floor… just keep going up.

The distractions are as small as air.

‘Hey mate!’

Oh.

Hey.

‘Are you okay?’ ‘Ahm… yeah I’m just going up to the fifth floor… to see Cristiana.’ Why did I say that?

Reassurance.

‘I don’t know who that is but okay.’

Let me go inside I have a lot to do. Little Charles runs up to me as usual. Beautiful dog. Gave him some food, shower. Reflect. Smile. What a happy life. I hope Shaq had as much fun as I did today. Let me check my e-mail.

What.

“Dear Mr. Odi,

Congratulations! We are pleased to inform you that your submission has been selected to be part of our annual exhibition.

Could you please provide us with a short artist biography, description of the piece and a picture for programming and marketing matters. We would also like to kindly ask that you send us your bank account details so we can proceed with the agreed payments.

Looking forward to work with you!

Kind regards,

The Team.”

They are pleased to inform me that my work has been selected.

I’m still in front of this guys’ door. Waiting for courage. I can hear him shouting inside, of happiness. Rare, fulfilling happiness. Whatever the reason might be, I’m happy for you man. The shouting gave me energy and motivation. It gave me everything I lacked. I don’t know how long for, so I stood up and climbed the last flat of stairs until I reached the fifth floor. I thought I would hesitate, but I didn’t.

Knocked and there she was.

‘Hi Cristiana…I am-‘ ‘Telvin.’ ‘Yes… I brought you lemon cake. It’s not like moms’ but I thought you might like it.’ ‘You still have it.’ I take a few seconds to respond, she still notices my chest. ‘I do.’ Cristiana is my sister. We haven’t seen each other for more than ten years. We had a… well. We broke each others’ hearts and never spoke again. But today, she was smiling at me, a beautiful smile. ‘I guess lemon cake is our dinner because I made the same.’

‘You’re lying! You used to put sand on my hair, annoying boy!’ ‘Mom would always shout at me because of you. “Turn against the wall with your hands up!”’ We laugh and exist in our happiness. The memories are now back, and staying. Eternally. My chest is fine now. I know why.

After dinner we go for a walk. Going down the stairs the building sounds awfully and beautifully silenced. Feels like fullness

but "nobody-ness"

and a strong perceived as weak

with a bit of a twenty year old "loving-ness".

Third floor. ‘I wonder what’s on third-‘ ‘Come on Telvin!’

Second.

First.

Ground. And we leave the building.

‘Fatú why are you crying?!’ ‘Nothing mom. Nothing happened.’ She kisses her teeth.

Nothing happened. Only my mind did. Only my fear of everything. The fear that makes me weak, that restricts my actions. My existence. The fear that hides from everyone's care, but shows off to trial. Every. Single. Day. And I am the one who is found guilty. It is the fear that doesn’t have a why, a when or a trigger. It just is.

Will I ever be treated?

Ground, first, second, third, forth and fifthfloor. As this picture was being taken.