Sons, Daughters by Ivana Bodrozic

Author:Ivana Bodrozic [Bodrožić Ivana]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: women in translation; literature in translation; Croatia; locked-in-syndrome; transgender; trans; LGBTQ; books fiction; fiction; novels; lgbt; lgbtq; fiction books; lgbt books; transgender fiction; transgender books; lgbt fiction; lgbt novels; fantasy; thriller; video games; mystery; adventure; superhero; romance; short stories; science fiction; superheroes; mythology; games; snow; gaming; feminism; friendship; dinosaur books; sleep; dinosaur train; crime; suspense; sci-fi; parenting; love story; sin; dark; folklore; body; paranormal
ISBN: 9781644213360
Publisher: Seven Stories Press
Published: 2024-02-10T17:30:00+00:00

Part Two

20.

There were certain rules I had to make in life: no more hard liquor. I wake up, it is day outside, I go to work, day outside, I go out for a drink, day outside, I come back to the apartment, day outside, and then that moment when, beneath the light, I could see the exact color of your eyes which I’d never been able to pinpoint. A blue circle around the pupil, melting into green, a green that was pierced with golden dots and violet fissures, gold that thinned toward the rim of the iris and transitioned to tree bark, all of it outlined with a metal circle. Why haven’t you called? All you had to say was, love, you are so stupid. There are times when that’s how I feel. A leftover. I can hear you saying I am nothing. You think I want everything to be about me. I know. I’m stupid. I get it. But sometimes I can’t help myself, you have this long, see-through dress on, because of it your step is even lighter as you walk. Did you know I showed Filip a photograph I took of you at the beginning that caught you while you were walking? Of course he immediately saw what it was about. I said, see, that’s her stride, it tells you all you need to know, look at her stride, between the bench and the wall, look how I caught the air between those long legs, her neck and the locks of her hair and the solemnity behind her smile, and all that in her stride.

And then we’re strolling through town, he’s strumming a guitar on the sidewalk, he plays well, not badly at all, “Unchained Melody.” You told me once that you had a crush on Patrick Swayze in primary school, I am thinking of those big hands of his, I would definitely come back to you as a ghost, lift you up onto me and protect you, then you stop for a minute and listen to him play. You smile at him, your smile is a gift I would like too, you’re holding my hand but that’s not enough, I want every single crumb of you for myself so I start in on you. You know how I can be. Stupid, first of all, then sullen. I know you’re simply enjoying the moment and the music, and there should be nothing nicer for me than to watch you while you’re enjoying something. I have to admit that I’m less and less often like this but sure, sometimes I’m stupid. You take this way too seriously when it happens, we argue about it, “Look, there’s no point in blowing up over everything,” I say, “I just do it sometimes.” “But what is the point if I don’t take you seriously?” you say, “Come on, love, come on, we had such a brilliant time together, I only have eyes for you and I can’t believe, you know, I can’t, it insults me.

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