09.04 Tom – Shadows in the Rental Shop 17.7. at 10:30 – 23:00

I open the door as quietly as I can. It's 23:10. I slip my keys into my pocket, taking off my shoes right in the hallway. I count every step, every sound. I don't want to wake her if she's sleeping.

Mum is lying on the nursing bed, her face turned toward the window. She looks smaller than this morning. As if she shrinks a little every day, vanishing right before my eyes.

“Mom?” I whisper.

She doesn't speak, but I can see her eyelashes tremble. She hears me. I walk over to the window and open it. The air is heavy, it needs to be aired out. From the street I can hear a tram, and the smell of curry drifts up from the Indian restaurant below us. The light from the streetlamp casts long shadows across the floor.

“I saw Viktor today,” I say softly while shuffling into the kitchenette. “We talked, but…”

She doesn't answer. Of course she doesn't. She barely speaks anymore.

I take the ramen out of the fridge that I brought yesterday from Dlážděnka and put it to heat up. In the microwave, it looks like a little yellow lagoon. It spins around and I can't take my eyes off it. It spins like my thoughts.

Why did I tell her that? What does she care about Viktor? Does she even know who he is? Have I ever told her about him? I can't remember.

The microwave beep snaps me out of my thoughts. I take out the bowl, grab a spoon and go back to mom. I sit on the edge of the bed and see how her lips parted slightly. She's thirsty. I hand her a straw with water and she takes a weak sip. Then I take a napkin and gently wipe the corners of her mouth.

"I have dinner for you," I say and show her the bowl. "Soup. Your favorite."

That is not true. I don't know if she likes ramen. Actually, I don't know what she likes at all. Now she only eats what I give her. She has no choice. Like me.

I scoop up a spoonful and bring it to her lips. She swallows. I scoop up another.

This is our ritual. Every single night. Sometimes I wonder if she remembers what it was like when she used to cook for me. When she could still walk. When she could still talk. When she was still alive.

“Tomorrow I have training,” I continue the monologue. “The coach says I have a chance. I just have to maintain my technique.”

Another spoonful. Another swallow. Her eyes are open now, but they're looking somewhere behind me. As if she saw something there that I don't.

“Then I've got a shift at Dlážděnka. Kit said that if I try hard, I might get a raise.”

My phone vibrates in my pocket and makes a sound I recognize instantly. Grindr. My heart leaps. I quickly pull it out to silence it, but it's already too late. A notification flashes on the screen:

Swimmer2004 – 1 km away

Fuck. I quickly clear it. I turn to Mom, but she keeps staring right through me, as if I weren't there.

I give her a few more spoonfuls of soup, but suddenly she stops swallowing. I'm afraid she'll fall asleep before I give her the meds. She has to take them. She has to.

“Mom, please, just a little longer,” I whisper, feeling my voice crack. “You have to take your pills.”

She slowly looks at me. I see a flash in her eyes—my mom is in there, somewhere deep down. She opens her mouth and I place the pill inside. Then I hand her the straw with water. She swallows. One more. She swallows. Done.

"Good girl," I say, as if talking to a child. I hate myself for it.

I take the bowl to the sink and turn on the tap. I let it run just to hear some sound other than my mother's breathing. Street light falls across the kitchen counter, casting silver streaks on it. I feel tears running down my face; I don't even know when I started crying.

I go back to the bedroom and see that Mom is already asleep. I tuck her in and stroke her hair. It's thin and dry. As if the very last bit of life is leaving her.

I head to the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror. I look like a ghost. Dark circles under my eyes, sunken cheeks. My hair is wet from the rain that caught me on the way from the pool. I grab the hair dryer and start drying it.

Hot air blows into my face and I stare at my reflection. The street light turns my hair into silver streaks. I look older. More tired.

Swimmer2004 – 1 km away.

Viktor. It has to be him. Who else would have a profile like that? Who else would be so close? And at this hour?

I hate him. I hate him for what he brings out in me. For the confusion. For the longing. For the fact that I can't sleep because of him. That I can't breathe because of him.

But what if I hate him because I fell in love with him?

The thought hits me like a fist to the gut. In love? No, that can't be true. I'm not a fag. I'm not like him. I can't be.

But then why did I download Grindr? Why did I add him as a favorite? Why does my heart stop every single time I see him?

I switch off the hair dryer and put it down on the sink. My hands are shaking. My head is a mess.

What would Mom say if she knew? What would the guys from the pool say? What would the coach say?

And what would Viktor say if he knew I was stalking him? That I know more about him than anyone ever should?

I look in the mirror again. My hair is dry now, but I still look lost. Like someone who has no idea who he actually is.

I go back to the bedroom and sit on Mom's bed. She's sleeping peacefully, her breathing steady. At least something.

"Mom," I whisper, even though I know she can't hear me. "I'm scared."

I'm scared of losing her. I'm scared of being left alone. I'm scared I won't be able to handle what's expected of me. I'm scared I'm not who I pretend to be.

And most of all, I'm scared that what I feel for Viktor is real.

I lay my head next to Mom's hand and close my eyes. Another tram passes outside the window. The lights go out in the Indian restaurant downstairs. The night goes on, even though my world is collapsing.

And somewhere, a kilometer away, is Viktor. Maybe he's looking at his phone, waiting to see if anyone replies. Maybe he's thinking of me, just as I'm thinking of him.

Maybe we aren't as different as I thought.