A Man, a Girl, a Deserted Island - an Epic Love Hate Saga

Episode 48: Men Know How to Keep a Secret

As I was telling you, that day I decided it was beneath my dignity as a man to keep jerking off in the bathroom.

To root out the problem, I gathered up all of my mother's fashion magazines, bundled them up, and tossed them out with the trash.

It wasn't long before my mother stormed into my room, furious. It happened about two days later.

"Did you take these to the second-hand bookstore too?" she yelled. "My magazines! May you be cursed with a perpetual thirst! You and your father are going to drive me to my grave!"

I hung my head, but those damned magazines never found their way back into the house.

I was a changed man, but that new man was still a slave. After classes, I would rush, hypnotized, straight to the bakery. My parents were a bit puzzled that I spent so much time "at the library's reading room," but they couldn't find anything to condemn in that.

I was free to come and go as I pleased. Eventually, I got to know Irina's schedule by heart, and one fine day, I mustered up the courage to cross the street and wait for her right on the bakery's sidewalk. Impossible for her to miss me.

"I'm going to say hello," I thought. "Today is the big day! I'm a man, so I'm brave! I'm going to talk to her."

She came out, walked past me, and I muttered:

"Hi!"

She was already a few steps past me but turned around and gave me a once-over, top to bottom and bottom to top. Though it lasted less than a second, I could almost physically feel her analyzing and assessing me.

Her eyes stopped for a second on my shoes, traveled up my pants, paused slightly at my sleeves and collar, and finally settled on my face.

Good God, I felt more scrutinized than a chicken at the market, but the conclusion was clear: my eggs were not of interest.

I hated myself more than ever in that moment. I had considered myself an average guy, but maybe in her eyes, I appeared as some kind of fashion monstrosity. I thought I was decently dressed, but maybe to her, I looked like I'd crawled out of a dumpster.

What a mistake to greet her in my everyday clothes! Now I was paying the price...

Irina wore a dark green dress, a bit loose for her slender frame, but even so, it looked great on her.

She had on black sandals and carried a small, stylish black purse, matching her sandals. Jesus! If I close my eyes now, I can see her vividly.

"Hi," she replied, and her voice perfectly matched her appearance.

Have you ever talked to someone on the phone, only to meet them later and be surprised? Like a barrel-sized woman with a high-pitched, girlish voice? Or a deep, baritone voice coming from a frail, tuberculosis-prone guy the size of a splinter?

Ever encountered that?

Well, with my Irina, that wasn't the case. Her voice and looks went hand in hand.

While I was having these thoughts, my beloved was walking away. Failure!

"Tiberiu, you're the limit!" I told myself. "What did you expect, anyway? What did you want? For her to stop and start chiseling a statue of you? Be grateful she even responded to your greeting."

I watched that wonder of a girl walk away. There was a chasm between us.

Was that it? Was that the extent of my manhood? A "Hi"? I went home with a heavy heart. I was a bundle of nerves.

"Aren't you eating?" my mother asked.

"No!" I responded, fuming. "I don't deserve to eat today!"

And I stormed into my room.

 * * *

In my mind, the problem was becoming clearer and clearer.

No, it wasn't my fault. The lack of money was to blame! Poverty! It was killing me slowly but surely.

A man without money is a man without balls!

But why was I poor? Was it my parents' fault? No. Absolutely not. They weren't to blame.

They couldn't give me more than they had. That was their limit. This was their life: living from one paycheck to the next, from month to month. They were poor people, and you can't get blood from a stone.

So who was to blame? Irina? Nonsense! Irina wasn't to blame.

She was following the societal norms, which clearly state: "To hell with those poorer than you, and wag your tail in front of those richer than you."

I understood Irina perfectly! If I, God forbid, had been a girl, I wouldn't have gotten involved with someone poorer than me either.

As I saw it, there was no solution. Though no one was to blame for the crap in my life, I was condemned. It was an undeserved punishment: not being with the girl I desired!

And suddenly, a light bulb went off in my head, and I slapped my forehead in astonishment.

"Great Jesus, how did I not think of this until now?" I exclaimed, eyes wide open. "God, thank you for sending me this idea! The solution was so simple, you idiot! If you don't have money, you need to go where the money is, boy! It's simple: rob a bank and you're set!"

And from that moment, a weight was lifted off my chest. God had looked upon me and shown me the way. I was chosen by the Lord. The future lay before me, humble and subservient, just like red carpets rolled out before celebrities.

Good cheer wrapped me in its mantle. More than that, I left my room and went to eat because suddenly, I was starving like a wolf.

During the meal, I was cheerful, joked with my mother, and almost had a moment of honesty where I wanted to tell her that our family's dark days were ending and we needed to get some sacks to store all the money that would appear soon, after I won the lottery.

But I caught myself and quickly changed the subject while absentmindedly staring at the remnants of bread with margarine and jam left on the edge of my plate.

Damn it all! Enough with the margarine! After my first bank heist, my family and I would dine at the fanciest restaurants in town. I could already imagine my father's astonished face.

My career as a bank robber was knocking at the door. All I had to do was get up from the table, open the door wide, and the piles of money would tumble heavily into our small kitchen.

But it was crucial to keep my mouth shut. For now, I wouldn't tell my mother anything.

Secret! 

Zipped!

"I'm a man," I thought, smiling enigmatically, "so I know how to keep a secret!"