Aris

August 28, Part 2.

I never imagined I would write so much here. Much less more than once in a single day. But I needed to record that I just landed my first job.
My parents will surely freak out and think I won’t manage. That juggling studies and work will make me slack off on my diet, that I’ll get too tired, sleep less than I should... and all the other unhealthy habits you get when you’re practically a human time bomb.
But I hope they understand that I made this decision precisely to feel more alive than ever.

After sending a message to my stepmother telling her that I got the job, I got into my car and stayed parked for a few minutes, writing a record of that moment in the journal I carry with me everywhere in my bag.
I put it away, got out of the car, and walked to the restaurant where I had arranged to meet Lizzie, which was just a short distance away on the same street.
It was a small place with half a dozen tables. Behind a counter, a flat-screen TV was showing a national news broadcast.
The place felt more like a snack bar than an actual restaurant – and apparently, it also served snacks. I guess I needed to tell my new roommate about my health condition as soon as possible, before she ended up killing me with the food.
In fact, there were several things I needed to tell her about myself. However, in just two days, we had mostly only talked about university-related topics.

I found her already sitting at a table, looking at the menu she had in hand. I sat down across from her and immediately said:
"I got a job."
She looked at me as if I had just spoken in Turkish.
Or rather, in Russian. If it were Turkish, she would understand.
"Why a job? You’re rich."
"How do you know I’m rich?"
"I’ve been hitching rides in your car for days, Aris. It’s not exactly a popular model."
How much of a spoiled brat would I sound if I responded with a ‘it was a gift from my father’? I hated feeling superficial.
Especially given my life story.
"And what will you be doing?" Lizzie asked.
"I’ll be a dance teacher."
"Seriously? You’re a dancer? That’s awesome! I saw a Turkish soap opera where the heroine was a ballerina. It’s one of my favorites, by the way."
"Yeah, I am. And I’ll be teaching kids."
"Really?" she showed disinterest. "That must be... interesting..."

“Well, I love kids. I have a ten-year-old brother.”
“I didn’t know you had siblings.”
“Just one, although I can say I have a pretty big family.”
“I see. Greeks do have that thing about large families, don’t they? Wow, I just realized I don’t know anything about your family. Only that it’s probably very wealthy.”

I thought about where to start my story. So, I opted to let her begin.
“I don’t know anything about yours either. Why don’t you tell me?”
“Oh, it’s just me and my parents. I’m an only child. My mom is a social worker, and my dad works in…”

She continued talking, but I couldn’t focus on a single word as my eyes drifted to the TV, which was now showing footage of a news report about a group of Syrian refugees detained at the border and being prevented from entering Greece.
Even though scenes like that were common, they never failed to affect me deeply. It was a more-than-reliable trigger for my emotions, considering I had been one of those children.
In fact, I had been one of the few who, besides surviving that ordeal, had managed to find a family.

I felt a strong pang of anguish in my chest, and tears quickly formed in my eyes, and I was about to completely break down. Before that happened, I apologized to Lizzie and got up, following the signs to the women’s restroom.
I turned on the faucet, cupping my hands to collect water and splashing it on my face. Then I stared at my own reflection in the mirror, beginning slow, deep breaths in an attempt to calm myself.
Through the mirror, I saw the door open and Lizzie appear, coming in after me.
“Hey, Aris... Is everything okay?”
I nodded in affirmation, though it was obvious it was a huge lie.
Without saying anything more, Lizzie came up to me and simply hugged me.
“I don’t know what happened, but... stay calm, it will be alright.”
I hugged her back, feeling grateful for the support. I continued breathing slowly, trying to calm down. Until I managed to say:
“I came to Greece as a war refugee.”

She broke our embrace to look at my face. Surprised, but not shocked as many people were. She nodded, as if asking me to continue.
And that’s what I did:

“I’m sorry, my biological parents didn’t survive the escape. I know very little about them. My adoptive family helped me track down information a few years ago, so I only discovered their names and a few details. My biological mother was Turkish and moved to Syria years before the war started. It was there that she met my father, and I was born.”

“Wow, Aris. I’m so sorry. Seeing news like that on TV must bring up terrible memories.”

“It’s more of a feeling than an actual memory. I was just a baby when it all happened. And I was very lucky amidst all of it. I was adopted. By wonderful parents. The best I could have.”

I pulled out my phone and opened the photo gallery, selecting one to show Lizzie. In it, I was eight years old, standing between two women in wedding dresses.

“These are my moms, Alina and Iryna. The photo is from their wedding day.”

“That’s you? How cute. It must be nice to go to your own parents’ wedding, right? Well, in your case, your moms. Same-sex marriage took quite a while to be legalized here in Greece, didn’t it? But better late than never.”

“Yes. But adoption by same-sex couples is still not legally permitted.”

“So how did they…”

“That’s why my mom Iryna adopted me along with her best friend.” — I searched for another photo, a more recent one with a man, a woman, and a little boy. — “This is my dad, Viktor. And this is his current wife, Tati, whom I call aunt and is like a third mom to me. And this is my brother Ícaro, their son.”

“Wait… so adding the biological, the adoptive, and the affinity ones, you have… oh my God, Aris! Four moms and two dads.”

“I said I had a big family.”

“And such a life story.”

“You can’t even imagine, Lizzie. You have no idea.”

“What? There’s more?”

There was the whole transplant part, but... Maybe it was too much information for one moment.

“Yes, but that’s for later. For now, I prefer to tell you everything about my family all at once. Because eventually, you’d end up seeing my moms calling me or... me crying while watching news about refugees. This way, you’re spared from being confused by all of this.”

She took a breath to say something but was interrupted by the sound of a flush, just seconds before the door of one of the stalls opened, showing that we weren’t completely alone in the restroom.

A blonde girl came out of there, went to the sink, and washed her hands. She gave me a quick, clearly disgusted look before silently turning and leaving the bathroom. She was wearing a jacket, and I recognized the embroidered symbol on her back. It was a bird, like the tattoo on that boy we had seen days before.

“Damn it...” I murmured. “She heard everything...”

“So what?” Lizzie asked as if it were no big deal. “When I told you not to get close to that Free Bird crowd, I just meant not to befriend them.”

I chose not to discuss the entire social context with Lizzie, which she probably wouldn’t fully understand, coming from such a diverse country. But in today’s Greek society, issues like xenophobia and homophobia were quite strong.