3 Cairo - Your Name (1/2)
I could see Cartuja scratching his head as if he knew me, or perhaps he thought he did. Either way, I knew I wasn't a complete stranger to them.
What shocked me the most was how Rina reacted. She didn't scream, laugh, or think about where she might know me from. She just stood there, frozen like a statue. Her face showed no signs of fear, but it didn't scream excitement either.
After a few seconds, she started approaching me, slowly. She walked as if she saw the light at the end of the tunnel, but I was far from the light she could ever ask for.
She stopped face to face with me, staring into my dreadful eyes like an open book. She observed me for a moment, almost as if making sure her speculations didn't fool her. However, after she noticed the scar on my neck, her eyes began water ever so slightly.
She quickly buried her face into the cloak around my chest, using it in hopes to escape whatever memory burst open inside her head. She sniffled, and I could feel her pain engulf me like the shadows in the moonlight. She cried. Cried like she's been wanting to for far too long.
I didn't know what to do, or how to react, so I let her.
”It's you…” She whispered, her voice slightly muffled by the cloak. ”I finally found you…”
Found me?. I've spent six months here, looking at her every day, and there wasn't a single doubt in my mind I had no idea who she was. Well, besides her being a bartender, having been blessed with beauty, and having an unusual friend.
”I remember you… I remember watching, feeling things I can't even imagine… The nightmares I had…” She whispered, her words muffled by my cloak.
My eyes began to widen, and a knot started tying itself inside my stomach. There was only one place she would have known me from. A place I hoped to never have to think about again. A place where lives were thrown out like bags of garbage out in the alleys. A place where hope was lost after a single day inside. The place known as the Gulag.
Rina stepped back, wiping her eyes on the edges of my rather clean cloak. She then patted them down with the cloth she used to wipe the glasses clean. However, there were still a few droplets left in her eyes, and it's as if I could see each and every ripple in her eyes light up in the dim light above us.
”I'm sorry…” She whispered, weeping. ”You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to.”
I cleared my throat, making sure it was ready for talking. ”All I've ever done is run away from my past. If I were to tell you about it, I wouldn't even know where to start.” I stopped for a moment, then continued after a thoughtful pause. ”Perhaps it's best for me to stop running away…”
”I only have one request,” Her face grew dim as she began backing away from my cloak, wiping her eyes and regaining the strength in her voice. ”Your name. I only wish to know your name...”
My name. A question I rarely ever get, and yet the most powerful question of all. A name tells a lot about a person. It shows their identity. Their meaning. Their sign. It can shape or change a person depending on the context given, but it will leave you something to cherish and hold. A name can be given at birth, or perhaps later in life as a sign of your successes and failures. It can direct you to the right path, give you answers to questions you didn't know even existed, and it gives you a symbol for what you believe in.
So what was my name? It's been so long since I've said it that I've almost forgotten. Even Mooks just calls me by random nicknames he's learned to pick up on over the years. His most famous one for me was the 'Gulag Goblin.' I hated it, so he used it sparingly.
”My name.” I said, thinking about the best way to introduce myself.
I sighed, walking past her and taking a seat in my usual spot at the corner of the crescent table. She followed me to where our usual interaction happened. I was in my seat, and she was behind the table. I was the customer, and she was the bartender.