Dulcinea and The Death Code Read online

  It’s hard to describe.

  I just feel kind of special

  Like the one who could fly.

  It’s funny but I never thought

  That I am the one,

  the chosen,

  to save the world from this bedlam*.

  Or maybe,

  deep down, in my broken soul,

  I knew -

  Only fight will make me whole.

  The world - doesn’t notice,

  The people - doesn’t care,

  And me - doesn’t tell…

  Too short; too pink; too freak.

  Too skinny; too smart; too weak.

  The cold wind and the warm,

  One day – the peace, and then – the storm.

  The wild voice in my heart

  It’s all I know

  It’s all I need

  And nothing more…

  And nothing more…

  5. Bikini-Street

  My stepmom is a designer of female underwear. She owns the store, as well as the website, where she sells her amazing (she truly believes in it!) handmade products - mostly bikinis. Kaitlin's store in Sumter, located on 12th avenue adjacent to our house, has never been my favorite place to visit. It was too shiny, too trendy and too stylish. Just so much “TOO” for a small room. And because of this, I almost developed a particular dislike for all Kaitlin’s clients. Of course, not because they were troublesome, but I never enjoyed the undivided attention that comes with being in the store. Her website, built by a family friend, also added to my woes. According to him, the website was made “Dulcinea-friendly,” with the idea behind it: I’d help Kaitlin upload her completed bikinis or panties designs. The first time I heard that I scoffed. The websites name is “Sensual Nights”, and again - let’s be honest, shall we? - I hate it from the bottom of my heart. Hopefully, I’ll die before Kaitlin leaves her “half-naked” business to me.

  It’s funny, but Kaitlin never gave up on me. She still hopes that one day I could be a good designer. Yeah, maybe; though never for bikinis. Last month in Sumter, she started to give me lessons on sewing, but my hands are like the old rakes – I think I scared her away when she checked my final drawings and stitches.

  “Dulcinea, you need to put the needle here…” and then, “Dulcinea, before you take off the design, learn to arrange the widgets… ensure it fits…” Blah! Blah! Blah! I lost interest even before she got started.

  Kaitlin also called my sketches surrealistic and out-of-fashion. What if I am the next Salvador Dali… of bikinis? Frankly, I can’t imagine myself getting up every morning and running to the store to meet my nude clients. But my step-mom manages to get around all of that with ease. What can I say - it is truly a gift!

  The old store had two beacons that linked the main room with another inner room. The first one was where Kaitlin kept all her designing tools, and then the other was where her clients would change: wait for her to come to take measurements, or do other stuff. Some of this “stuff” would include drinking tea, local gossips or even dancing. Growing up, I would always see her in this store, and apart from the fact that the store was located in a visible area, I felt confused knowing that Kaitlin did not find it disgusting: the showing and promoting of her ‘half-naked’ self to the world. Well, I am not judging.

  … Or just a little bit.

  “Breakfast and school!” Kaitlin’s irritated voice cut through my memories.

  Some things never change.

  6. Being In Trouble

  My new school is called Rudbeckianska Gymnasiet. Let’s have a look around: a couple of cute blonde boys, tall, mysterious beauty-queens, a quirky guy in green glasses. It seems many of them are from different countries. I could smell their fear of being peculiar, and they probably could feel mine.

  How does fear smell? I have never thought about it. Have you?

  Every human being has fears. Some of them are things you can see and touch, like snakes, garlic and toes. Some of them are situations you want to avoid, just like one I faced today - a public introduction to a new class. Some of them are invisible, from my early childhood, like monsters that haunt you in your dreams. And some fears are things that unfortunately find us, like a crack behind my house, or cancer, or pain.

  My fear today was a special one: I thought about the fact that these kids may never accept me as I am – the real Dulcinea, the queen of quiet and odd. Will they ever invite me to their parties? Nope. Will I ever receive a: “Let’s chill, mate”? Nope. All that shit came to my mind as I had a bird’s eye at the class.

  School life stresses kids much more than home life does.

  Whatever. I am already here. I guess I have to give it a shot.

  “Kids from all over the world in one place, well, should be easier to blend in…” This is what I was thinking, waiting for an introduction to my new Swedish classmates.

  “Here’s our new student – Dulcinea Lovinescu. I told you about her yesterday. She doesn't speak Swedish yet, but I’d like you to welcome her and show her our real Scandinavian hospitality…” announced the teacher with a closed neck T-shirt. He put his left hand on my shoulder, and with his blue jeans and grey colored boots he looked almost like Leon, only older.

  “I got a warm lap right here if she wanna check,” said the voice from the corner.

  The class laughed. Even the teacher smiled. I looked around. Ah, there he is - the brave guy who said that. I couldn’t find similarities with anyone I knew before. I noticed that his polo had several spots on it, and the spot in the middle was like the stain from brown coffee. If I were to respond to his comments, I would get the class into a more rowdy session of laughter.

  “I have to stay put. It is my first day. I should allow myself to be mocked,” I said to myself. I’m fine with being the funny new girl at the school. Why not? I can. Mission accomplished.

  “If she’d prefer to spend an hour in your company, Erik, I’d be shocked.” That response to Erik was cool, but it didn’t hit the target.

  “Hey, don’t be so shy…” echoed the voices in the classroom.

  I walked by two or three tables and stopped near the empty chair. The girl who sat on the opposite side smiled at me. I immediately wanted to be her friend - she was so beautiful and warm like the sun.

  Her two front teeth were correctly set, unlike mine, which needed a tooth-holder to fit well. Kaitlin told me once that I had a terrible fall during the winter of my sixth birthday, and for almost two long years I had a tooth-holder. I must have been adventurous, a trait I still express dangerously now.

  So, I had made the first contact. Her hair was long and blond. I could see that the color of eyes matched her funny grey cap. A big welcoming smile. I quickly sat and looked forward, trying to avoid the sinking gaze from Erik. The girl behind me was not much of a smiley person either; her eyes flinted at me as if I just reported her to the teacher. This class will be an interesting one…

  “Don’t worry, it’s free here right now. My friend Anna is suffering from the flu. When she gets back, we can figure out where you’ll sit. My name is Osa. And don't laugh. I know it’s a weird name. Ha ha!”

  “I won't. My name is worse.” This was cool. She was able to speak to me with such simplicity and brightness. I stretched out my hand to accept her handshake. She gave me another big smile. I guess the rest of the class may have wondered if we had ever met before.

  “May I call you Di instead of Dulcinea? Love your hair color! Pink all the way down. How’s your relationship with Chemistry, Ms. Pink? Mr. Capler is pure madness…” Osa sighed.

  “My dad is a chemist.”

  “Awesome! I guess the next bit of homework is done, right?” Osa smiled again.

  “If that would be so easy!”

  Osa was unaware of the fact that my Dad never had the time to put me through in Chemistry. He thinks that I should be able to learn and understand everything completely by myself. And if I’d ever ask him (of course, that is when he is around), he’d quickly refer me to a book or text, or any research he had done: that would only get me bored.

  There was a day when it almost led to a quarrel: I had returned from class very tired and not willing to do anything at all. I was told to balance some equations, and although we had been working with them in school, I found it a little strange to bug myself to death with them when I have a dad, Mr. Brilliant Brain, who could easily put me through. Guess what! My dad merely sighed and directed me to read a chapter of a book he had reviewed for a better understanding of the task. Parents are so gross!

  “Don’t worry”, I said to myself, “Osa will get to know my Dad very well. Especially when she notices that I do not ‘automatically’ come up with Chemistry answers each time we are given difficult assignments.”

  The real fuss began after my dad had noticed that Kaitlin is checking my homework. Kaitlin hates to help, but she is obsessed with high grades. I was on the couch when my dad came in, his blue tie looked sagged. He walked towards Kaitlin, rubbed her shoulders and asked: “What are you doing, honey?”

  “Fixing Dulcinea’s homework.” she said. I felt maybe she would have relayed the information better if she had said, “I am trying to understand Dulcinea’s homework so I can explain it to her later,” but she didn’t.

  Mr. Brilliant Brain called me into his room and began a lecture on how it was necessary that I do my own homework myself; and how I should not expect help for Chemistry or Math, as these two subjects require critical thinking. Of course, I understood, but I felt angry.

  Remember! Anger and conflicts – a normal part of the daily life of a teenager.

  I loved everything about my new classmate. She wasn’t Jess, but she was very open and talkative. Osa would smile easily - or maybe she was trying very hard to be helpful, because it was my first day.

  The next class was about the blocks of matter and how matter itself can affect our minds and responses. Our teacher, Mr. Long, had a blue turbine shirt tucked into jeans. I also remember his eyes… They were a little too broad for him to be judged handsome. My opinion - he looked like a frog: sweet, but funny.

  Once in a while, our eyes met, and for a moment I thought he already knew I didn’t understand a word of what he was saying, but it seems he was too busy with keeping discipline under control. I sat and thought about Jess and our old house. Also, about Erik, and how we could end up being great friends. After all, I did not come over from Sumter to pick a fight.

  I noticed that the teacher was already drawing some random objects on the board and saying things like: “all matter has mass…”.

  I sighed. No doubt it does.

  After a while, I heard Osa hit the desk with her pen, she was trying to get my attention. Mr. Long had asked a question and waited for my response.

  “I didn’t get the question,” I said trying to stand up.

  “You can sit down, Dulcinea” he said, just as he repeated the question. “How many neutrons does carbon-14 have?”

  To me the question was odd.

  Hello! Did anyone tell him? I’m the newcomer here! Osa, please, tell this frog in blue to leave me alone! I almost yelled those words. But instead, this came out:

  “Three?” I paused. “Or eight? In case if it’s wrong I promise to check for our next lesson.”

  He smiled and moved his weird question to the girl behind me. I’m sure her answer was wrong too.

  After an unsuccessful class I met Osa for the lunch break: all she did – spoke non-stop.

  “Erik is forever Anna’s mate. They have been together since the third grade. Kind of. You’ll see,” she laughed.

  “I’m not interested in guys at all.” I was bored.

  “Are you a lesbian?”

  “What? No. Noooo. I mean I don't think so. I never thought about it. “

  “You should. We are going to a party at Erik's house next Saturday, going to be a lot of girls there. And empty rooms.” Osa winked.

  “It sounds so easy when you are describing this.” I think I blushed. Pink hair - don’t care. Pink ears - that’s a perfect sign of how stupid and unexperienced Dulcinea Lovinescu is.

  “I have done it. I mean I kissed a girl. Or girls.”

  “And?” I coughed.

  “I like both, I guess. Guys and girls.”

  After the pause, she added: “And I like you. You don’t talk much, but you are funny.”

  I wanted to be funny. I wanted to live without knowing when she’ll die, but I knew.

  7. Rabbits of Science

  Would you like to know when you’ll die? What if it is next year, or next week, or tomorrow? What if you knew and couldn’t change it? How would you live your life? Would you spend your last days: as a monk or a yolo? I had so many questions, and I had no one to share my troubles with. I desperately needed someone to talk. Someone from this world; someone smart and calm, like my dad, but my age.

  It is not so easy bearing this burden - the burden of knowing when the person next to you will die. Let’s take a look at my teacher of Physics, Mr. Long. I hope he will quit his job to stay with his two-year-old daughter. I hope he will spend all the time he has left with her, so that she will remember him for the rest of her life. Or maybe he’ll become randy and want to sleep with more ladies before he finally dies. I think he’ll choose the right path…

  What if I was the one being told that today I will die? How would I spend my last hours on the Earth? I don’t have any clear answer. All I know is that I’m bringing death and I’m scared of it.

  “Erik has a warm bubble pool. Take a nice swimsuit with you,” Osa’s voice arrived from nowhere. She winked, hugged me and ran to her next class.

  The worst thing about being “special” is that your existence sucks. First of all, I have to keep my mind empty. Secondly, I have to be careful not to let out information about “deaths” as quickly as I get them. And the last one, is that I have to ensure - I always remain the normal “me” while I am with my friends, family, or even random people on the street. It takes enormous willpower to keep my life intact.

  The worst thing about being unique is the class I had to visit twice a week:

  We called it “Eleven.”

  Eleven of us.

  Kids.

  Rabbits of Science.

  The class was a part of the program between Engelbretska Medical University (Sweden) and the BioFuture Foundation (USA). The center was only twenty minutes of driving from my house. The road had trees lining it on either side. The leaves provided a protective covering from the scorching sun for those who wanted to walk or ride a bike. But who would dare to take a long tiresome walk to a boring class? I’m glad Dad saved me half the stress by using his car to take me there. But it wasn’t only dad who helped to save my legs: sometimes, Kaitlin also drove me to “Eleven”. She would put on her stereo a piece of ancient classical music. And although it made the journey even more boring, it helped me not to think too much about the deaths of the people I had met during the week.

  It’s funny, when I’m in the class “Eleven”, I see a totally different side of Osa. Yes, she still remains physically present, but she hardly communicates with me. She pays more attention to this school than to the conventional one we attend daily. But it’s not only Osa who seems different, Erik also has a wintery look when he is in “Eleven”. Maybe it’s not about them, or the class. I feel I’m more attentive too… Listening. Absorbing. Memorizing. My previous shrink told my dad that I had an attention span disorder, something the psychologists termed as ADD… But hey, Mr. Shrink, it never occurs during “Eleven”.

  Memories… So many of them. Here is Day 1.

  “Are u ‘special’ as well?” I whispered to Osa, who was sitting behind me.

  “My mom thinks I have powerful abilities and I’m here to learn to control them. I can, for example, make the teacher’s table burn, or I can make you laugh for one hour. I’m surprised ‘THE Erik’ is here too...” Osa waved her hand towards the right, at the back.

  “THE Erik?”

  “Yeah. Seems he isn’t surprised to see us. Does he ever drop the cool look off his cute face? It’s sad, but I can’t tell Anna about the class. Because we have to sign a paper…”

  “About?”

  Osa couldn’t finish her explanation because the teacher, a woman in her forties, entered the classroom. She introduced herself as Mrs. Johansson and gave us 2 documents to read. Her lips were round, and her mouth curved down whenever she wanted to pronounce her name: she would say her last name in the guise of explaining where we should write down our own.

  “Ok. Now, take a copy of this agreement home and show it to your parents. I see the question in your eyes, and I understand you are thinking ‘What are we doing here? What kind of lesson is this? All I can tell you right now, is that you are here to learn about the abilities you have, or have just discovered. During this year you’ll meet many great scientists from all around the world. And from time to time we’ll be taking tests, but most importantly: we’ll teach you how to keep the powers hidden inside of you under control, if there’re any…” explained the woman with a curved smile. “I’d like each of you to briefly introduce yourself. We’ll start with Erik. Who are you? Why you are here?”

  “I’m originally from New Jersey. My parents moved here three years ago. My dad is an engineer, and my mum is a manager in an electronic company, ‘Tjoho.’ I don’t want to sound like a bad guy, but if any of you see me at the school or on the street, DO NOT talk to me like you know me, or as if we are friends. Because we are NOT!” Of course, it has to be Erik.

  “Very kind of you… So what makes you special?” Mrs. Johansson pretended she was interested in the way Erik tried to make himself seem different from the rest of us.