The Foreigner

Chapter 13

We are lying on the couch, laughing at anything, especially the things she says in her language and I have nothing. Our voice is already pasty.

-Do you mind if I smoke a little? -She asks me laughing

-Feel free. The house is yours, -I say, laughing out loud.

She lights a cigarette. Her left leg is crossed behind her right, her instep against the calf. Her left arm rests on the couch and with that hand holds the cigarette. With his right hand he holds the cup. Her image like that is disturbing to me, making me uneasy. It's as if I see Lorraine and Cat mixed in the same person.

-Why are you looking at me like that?

-You are very sensual- I do not know how I had the courage to say that sentence. It must have been the drink speaking for me.

-Liked it? Take a picture...

I understood the irony, but still said, -No. I want to keep this image only in my memory.

-Mr. Whitman ... When you saw me in my room, what were you thinking?

-I do not know exactly. I was looking for an inspiration, and then I saw you and it was all so fast. You saw me and I didn't know what to do.

-And I was useful?

-You're the best inspiration an artist can have, but there's something wrong with me.

-I felt violated when I saw you spying on me. -But at the same time ... I liked it.

-I should have apologized. I'm sorry for that. Was wrong. But you gave me change.

-I think so. -She laughed. -It was wicked to do that to you in front of everyone.

I laugh: - I deserved it.

-I'll get us another drink. -She gets up.

-I am fine

She goes into the kitchen, makes another mix, and comes back with a glass of a pink drink.

What exactly is that?

-That is the best. I always leave it last. Red Fruit Cocktail. It's a delight, Mr. Whitman. Are you sure you don't want to?

-Not. I'm already well drunk. Thanks.

She sits on the couch facing me and holding the cup. Looking at her I giggle.

-What was Mr. Whitman? What's funny now?

-I was remembering the first day I saw you. -You were mad, kicking your boyfriend out of your house. What was that...

-I was very angry. I thought he was cheating on me.

-And he was?

-Not. Everything is clear.

-How nice.

-Yeah, because he's the only close person I have here. Someone I can trust. I think.

-Now you have me too to trust. -If you want to. -I realize you never said those words to my daughter.

-Thanks. She lowers her head. He takes a sip of the drink and stands with his head down, holding the cup in one hand and brushing the fingers of the other hand.

-Hey, what's up? -I realize she's crying. -Did I say something you shouldn't?

-Not. I was glad to hear that Mr. Whitman. But I wanted to ... If only once ... to hear it from my father. -She looks up with tears in her eyes.

I approach her. Wipe your tears with your fingers. Just behind that dark young woman I know comes a girl who needs attention. And I hug her.

-I'm sorry. I wish I could do something to change that.

I wanted to tell this guy that he has a wonderful daughter. And value the family he has. And not make the same mistake that I ... Wait a minute. He is me. And he's done nothing different from what I'm doing so far. But I still have time to fix it.

-I know. She says, still leaning against my chest. -I'm already an adult, I'm independent, and all that history, but these things I miss. I thought you would handle it well when you grew up, but it hasn't been easy.

-At any age we need affection. -I pat her hair paternally. -I reflect on my own words. So that's how Cat felt all her life.

I wake her head on a pillow on my lap. I don't know how long I was out. I look at the wristwatch. Carefully I lift the pillow that rests on your head. I get up slowly leaving her sleeping on the couch.

Slowly I walk to the living room door. I open, get out, lock and toss the keys under the door.

When I get home, I toss the door keys on the coffee table. I do not feel well. Not good. Maybe a bath will improve this discomfort.

There is a tightness in the middle chest. The image of Heidi crying and her words do not leave my head.

I enter the bathroom. I rip off my clothes and throw them in the basket. Under the shower, I bend my head and cry bitterly.

"I'm shit! I let it all slip through my hands! Everything! "I think as I punch the wall with the clenched fist of my right hand.