I don't remember much about my childhood. Just a few sepia colored memories remain, stashed away in some recess of my Diabetes ridden mind.
I do remember though, the days, the hours after it happened, the fear, the feeling of hopelessness...
I must've been five years old around the time, we lived in a regular american suburb, me and my mom.
I never knew my dad.
Mom would always tell me that he was tall and black and that he had a thing for barrels. One day he caught my mom with the plumber and that was it, he was gone.
We also had this beautiful oak tree in our front yard, it was tall and its trunk was of such a diameter that it would've taken seven Sigmas to fully embrace it.
One summer, a bunch of bees decided to build a nest on one of the low hanging branches.
I don't know what drove me to do it, maybe I just watched too much Winnie-the-Pooh while my mom was hustling to make ends meet, but I tried
to steal some honey from the hive and it ended badly.
My face looked like Satan himself had taken a shit on it.
We drove to the hospital and I got a lot of different shots to lessen the swelling.
The following week, I went shopping with my mom and the drugs made me hyperactive.
I ran about like flash of lightning, pulling this or that from the shelfs and being a real strain on my moms nerves in general.
Out of nowhere an old Lady approached my mom.
"Just because your son is a handful doesn't mean you have to beat him!"
My mom was stunned and her stammering attempts at justifying herself didn't help her case much either.
The last thing I remember from that day is sitting on the backseat of my moms car and watching the old lady in the mirror as we pulled out of the parking lot.
She had taken a pen out of her purse and was writing something down.
A few days later the police came and took my mom away.
I spend a few weeks in an orphanage, my mind shattered, bruised. It was too much to handle.
I started eating copious amounts of food to cope with the stress.
After what seemed an eternity, I was told that a distant relative had been located, in south america.
I was to board a flight and leave tomorrow.
And so it happened.
I arrived at Rio de Janeiro Galeão International Airport around midnight.
My small mind was instantely overloaded with the avalanche of new sensations that unfolded around me. Strange noises kept pounding my ear drums,
the smell of foreign cuisine, strange and yet tempting, permeated my nostrils.
I waited for hours, patiently holding up my pathetic little sign, drowned out by the vastly taller adults rushing along besides me.
Nothing happened.
Hours passed, the sun started to rise and I could hear the heart of the city slowly spring into action, a rising vibrato of car horns and screaming street vendors in the distance.
And nothing happened.
After almost eight hours, I was done, tired, finished.
My lip started twitching and I could feel my eyes tearing up when suddenly a gap opened in the herd of people and I could see another child, across the terminal.
Hope, the silver lining that frames the golden heart of luck.
I ran over as fast as my little feet could carry me.
"hey HEY!"
The child, it was a boy, he turned to me and gave me a condescending look.
His hair was blonde, his maxilla was magnificent, everything, every nook and cranny of his face was perfection made flesh.
No, this was no child at all!
"What you want pissbag?!"
He spat out in front of me.
Even his spit was white like snow and beautiful.
I tried to say something but my voice failed me so I reached in my pockets and pulled out all the cash I had on me, a total of 2 dollars.
His eyes widened and I saw they were blue like Sapphires.
He grabbed my hand and looked left and right. Then he came really close and whispered in my ear.
"Amigo, are you insane! With that kind of dough you are asking to get robbed!"
"It's just two dollars" I whispered back, bewildered.
"Amigo amigo" he smacked his thick lips "the richest man in Brazil only has 1 dollar".
I couldn't believe my ears. The stranger took a step back and smiled for a second.
Then he put out his hand.
"Hey boy, want to invest in my business? We could be great together! My name is Prospero by the way, but everyone calls me Weed around here."
There are moments in a mans life where the flow of causality stops, like you are in the eye of the storm, you can see it all unfold, for just a moment.
Time froze around me for a heartbeat, the buzzing noise of the airport receded into the void, everything was so clear...
I shook his hand.
"Call me Sigma."
To be continued.
Act 3 is in the making.
@AccountError, if you want to continue, feel free.
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