Finding You. | BRUNOL & SIMUEL

Part 12: Manuel

"Not him," he says. Yes, Churro. That's obviously an old French baker.

I erase Bruno Bergeron #4 from the list on Pol's phone.

"Joder," he says out of frustration. Which I now understand means 'fuck'. "Can I see the list?" he asks.

I give him the phone.

He scrolls through it. "Why so many Bruno Bergeron in Roma?" With a frustrated exhale, he hands me the phone.

"Maybe he changes his name," I say.

For a second, Pol considers it. But then he shakes his head.

"Impossible, tío," he says wiping the sweat off his forehead. "He will not do that because name is the reminder of his father."

What?

"Why? What happened to his father?" I ask.

"His father died four years ago."

Oh. That's sad. I rest for a bit, taking a seat on an elevated area on the sidewalk. Pol takes a seat next to me, hopefully thinking of what to do next. We haven't slept the entire night, looking for his Bruno. There's still seven Bruno Bergerons in the list that we've looked all over the internet for.

"What are we doing next?"

Pol shrugs.

"Do you want to rest?" I ask him.

"No lo sé," he says. Somehow I understand it. "I don't know," he clarifies.

Well, fuck. I think I'm going to lose my job at the food truck.

"Do you have an idea?" he asks.

Earlier, I was thinking that maybe we could split up so that we could get through the list faster. But then I remember that Pol's not from here and he might get lost.

I don't know. Sorry Churro. "No idea."

He sighs and leans against the brick wall.

I look at him. "Tell me about Bruno," I say.

Pol looks back at me. "Hmm...Bruno is...my friend from high school," he says. "He loves history. He is very...temper, erm. He gets angry very fast. Um." He pauses to think; probably translating the words in his head to English.

I'm still trying to really understand why Bruno matters so much to him; why he would go to another country to find someone that disappeared from his life years ago. Also, if I'm going to lose my job, I need it to count for something. Even though Pol is my friend and it would be great to see them two meet, I'm still doing this at the expense of my only stable source of income. Still, every time he talks about Bruno, I'm reminded of my Simone.

My Simone.

Well, he used to be. Now I don't know.

"I think...I was in love with him first when my yaya was dead...died. My grandmother. Erm, Bruno was, uhh, comforting me...I cry with him." Maybe it doesn't have to be so complicated. Maybe this is why Bruno is so important to him. Maybe he is the only person who truly understands him and accepts him for who he is, even the parts that Pol doesn't like much about himself.

Bruno is Pol's Simone. No.

Bruno is Pol's Bruno.

I look at the list again. Why couldn't he get a more unique name? "Bruno was studying in the university?" I ask.

Pol nods. "He was studying history." Right, he loves history. I check the list for something related to it but nothing. The closest one is a professor on pharmacy. I don't think that's the one he's looking for. I erase that one. Pol notices. "No history here," I say, showing him his phone. He looks confused. I shake my head. I wish I knew how to articulate it properly in English. We stare at each other for a bit. The Churro and the stupid Italian have finally run out of English.

Pol takes his phone and looks through it. He is typing something. Is he texting someone? Is he making a call? He says something. I don't understand it. It's Spanish, I guess. He waits for a few seconds and the phone beeps. He shows it to me.

"What do you mean?" it says in Italian. A translation app. I exhale and smile at him. Of course! Why the hell didn't we think of this earlier? He gives me the phone and taps a button on the screen.

"The list currently has a lot of useless Bruno's. We can try and narrow it down by removing those ones that have nothing in common with your Bruno." We wait a second and then the phone beeps.

Pol looks at the translation and nods. "Okay," he says in English.

We check the list again. There's another baker Bruno. We erase that one. Why are there so many baker Bruno's? We go through it until we're left with only three. Pol checks their details again. And points to one Bruno. "What does this mean?" he asks me.

I read the word. "It means...actor...or, er, performer." Pol pauses.

"Tío." He takes the phone and looks at me. "Maybe this is him."

"Bruno is a actor?" I ask him. He shakes his head. "He loves dancing."

"Hip-hop?" I ask. He laughs. "No. Something like...ballet."

Wait...Ballet?

"Are you sure ballet?" I ask him.

"Yes. Why?"

I remember when I went to the theater Matteo's working at. I think he told me there was a Spanish ballet show at the time. Although, I could be wrong. I was drunk.

It is possible he could be a part of that. But there's also a huge chance he's not. There are probably so many Spanish ballet dancers in Rome right now. And are we even sure that he's still a dancer now? Maybe he's just the choreographer or the director now. What if he didn't even pursue that? What if he did something else? I don't know. There are so many years of information that we don't have on him anymore. Maybe in those four years, he decided that he wanted to pursue a baking career instead.

It's not looking good, Pol.

"I have a friend that is working on the theater," I say. I hesitate for a bit. Should I? "I think there is Spanish ballet in this theater. But, um, I'm not sure if, er, Bruno is there."

He doesn't say anything. He just gets up from where he's seated and cleans his pants up. I look up at him, confused.

"Let's go?" he asks. Just like that? No thinking it through? No second-guessing? I almost envy the man's confidence. If it were me, I'd probably overthink it a lot and just end up not doing it at all.

"Are you sure, Churro?" I ask him.

He smiles and puts his arms on my shoulder. "Let's go, Pasta." What did he call me?

This is stupid. Pol is stupid. And I'm stupid for following him. Look at us. Just two stupid boys, Churro and Pasta, in a completely stupid mission.