023.01 TOM – Silence at Dawn Sep 12 at 05:00 – 08:00

12.9.

The thermometer shows a surprisingly low reading; summer has vanished overnight, leaving behind only a thin film of rain. Drops drum on the windowsill, drawing a map of islands that instantly disappear. The room smells of coffee, but the air is thin and cold, compelling one to wrap oneself in a warm silence. The radio whispers an old hit whose words fall apart before hitting the floor.

Voice message (Viktor → Tom): "I didn't know if I still knew how to breathe your name."

I shoved my phone into my pocket, but that sentence kept running through my head like the tempo in a set — once per inhalation, once per exhalation.

TOM

The red dial of the alarm clock stings my eyes. Five oh oh.

I'm awake before it rings, as always. I have to be quiet.

Carefully I lift Mom, turning her onto her side. The mattress creaks beneath my hands. I feel how light she is, like a feather. Lighter and lighter. I straighten her bed, raising the headrest so she can breathe better.

I turn on the hair dryer to its lowest setting. That damn radiator isn't heating again. The warm air at least chases away some of the cold that clings here like a sickness even now.

I add "milk" to the magnetic board. I look at the list. Everything we need. Or rather, have to have. And money… little, as always. It sucks.

My phone is face down on the dresser. I downloaded Grindr yesterday. I haven't opened it yet, but I still see a notification: “Swimmer2004 – 1.5 km”. I delete it right away. Fuck, why did I even download it?

I lean against the sink and wash mom's towel in ice-cold water. My hands are completely stiff, but it has to be done. Drops fall onto the linoleum, drawing strange maps, islands that nobody has named.

Coins for vending machine coffee rattle in my pocket. Twenties and two-crown coins, nothing more.

Mom breathes out something in her sleep that makes no sense. Some word from her dreams. I put on my light jacket, pull up the zipper, and that stupid slider clicks way too loud. I freeze. Didn't I wake her?

I lean over her, kissing her in the hair. She smells like always – like Mom.

"I'll be back at half past three," I whisper, even though I know she can't hear me.

I close the door over a folded towel so those fucking hinges don't squeak. In the hallway, I straighten up. One floor up to the roof, one down to the exit. I run down the stairs, dash through the courtyard, and then through that graffiti-covered passage.

And then I just fly. Across the railway bridge, away from here, heading somewhere else.

I don't know why it keeps coming back. Over and over again. I submerge myself, and the exact second the water embraces me, I see him in front of me. As if I had a stuck film loop in my head.

Seven strokes, I'm coasting. Underwater, there's a silence that should clear my head, but not today. Today, my brain is serving up memories on a silver platter.

First sinking – how I'm punching him with my fists. Why did I do that? Fuck, that was a long time ago.

Second sinking – him in the changing cubicles, naked, doesn't see me, I'm watching him from behind the corner.

Third sinking – his face illuminated by a flash at that Podolí viewpoint. How he looked. How we looked at each other.

I surface, my lungs are burning, but not from swimming.

"Tibi," I gasp, without meaning to.

Bromlil roars at us from the edge of the pool: "On the blocks, third set!"

Time is Bromlil's metronome. We are all just his pawns. I stand next to Viktor, knowing I want to throw him off. I speed up on purpose, knocking him out of his rhythm.

Except then something happens that I didn't plan. Viktor suddenly goes rigid, a cramp hits him, I see him twitching. My hand shoots out on its own, instinctively, before I can even think. I grab him under the arm.

That touch—like someone hitting me with a jolt of electricity. Like those flashes of lightning that night. Viktor is gasping for air, and I feel my own cramp growing in my chest. Only mine isn't muscular. I am ashamed of myself.

Bromlil claps loudly and the lane slowly falls silent. We stay there with Viktor, the water keeping us afloat, bobbing like two buoys. I see it in his eyes—the question neither of us can say out loud.

A vein throbs in my neck, as if I wanted to jump out of my own skin. I wish I were anywhere else, but at the exact same time, right here.

Viktor nods, thanks me with his eyes, and swims off toward the edge.

And at that moment I realize that I'm scared. Not of him – but of the fact that I need him.

I submerge again. Deep down. I have to keep that heat under the surface before anyone notices.

The metallic smell of the lockers mixes with the chlorine clinging to my skin. The fluorescent lights above us flicker like broken neon signs, reflecting off the metal doors and turning the locker room into a place you don't want to stay a second longer than you have to. I sling a towel over my shoulder and reach into my locker for the thing I don't want to think about. A potato medal. Such bullshit. Third place, but I still remember it. I clutch it in my palm and shove it into my pocket. I don't know why I keep carrying it around.

Tony is bustling around with an armful of bath towels. Typical Tony – always taking care of everyone, even when nobody asks.

"So who's up for a beer?" Jirka throws out into the room, and the classic locker-room debate begins.

"I can't, I've got a date with that blonde from the freshman year," Mára brags, and I catch myself rolling my eyes. I know his routine. It's always the same. I don't know if he makes those girls up or actually has someone, but it never lasts longer than a week.

"You mean the one with those boobs?" Adam asks, gesturing with his hands something I've never seen even on a porn star.

"Sure, man. I already promised to show her my snake," Mára laughs and high-fives Adam.

I’ve been watching them the whole time, and I don’t know why it’s getting on my nerves so much. I used to not care. Now it irritates me like sand in my swimsuit.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Viktor and Tony exchanging glances. Something intimate that I’m missing. Viktor leans in toward Tony and whispers: “I’ll teach you something…”

The rest is inaudible, but it still makes my stomach churn like a poorly digested dinner. What could Viktor possibly be teaching anyone? And why Tony of all people?

My phone starts vibrating in my pocket. I pull it out and see two notifications on the screen—one from Grindr. Some guy I ghosted last week. And the other—Mom. Fuck. She definitely needs something urgently. Probably medicine. Or food. Or she feels sick. My thumb automatically shoots toward the button and the screen goes dark. Not now. Just not now.

Meanwhile, Viktor puts on his baseball cap in that particular way of his, making it look like he's in some kind of movie. Without a single word, he turns around and walks away. Just like that. As if he had never been here.

Tony sets his bag down on the bench and mutters something to himself.

Then all of a sudden he remarks: "Well, I'm not gonna smoke then," as if answering a question no one asked. As if talking to himself. Or to someone who's no longer here.

I smooth down my wet hair and look in the mirror. I see a guy I don't recognize. Someone who has more on his shoulders than he can carry. Someone with a wooden spoon hidden in his pocket and an unanswered call from mom in his pocket.

I slam the locker shut and the padlock clicks. As if someone had just handed down my sentence.