VII
What happened over the next few weeks still clouds over in my mind. I only know that I slept little, started drinking and suffered anxiety attacks. I thought the office would be more understanding, but they were not. I had bitten more than I could chew and colleagues com- plained about my performance.
I was fired from there too, to put it simply. I felt worthless and guilty for having to tell my parents that I could no longer send them money. My father told me that he’d found a new position and I shouldn’t worry, but that didn't solve anything.
I couldn't see myself getting ahead, I had to pass all my subjects and I’d started drinking heavily. At first, I
VIII As embarrassed as I was, I had to make that call. So I gathered some coins I had begged for on Tara Street, next to the DART station, and plucked up my courage. Since my cell phone was broken, I gave the owner of the Internet cafe 1 euro and googled the phone number. With what I had left over I went to a phone booth. ‘Good morning, Mr. Redman.’ ‘Anna, why aren't you here? You've ruined my project' 'I'm so sorry,' I cried, 'I'm on the street. I don't have a home. Maybe you could...' He was so surprised that it took him a while to answer. 'Well, I don't have space in my house, unfortunately. What I can offer you is something to earn the mo
IX Days went by and I had no alternative. I accelerated music lessons and got used to asking for money on the streets. My appearance was horrible, as if I were a doll placed on a stage to be pitiful. Dirt ate away at me from my neck to my ankles. I needed to take a shower. Begging for no one to recognize me, I managed to scrape together just enough money to buy a sandwich. I felt guilty for having let Rachel do the dirty work. We were the same. Even if she was hooked up to a machine and I was conscious. Since I hardly had any conversation with Bill, I spent many hours on those streets where I wasn't known. Classes with Mr. Redman had become daily and we played great songs such as "Knocking on Heaven's Door"
X "Homelessness is still a problem," said a very serious announcer on the small radio station Bill was listening to. He had a transistor that a scrap dealer had given him, after he had sold him all kinds of wires, toy boxes and pieces of iron. With that and some snacks his acquaintances had given him, fat Bill had more than enough to survive on. And what else can I say? Music lessons went on, gigs became more frequent and I continued to embarrass myself on the street. I lived like an artist, with standing ovations, admirers and fans, and then I would go back to my burrow until the next day. It was the best and worst of two worlds. One day Bill came over in the wee hours of the morn
XI I had breakfast in the bar with Bill, and everyone was looking at us out of the corner of their eyes. I asked the waiter for a cell phone charger, even though I didn't think anyone would call me. I couldn't have been more wrong. Surprisingly, Redman made me an offer I couldn't refuse, as they say. 'A speech? And where am I going to go looking like a slob?' 'Don't worry about the clothes. I'll provide you with some.' 'You say it won't be at the university. What if someone recognizes me?' 'You don't have to worry. People pay for these get-togethers. It's a unique opportunity. I had to talk about Romantic poetry, a period that fascinated me. And on a paid basis! I t
XII The next day, Redman brought a couple of musicians that I was going to play with. We re- hearsed some covers of bands we liked and also prepared a mix of our best own songs. Ru- ben, a Spanish guy who sang in English with an accent, told me he thought my face sounded familiar. In the end, I couldn't hide the fact that we had met in some college hallway, but the guy seemed nice and didn't ask any further. He came with Lisetta, a Portuguese girl he was dating, and whose beautiful voice brought a lot of character to the band. When the day of the concert arrived, everything was great, except for one thing: Harlan wasn't there. I called the phone number he had given me and was told that there was
XIII The withdrawal mixed with all the memories that were tearing my mind apart. Assaulted at night by tremors and agitation, I decided to spend some of what I had earned on a clinical psychologist. When I arrived at the center, I was offered group therapy. Not only was this cheaper, but also allowed me to share my experience with others. Everyone was sitting in a circle, and the psychologist began by asking direct questions: 'John, what's wrong with you?' 'My dad is always getting into my stuff. It makes me want to tell him to fuck off and leave home.' I looked at the teenager, who had addiction etched on his face. The therapist then looked at an older man
XIV It was time for the next talk. "I want to crawl under a rock and die," I thought as I saw Kate and Beth walk in. They stood in the back, staring at the dais with a stiff neck. Beth was about to get up when Redman entered. 'What are you doing?' he asked them. 'I need to talk to Anna.' 'Class is about to start, wait until the end.' 'But...' Redman smiled and waved his hands at her. I remember speaking mechanically, without my words matching the tone I was using, about the themes of poetry. This time I was supposed to be with people who wanted to learn to write. What were those two scoundrels doing there? Surely they had heard about my horrible speec
XV The first few days with Kate were uneventful. Our conversations were about inconsequential matters: her classes, my concerts, grocery shopping, if I'd go back to university. 'Well, tell me about yourself,' I finally said one afternoon as she poured coffee. 'About me?' she laughed. 'Yes, your parents, your siblings, who you are.' 'Wow' she replied in her usual jovial tone. 'How profound.' 'Come on, seriously.' She scratched her hair and hesitated before starting. 'My father, well, he died three years ago.' 'I'm sorry.' 'He smoked like a chimney. He quit for a while, but eventually he came back. The thing is, my mother and I get alo