At five to two, I quietly opened the window so the hinges wouldn’t squeak. I climbed out like a cat and then crawled cautiously on all fours to the gate. Caution was of paramount importance.
On the deserted streets, a cool wind was blowing, which chased away my sleep. Now I was awake enough to review once more what I had to do.
I had a screwdriver and a pair of pliers with me, tools that would help me defeat any lock. I had swiped them from my father’s tool workshop. And I also had a hairpin that I took from my mother’s dresser. It would help me with the door lock.
In all the American movies, the bad guys open the door lock with a simple hairpin. If a dumb actor can open a door with a hairpin, then surely a law student wouldn’t have much trouble with it.
I only had to cover fifty meters to the cigarette kiosk, but it felt like an eternity until I got there.
The kiosk was located in a small park. The front door was well-lit and in plain sight, but I wasn’t interested in that door. I was in love with the back door. Once in front of it, I looked at it puzzled. It seemed different at night. Darker, more impenetrable.
“God help me!” I sighed, then attacked the lock with the screwdriver.
Two minutes later, I was whistling sadly and looking at my dad’s screwdriver bent like a fishing hook. There was no way I could return it to the tool workshop like that.
“Damn you!” I said, glaring at the lock with hatred.
After another fifteen minutes, I was sweating as if I had just come out of a sauna, my hands were trembling, but my eyes were gleaming with satisfaction and pride: the lock lay next to the door. It was dead! It had met its end!
I had the makings of a thief.
Good, step two… I gently caressed the door lock and pulled out the hairpin with a grin.
“This is a piece of cake,” I thought. “In less than a minute, I’ll be inside and smoking a cigarette of any brand I choose! I’ll have both money and cigarettes. And gum to chew until the end of college.”
That lock made me cry in frustration. Half an hour later, I was so furious I wanted to bang my head against it.
I turned the hairpin in the lock every which way, twisted it, encouraged it, cursed it, but… to no avail. In the movies, you always heard a “Click!” and the door would open. For me, there was no click.
And when I finally heard one, I was left holding half a hairpin.
“God, no,” I groaned, my nerves shot. “Dad was right! I’m good for nothing! I’ll never amount to anything! I can’t even be a proper thief.”
I collapsed in defeat next to the door, leaned my back against it, and buried my head in my hands. It was bad.
If I couldn’t be a good thief, how was I going to defend thieves? What kind of lawyer would I be?
I realized I was too dumb to be a thief. It takes brains to be a thief.
Maybe I needed to switch sides. I seriously considered a career in the police. Then I remembered I was certifiably insane.
Goodbye, career in the police! Even the police have their standards.
Nothing to be done: I had to leave that cursed kiosk! I had to admit defeat.
I picked up the destroyed screwdriver and the pliers, which no longer looked like pliers, and then headed home. On the way, I tossed them disgustedly into the first trash can.
Around 4 AM, I was back in my bed, struggling to fall asleep. But I couldn’t. My legal career was in question. And I hadn’t gotten any money.
Life had defeated me.
I hugged my pillow and cried like a child. Then I fell asleep.
***
“What the heck, you’re sulking again?” Alfredo asked, staring at me. We were both in the faculty courtyard during a break. “Man, Tiberiu, I feel like taking off when I see you like this!” he continued to scold me. “Tell me, did you talk to Irina? Did you clear things up?”
“Yeah, I talked to her,” I replied, staring at my shoes.
“And what did you say?”
“I said, ‘Hi.’“
“And what else?”
I sighed and looked at Alfredo with annoyance. Then, seeing his new and flashy clothes, I felt like bawling.
“Alfredo,” I groaned, “I’d rather die than spend another day in these old clothes. How can I face her like this?”
“What’s wrong with your clothes?” he snorted. “You’re a normal guy dressed in normal clothes.”
“Easy for you to say!” I snapped angrily. “You don’t give a damn, Mr. ‘I Have a Canadian Visa’! You always have money, you’re always dressed to the nines, and you’re so good at giving advice, but I…”
“But you what?”
“I don’t need advice. I need money, understand? I think I’ll drop out of school and find a job.”
“Hey, don’t be crazy!” he said quickly. “Don’t do that. Have you really reached this point? Do you give up so easily at the first hurdle?”
“You don’t understand that I need money to buy clothes?” I yelled. “I need money. Money, money, money! Look, for example, if you turn me upside down now, you won’t see a single penny falling out of my pockets. What do you think about that?”
“Well, I don’t know… Ask your parents. Have you tried?”
I waved dismissively. My friend was too stupid to understand who I was and what was in my soul. I turned and walked away, grumbling.
In the next break, I ran into him in the hallway. Again. I had just come out of the Roman Law class.
“Obligatio est iuris vinculum quo necessitate adstringimur…”
“What are you mumbling in Latin there?” Alfredo asked with a cheerful face. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter. Here,” he added apologetically and slipped something into my pocket. “It’s my gift to you,” he said, embarrassed.
I looked. It was three brand-new banknotes. I clutched them in my hand and felt myself blushing to the tips of my ears.
“Thanks,” I said in a faint voice. “You’re a… a real friend. You know what?” I added with a wide grin. “Screw the classes! I’m out! I’m going right now to buy some clothes.”
“Want me to come with you?” he asked, happy for my joy. “I know a bit about clothes. Maybe you need some advice.”
“No need,” I said quickly. “Stay calm, I’ll manage.” Then I turned around and left.
“Yeah, that’s all I need,” I said to myself, walking quickly down the street. “Just what I need: to be seen with a sissy in a men’s clothing store. The whole university would know the next day. The whole city by the third day. Dad would disown me! Alfredo, you’re such an idiot!”
I spent the next few hours going from store to store. I again realized how poor I was. With Alfredo’s money, I couldn’t even buy a decent pair of pants from those stores. Not even a leg, actually.
“Tiberiu,” I thought bitterly, “maybe you should forget about the fancy stores. They’re not for you, boy! Look for some stores more… suitable for you.”
I admit, I wasn’t very good at it. It was the first time I tried to buy something other than a can of beer or some sesame pretzels.
Buying clothes is something that can drive a man crazy.
The saleswomen looked at me rudely. The bitches seemed to read me as soon as I walked into the store. It was like they had X-ray vision and knew exactly how much I had in my pockets. It was a horrible feeling.
From that day on, I’ve kept that unpleasant feeling my whole life. I stored it somewhere in a drawer of my soul. Even today, when I go to buy some clothes, I feel like beating up the saleswomen. The drawer in my mind opens wide, and I feel awful.
Whenever a saleswoman approaches with a smile and asks, “Can I help you with something?” I feel like turning around and giving her a right hook to wipe that arrogant smile off her face.
That’s why I rarely go to clothing stores.
However, over the years, I’ve realized that clothes aren’t that important. Today, I don’t even care what I wear. Seriously! They’re just rags. Things you use to cover your nakedness. Period.
But on that day, I was young and stupid.
Still, though stupid, I did the only wise thing I could do with that little money: I went into a second-hand clothing store. The clothes there seemed made just for me. Everything was sold by the kilogram. You could choose for hours. No one bothered you, no saleswoman jumped on you.
You stayed as long as you wanted, chose what you wanted, went and weighed it. Then you paid.
I got myself two pairs of pants, two jackets, two shirts, and I still had some money left.
I was in a very good mood. I was happy.
I was somebody.
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