Disclaimer: The main characters don't belong to me, but the rest does.
Dear Diary,
Erik finally told me about his background.
We were having a lesson here yesterday (right now we're having all our lessons at my house because I have so little time) and when we were done I suddenly felt like showing him one of my family photo albums, so he could see what my mom was like, and also to show off how cute I used to be as a little kid. I guess this was my awkward way of trying to bond.
Anyway, I got the album out, and showed him a bunch of pictures. I felt a little embarrassed at one point when I turned a page and there was a picture of me as toddler, stark naked, taking a bath, but he didn't seem to take any great notice, and instead focused on the picture of me on the next page, dressed as a ballerina, which he seemed to find particularly sweet. I also showed him quite a lot of photos of Mom, telling him anecdotes about her at the same time. It was easier to look at those pictures cheerfully with him, because he didn't know her, so they didn't make him sad.
At one point he said: "The way you talk about her is lovely."
"She was the best. I miss her so much…"
He leaned over the album to have a closer look. "You know, you look quite a lot like her."
"You really think so? I'm glad. I've always wanted to be like her."
"I can understand missing a mother like that. I would miss you if you were my mother."
I couldn't help smiling. "That's sweet of you to say. But don't you miss your actual mother?"
Immediately after saying that, I felt a little awkward, because I realized for the first time that I didn't know whether either of his parents was dead or alive, or what his relationship to them was, so that it was possible I'd just accidentally crossed a line.
Thankfully, he didn't seem to take offense. Instead, he sighed, and said, "No, I don't miss her. I'm afraid she's not particularly missable."
"Oh?"
"I suppose I might as well tell you…"
He sighed again, then began, "My mother was, and I suppose still is, a drug-addict. I wasn't… planned, and she didn't know who the father was. She attempted a late-term abortion, but I came out alive, and by some miracle she didn't quite have the heart to let me die in the bucket, so here I am. Also rather miraculously, I didn't incur any serious health problems as a result of the operation — from what I gather, my face was a result of poor genetics and adverse conditions in the womb rather than anything later. I believe I gave her quite a fright when she first got a good look at me."
He chuckled grimly, and my heart broke for him a little bit more.
He carried on in the same cool, dispassionate voice: "I still don't understand what possessed her to keep me for so long, considering her feelings towards me, but she kept me until I was seven years old, at which point I was taken away by child protection services and placed in an orphanage. I remained in the system until I was of age. Since I was a good student, I was then able to attend college on a scholarship and earn a music degree. I met Benham Ahmadi at the orphanage, where he used to work, and he's kept an eye on me over the years, and been a good… friend, I suppose. I've done quite well for myself with my compositions and other work, but when I found myself running a little low on funds two years ago, he's the one who suggested teaching as a way of complementing my income."
He smiled at me (or rather, his eyes crinkled behind his mask) and said in a fake-cheery voice, "Voilà! Now you know everything."
I wanted to reply, "No, I don't know anything, I can't even begin to imagine the full horror of it!" but I couldn't find the words, or any words, really, so I did the only thing I could do, and sprung a really sudden side-hug on him. It was difficult to hug him properly with the way we were sitting on the sofa and his body was angled away from me. It startled him, I think, but eventually he turned so that he was facing me, and relaxed into a proper hug.
It was a very long hug, and when it was over, he briskly changed the topic by asking me whether I wanted tea.
I don't really know what to say or feel about all of this, but it all sort of makes me want to hug him again, and never let go.